BY THE SAME AUTHOR

The Cycle of Fire Trilogy
1. Stormwarden
2. Keeper of the Keys
3. Shadowfane

The Master of Whitestorm
That Way Lies Camelot

The Wars of Light and Shadows
  1. Curse of the Mistwraith

and with Raymond E. Feist
Daughter of the Empire
Servant of the Empire
Mistress of the Empire

SCIENCE
FICTION
FANTASY

JANNY WURTS

S   ~
orcerer s Legacy

HarperCollinsPublishers

HarperCollins Science Fiction & Fantasy
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
77-85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W68JB

This paperback edition 1994
     35798642

Previously published in paperback by Graftoni989
        Reprinted twice

First published by Ace Books 1982

Copyright c Janny Wurts 1982

      Th~ Author asserts the moral right to
                  identified as the author of this work
~.. :~ ~~~)              ISBN 0586204822
                         Set in Times

      Printed in Great Britain by
      HarperCollinsManufacturing Glasgow

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the publishers.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or
otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent
in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it
is published and without a similar condition including this
condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

   For E.'K. Payne,
   whose early enthusiasm first led me
   to put stories into words,

           and

For D. P. Mannix IV,
who has been friend, advisor, and example

    1
Timesplicer

'So you are the Duke of Trathmere's widow,' said the
ugly, smooth-skinned man who called himself Prime
Inquisitor to the Khadrach Emperor.
    A sudded rush of grief forced Elienne to look down.
Scarcely an hour had passed since the Khadrach army had
claimed her home and her husband's life, and the words
had a lonely, unreal sound. The heavy, blood-crusted
boots of halberdiers still seemed nightmarishly out of
place against the glass mosaic floor of Trathmere Keep's
great hall.
  'Answer me, bitch!' said the Inquisitor.
    E!ienne bridled at his tone, forgetting her torn, soot-
stained gown and swollen face. She raised her head and
glowered at the rat-faced Inquisitor.
    'You dare,' she spoke quietly; 'you dare call me that?
Khadrach rnervine! May Heil's own Demons defecate on
your tongue. It seems fit for little else.'
    The Inquisitor blinked, hot eyes framed in a reddening
face. His jeweled collar of office glittered like blue flame
in the torchlight as he sat back, slowly. Anger always
made him careful.
    'So.' He licked thin lips. 'The Lady can curse like a
mercenary.'
 Elienne glared.
    The Inquisitor laced his veined hands on the table
before him 'Woman,' he said, 'you're a Duke's widow,
less, even, than the little worm that hatches a fly. You

have no worth. Unless, of course, you carry the Duke of
Trathmere's unborn heir?'
      Without pausing for her answer, the Inquisitor flicked
a glance over Elienne's thin body.  'I see not,' he observed.
    Eiienne again shut her eyes. The night before, Cinndel
had come to her bed for the first time in weeks, perhaps
knowing it was fated to be his last. There was a small
chance ... but Elienne crushed the memory at once.
Children were not conceived by husbands worn and
hardened like flint before the tides of a hopeless war. And
scarcely a week past, Elienne had had evidence she was
not with child
  She opened her eyes as the Inquisitor went on.
     'As mother of Trathmere's heir, you would have some
 stature in the eye of the Emperor. As Trathmere's widow,
 you are an obstacle in his path. By Khadrach Law, only
 women of blood descent may inherit. The Duchy of
 Trathmere, therefore, becomes a prize of war, and your-
 self, my sharp-mannered Lady...' The Inquisitor
 paused, smiling venomously. 'You become chattel of the
 estate, less, even, than the hens in the byre, for at least
 they and their eggs may be eaten.'
      Elienne felt her neck warm beneath the thick, dark
  knot of hair that had fallen loose across her shoulders.
  Despite the fear that nestled like a toad in her stomach,
  she drew a long, steady breath. 'Tell me, Inquisitor' - her
  tone became acid - 'do all Khadrachi carry their manhood
  in their bellies?'
      The Inquisitor shot half out of his chair before he could
  curb his temper. He rearranged himself like a snake
  coiling to strike, and rage splintered abruptly into
  laughter.
      'That was a foolish challenge, Little One.' He turned to
  the halberdlets. 'Have her brought to my chambers at

sundown. She will learn quickly how a Khadrach officer
likes his bed warmed. Until then, lock her away. I find
her manner offensive.'
    'Touch me, and you'll learn regret!' said Elienne. The
Inquisitor ignored h. er. He nodded to the halberdiers.
    A gauntlctcd hand prodded Elienne's back. Rather
than allow herself to be driven like an animal, E!ienne
gathered the tattered ruin of her skirt and walked from
the hall. Though she did her best to ignore the clanking
presence of her escort, pretended indifference did nothing
to loosen the terror that circled her thoughts like a
garrote. She had acted rashly. Cinndcl was dead. What
had she thought to gain by further resistance?
    'I love you for your horrid, saucy little tongue,' Cinndei
had once said to her. The memory brought tears despite
her attempt at control. She stumbled blindly. The misstep
earned her an ungentle shove from a halberd haft. Elienne
blinked quickly to clear her eyes, and found herself guided
around a corner and down another corridor. Lancet
windows cast patterns of light and shadow like a game
board, herself the pawn haplessly manipulated across its
wide squares. Elienne shivered. Already the sun slanted
toward late afternoon. Night would be upon her all too
swiftiy.
    The halberdiers stopped at last before a portal bound
with ancient, rusted iron. Lurid orange stains streaked the
oak panels between, caused, Elienne knew, by condensa-
tion from Trathmere castle's dungeons. In her memory,
the door had never been opened. But the shock and
revulsion she felt only inspired amused laughter and grins
from her guards.
    'Got cold feet, little Lady?' said one. 'Inquisitor'!l warm
'era, sure's fire.'
The door opened with a torturous groan, spilling a wash

of damp air. A man was sent for a torch. Elienne waited
in silence and struggled to contain her apprehension. The
cresset's guttering, smoky light revealed a littered stair
that plunged down into darkness. Elienne forced an
outward show of courage. Cinndel had disliked women
who were silly and afraid. The chilly touch of a halberd
against her shoulder pressed her forward.
     Gritty stone met Elienne's slippered foot, and cobwebs
 trailed like ghost fingers through her hair as she
 descended. Daylight faded behind, replaced by the fitful
 flicker of torchlight. The stair ended in a corridor so low
 the soldiers had to stoop. Confined, the reek of tallow
 and sweat became stifling. The curses and clangs as helms
 scraped against slime-caked stone made Elienne want to
 stop her ears.
     The soldiers thrust her into the first available cell. A
 thin slice of light fell through the barred slot in the door
 while the soldiers wrestled slide bolts jammed with rust.
 Elienne heard an annoyed order accompanied by the
 jingle of steel mail as her escort unslung weapons and
 pounded the bolts home.
      'Bide well, little Lady.' Rough voices and torchlight
  receded, leaving E!ienne in darkness. Minutes later, she
  heard the moaning complaint of the upper door being
  drawn closed. The echoes died slowly into thick silence
  broken erratically by the sullen drip of water. Elienne
  reached out to orient herself. Her hand met stonework
  soft with slime, and something wet squirmed away from
  her touch.
      E!ienne flinched back. The curse she uttered would
  have embarrassed a stablehand, but the effect was ruined
  by the shuddering sob that followed. Cinndel had frowned
  upon tears, but he was dead. The spirit he had admired in
  her had earned no less than the shame of the Inquisitor's
  10

bed. Succumbing to the despair that had driven her since
Trathmere's fall, Elienne allowed herself to cry. Better
here, she felt, than before Khadrach eyes.
    She quieted after a time. The tears dried on her cheeks,
and the water drop's monotonous song became predict-
able and familiar to her ears. It reminded her of the water
clock her uncle had tried to rig with chimes. The mechan-
ical portion had never worked properly, and it was forever
striking the hour out of sequence. Elienne pushed the
memory aside and leaned wearily back against the door.
The Khadrach had burned both her uncle and his silly
clock. The Emperor's armies had marred almost every-
thing that had ever given her pleasure, and uttering
another stinging curse, Elienne lapsed into silence.

Time passed, but Elienne had no way to mark the hours.
The waiting was long - perhaps the Inquisitor had forgot-
ten her? More likely the dark damp solitude stretched
minutes to hours below, while above the sun had not yet
set. Then, abruptly, she realized she was no longer alone.
The darkness remained impenetrable as before, the water
drop an erratic solo against stillness; yet, for no apparent
reason, Elienne sensed a presence with her that had not
been in the cell before. It evaded definition.
    Uneasy, but not yet afraid, Elienne pushed herself
away from the door. She reached out, but groping fingers
met nothing. There was nothing there, she thought, stung
by self-reproach. No tangible cue sparked her imagin-
ation, only nerves. Still the feeling persisted. Something,
or someone, had invaded her solitude.
    Half in annoyance, Elienne reached out again. This
time her fingers encountered the sharp, cold prickle of an
Enchanter's craft.
 Eiienne gasped and drew back. The Enchanters were

11

r~

surely dead, all of them; Guild Tower had been merci-
lessly leveled by Khadrach. Any survivors would have
learned better than to practice loremagic within the
Emperor's lands. And what could an Enchanter offer but
illusions anyway, Elienne thought. Anger at her helpless-
ness followed.
     'Show yourself, meddler,' she said sharply. Her
 troubles were great enough without a stranger intruding
 on them. 'Show yourself! I am sick to death of guessing
 you out.'
     A faint light sparked into existence before her. With a
 thin snap, it flared into startling brilliance. Darkness
 shattered, knifed into sudden shadows. Elienne shielded
 aching eyes with her hands, half-blinded, and found
 herself face to face with a Sorcerer.
     He was dressed richly in the heavy blues of twilight, his
 cloak lined with red. His features were mapped with the
 usage of centuries. The light, brilliant and dense as a
 winter star, hung poised over the palm of his hand.
 Without asking Elienne realized he hailed from no Guild
 in Trathmere, or in any other land listed in the archivists'
 records. This was no dabbler in images.   'Who are you?' she demanded.
      The Sorcerer dimmed his light and, with a flick of his
  finger, set it adrift. His mouth reflected forced patience,
  and light eyes regarded her with the dispassionate inten-
  sity of a snake. 'I am called Ielond.'
         '
   Searcher, translated Elienne, wondering even as she
  spoke. The name derived from no language she knew.
  Meaning could have come only from Ielond's own touch
  upon her mind. Overwhelmingly awakened to the fact she
  confronted a wielder of intense and dangerous power,
  E!ienne was unable to curb the question that rose like a
  challenge to meet him.
                  12

    'What do you seek in Trathmere's dungeons, Gifted?
Khadrach have no love for your kind.'
 '1 seek a bride for the Prince of Pendaire.'
    Eiienne's temper flared, heated by memory of Cinndel,
whom she loved without thought for another. 'Myself,
Gifted? Am I the one you came for?'
    Staring upward, Elienne read her answer in the Sorcer-
er's impassive silence. 'Devil and Demons take that idea!
Keep your Prince, Gifted. Better I take my chances with
that mervine of an Inquisitor. Himself I am free to hate.'
    'Keep still.' Above Ielond's shoulder, the light flared
like a small sun. 'You will wed my Prince only if you
prove worthy - and your manner with strangers shows
regrettable lack of courtesy.'
    'Then search elsewhere, I beg you.' Elienne fought to
contain sudden tears, overcome by the sensation that
there was nothing understandable left in the world.
    Quiet for a long moment, Ielond stood with his head
bent, perhaps listening to the lonely splash of the water.
Elienne glared at him through swimming eyes and noticed
his face had softened a little.
    'Will you leave, Gifted? I have little desire to be any
man's companion.'
    Ielond spoke at last with measured, forceful phrases. 'I
will go, Lady Elienne, if that is what you wish. But before
you speak, hear me. Your choice will also affect the life
of the child you carry within you.'
    Eiienne stepped back, clumsily, into the door. Her
hands moved instinctively to her middle. 'Last night,' she
whispered, and felt chilled. Could it be true, after all, that
Cinndel...
    Ielond finished the thought with icy abruptness. 'Fath-
ered a child upon you, yes. Before you allow yourself
hope, hear what alternatives await you. The Inquisitor

13

beneath the dirt. If you manage to control your tongue m
his presence, he will take you on as consort. Cinndel's son
will be claimed as his own blood without hope of proof to
the contrary.'
    Elienne gasped, suddenly pale beneath soot-streaked
skin. 'Never. Not while I live.'
    'That is but one alternative,' Ielond continued remorse-
iessly. 'There is another. You will slight the Inquisitor
with your customary lack of tact. He, in a subsequent fit
of temper, will break your neck. Mistress, it will take you
eight months to die, and your child will miscarry.'
     Elienne pressed against her prison door, wrung speech-
 less with horror.
     'Or you can come with me,' Ielond said, 'and perhaps
 be saved. I cannot promise such choice will be without
 peril, but the Prince is a just man, and your son would
 become heir to Pendaire's throne.'
     E!ienne dragged air into her lungs to curse, but her
 throat locked against words. Suddenly she wished Ielond
 had not told her of the child, for that knowledge made
 her yet more vulnerable than before. She was also afraid.
 No Guild Sorcerer ever known could appear at will behind
 locked doors. What sort of man was the Prince of Pen-
 daire, who sent an adept powerful as Ielond to search for
 his bride?
     'You must choose, and quickly.' Ielond gestured
 impatiently. The stamp of booted feet could be heard
 descending the dungeon stair, and stone walls threw back
 unpleasant echoes of male laughter. The guardsmen had
 spent a busy interval celebrating their victory with drink.
 Gripped by sudden revulsion, E!ienne made her decision.
 14

'I will go.' She hoped the Inquisitor's wrath would kill
him when he learned of her escape.
    She had no chance to reflect further. Ielond seized her
wrist in a crushing grip. The light exploded above him
with a splitting crackle, enveloping them both in a starry
skein of sparks. A great rush of wind followed. Elienne's
hair whipped her face, and through stinging eyes she saw
her cell dissolve into spark-shot darkness, replaced impos-
sibly by an expanse of ocean viewed from tremendous
height. Stars shone cobalt and white against the indigo
depths of the sky.
    Fear prickled like an 'insect down Elienne's spine.
Ielond's hand on her arm was her only contact with the
sorcery that held her suspended over the void. Her
predicament was no trick of illusion designed to awe the
ignorant; the distant splash of whitecaps and the salt smell
in her nostrils was distressingly real.
    Such power over natural law lay beyond comprehen-
sion. Elienne shut the sight away behind closed eyes.
Abruptly oppressed by the unnamed host of implications
her simple consent might demand, she had a perverse
desire to pull free. The Prince of Pendaire was none of
her concern.
    Without warning, the night was split by an icy blast of
air. Ielond's cloak streamed like a flag. Elienne was hurled
forcefully into his shoulder; the Sorcerer shouted his
instructions, but the words were unintelligible to ears
dazed by a screaming rush of sounds. The wind struck
again. The gale flung Elienne like a kite. Ielond's iron
fingers burned her wrist. He shouted again, urgently, but
Elienne could not understand him. Wind filled her mouth
and lungs thick as water. Speech was impossible.
    The demon wind eddied. Elienne twisted like a toy.
Wrist, hand, and elbow flamed in sudden agony. Ielond's

15

           ed. The wind screeched and tore, then gusted
with the shriek of a titan and broke the Sorcerer's griP.
    The sky upended. E!ienne's stomach twisted with the
plunge as she plummeted through a tumbling panorama
of sky and seafoam cold-lit by starlight. She lost sight of
lelond. A dark, damp streamer of cloud swallowed her
effort to find him.
      Panic-stricken, Eiienne stifled an urge to scream.
 Instead she flung out both hands and groped.  Her fingers grazed cloth. 'Ielond!'
     Hands fumbled, then gripped her. Strong arms caught
 her shoulders, bundling her roughly against a hard, male
 chest. Muffled in cloth that smelled faintly of spices,
 E!ienne struggled to free her face, without success.
     The Sorcerer's grip only tightened. Pressed so close she
 thought she would suffocate, Elienne fell limp. To her,
 dizzied by stormwind and darkness, it seemed as though
 Ielond would bear her through the Eye of Eternity before
 the howling fury that buffeted her would abate.
     Yet abate it did, finally, with such a wrench the very
 earth might have stopped turning. Elienne's feet struck
 solid ground. Ielond transferred his grip to her shoulders,
 anger cold and still upon his face.
     'Listen with care,' he said. 'I have enemies who are
 powerful and ruthless. They seek your life, for they would
 rather my Prince remained childless and unwed. So long
 as you stay within my sphere of influence, you have my
 protection. But should you, even in thought, wish yourself
 elsewhere, you imperil us both.'
      E!ienne covered her face, blocking the Sorcerer from
  sight. She was shaking. Her skin prickled with apprehen-
  sion, and her thoughts still echoed with the horror of her
  fall.
   'You made your decision.' Devoid of compromise,

16

Ielond's voice trapped her wandering attention. 'Stand by
your word, Elienne of Trathmere. Your life depends upon
your commitment. Look upon the extent of it.'
Ieiond's hold shifted. Elienne felt herself twisted about.
'Look well, my Lady,' commanded the Sorcerer.
Elienne lowered her hands and gasped. Bathed in azure
twilight, a desolate expanse of icefields spread before her,
uninterrupted by habitation or settlement. The blocky
spine of a mountain range cut the horizon into hard-edged
angles. Elienne gazed upon'that eerie, empty landscape
and wondered why she felt no sensation of cold.
    Ielond spun her gently back to face him. The light
Elienne had noticed earlier in the cell drifted above his
shoulder like a captive star. He said, 'You are protected
by my sphere of influence. Three paces from my person,
your flesh would freeze to powder in seconds. Take
warning.'
    Elienne gave no indication she had heard. Trembling
and arrogant, she stood still as Ielond fingered the torn
ruin of her dress. Her emotionless gaze followed as the
Sorcerer summoned his light and balanced it on the tip of
his finger. Neither did she blink as that finger extended
toward her and the hot, prickling energy of enchantment
burned across her face. She simply held still and endured.
    The Sorcerer's touch roved across her person. Where it
passed, it transformed. Tangled, sooty hair became
combed and shining. Torn clothes and abraded skin knit
without trace of flaw, and spun wool acquired the watery,
smooth sheen of butter-colored silk.
    Ielond paused to admire his handiwork. 'That should
serve well enough.'
    Elienne examined the gown that clothed her. The hand
she raised to touch was weighted unfamiliarly with gems
at wrist and finger. They were heavy and cold; real.

17

    'The traditional gold of Pendaire's brides becomes you
well,' lelond observed, and this time his words drew
reaction.
    E!ienne stiffened. Anger bloomed across her pale
cheeks. 'Would you marry me to a stranger on the day of
my husband's death?' Hysteria edged her voice, and her
eyes sparkled with sudden tears. 'Well, would you,
Gifted?'
     Ielond declined answer. 'You are overwrought.' But his
 intended kindness was lost upon Elienne. She stepped
 back as he reached for her.
     'Overwrought? said Elienne. 'Your heart is cold as
 Eternity, Gifted. Let Pendaire's Prince seek his own
 bride, if indeed he has the manhood.'
     Ielond caught Elienne as she turned, pulling her to him.
 She expected his immediate anger. She received instead a
 view of raised brows and a startled, rueful smile.
     'I see I did not err in my choice. You must forgive my
 haste. If we survive the consequence of what you just
 wrought, I promise you won't regret.'
     'Consequence?' Elienne shrugged coldly, but Ielond
 did not release her.
     'Just that,' said Ielond, and at that moment the whirl-
 wind caught them. Ice-edged and furious, Elienne recog-
 nized the same force that had torn her from Ielond's grasp
 earlier. Chilled through her thin silk, she braced herself
 with a rising sense of apprehension. When the Sorcerer's
 arms encircled her from behind and gathered her into a
 bear hug, she did not struggle.
      The wind rushed and eddied, carving the ice crystals
  underfoot into whirling patterns until the air became

does when battered by storm and surf, E/~enne held
secure in his embrace.
    The wind passed as swiftly as it had sprung up. Ielond
and Elienne stood in silent sheets of settling snow, neither
one moving. At last Elienne drew a hesitant breath and
spoke. '1 caused that?'
    Ielond nodded. 'You stand within my sphere of influ-
ence, under my protection. When you resist me, even in
thought, you match your polarity to that of my enemies,
augmenting their strength. You provide them opening,
since you are within my defenses, and through your
dissent I am made vulnerable. This is why I urge you to
guard your thoughts.'
 Elienne stared. 'Then I could have destroyed you?'
    'You might yet,' said Ielond flatly. 'I consider it worth
the risk.'
    The snowfall had thinned, relinquishing its hold on sky
and landscape. Yet instead of relaxing, Ielond's grip on
Elienne tightened.
    'We have been overtaken.' His tone went suddenly
cold. 'Whatever your sentiments, Mistress, you would be
wise to hold them neutral until I am through.'
    E!ienne followed the Sorcerer's eyes. Thinly veiled by
the last drifting flakes, a rider stood before them, cowled
in black. Decorative borders of gold threadwork adorned
his neck and hood, framing features incisively lean. His
hands were gloved with mail, also of gold. His mount was
equine in shape, but its flesh glinted like brass newly
polished. Scaled like a snake, it emanated viciousness
from armored crest to spiked tail, and its master seemed
possessed by the black stillness of Eternity.
 'Faisix.' Ielond's voice startled Elienne.

saturated, opaquely white. Ielond's cloak snapped back The rider moved. Pale lips turned upward into a thin
on itself with whipcrack reports. Yet he stood as a rock smile. 'Ielond. Is my projection that good?'
                18                                                19

    'Adequate,' said Ielond. Elienne could feel the beat of
the Sorcerer's heart through her back, and his arms
tightened like a vise around her waist.
    Faisix laughed, the sound like a whisper against the
cold expanse of the icefields. 'By that, I assume you
realize I am here in flesh.'
   Ielond declined answer. The laughter ceased.
     'The woman is unwilling,' Faisix said abruptly. 'Twice
 she has expressed her desire to be released from your
 care. I answer her call.'
  'I refuse your claim,' Ielond responded. 'Return
 whence you came.'                           'I
 The thin smile repeated itself. have brought news
 from Pendaire. Would you dismiss me before you have
 heard? Or are you no longer interested in your royal
 ward?'
 'There is little you could tell me that I do not already
 know.'
 Faisix crossed his arms and leaned on his mount's neck.
 'Indeed? Not even the fact that, in Pendaire, Summer's
 Eve is already past7 Your Prince failed to meet his
 deadline, my friend. His seed is sterile. The Council has
 named him unfit for the crown and the continuance of a
 royal line. By its decree, the execution ceremony will
 occur on the morrow.'
 'Why? Elienne burst out. 'Do you murder a man in
 Pendaire because he cannot father a child?'
 Faisix transferred yellow eyes from Ielond, and, feeling

perhaps because few Princes are born with such an
unfortunate affliction.'
    'You have the justice of a toad,' said Elienne hotly,
'and your councilmen have the minds of fishes. Certainly
Ielond will stop this execution you speak of.'
    Faisix shook his head slowly, a final smile thinning his
lips. 'Certainly Ielond would if he could. But my second
piece of news proves otherwise. The Sorcerer known to
us all as Ielond died Summer's Eve in Pendaire.'
    'Liar!' cried Elienne. The man at her back was warm,
alive, and solidly real.
 'Ask him,' Faisix invited. 'He will tell you so.'
    Elienne turned and searched the face of the Sorcerer
who held her. His expression was all seams and twilit
shadows, impossible to fathom. She said, 'Is it true7'
    'Yes,' said Ielond. 'Faisix has named my true death. He
has also unwittingly brought me word of success.'
    'Can dead men succeed?' gibed Faisix. 'Then your
Prince will succeed with you, Ielond.'
    He returned his gaze to Elienne. You called me,
Mistress, and I have come. Shall you forsake that corpse's
company7 Come to me. It was your desire.'
    Faisix extended his hand. 'Come,' he repeated. The
word seemed to release a torrent within Elienne's mind.
All the confusion she had experienced since Cinndel's
death welled up at once, pressuring her to step forward,
away from Ielond's prisoning grasp.

his gaze upon her, Elienne was suddenly cold.           'Be wary,' said the Sorcerer in her ear. 'His promises
 'It is custom only for Kings, Mistress.' The words were will not be what they seem.'
gently stated but somehow inspired no confidence Elienne gave no sign she had heard. Her face remained
'Princes have supporters. If the crown must pass int0drawn with indecision. The small jewels that adorned her
other hands, peace must be kept. There cannot be excuse throat trembled like pale green waterdrops.
left for uprising. It is an ancient law, seldom invoked 'Ielond cannot hold you.' Faisix's voice was honey and
                20                               21

ice. 'If he crosses your will but once in my presence,
Mistress, I can destroy him for you.'
    Elienne's face drained entirely of color. 'I thought you
said he was dead.' Her voice shook, uncertain.
    Faisix ignored the challenge. 'Come to me, my Lady,'
he urged, and raised one slim hand from his mount's neck
and lifted the cowl from his head. A haze of golden light
bloomed under his fingers. Lean features softened and
flowed as the illumination touched them, transformed the
face to a gray-eyed, chestnut-headed man pleasantly
proportioned.
     Elienne flinched as though struck by a physical blow.
 She gasped aloud. 'Cinndel!' Her small frame quivered
 with tension like a harpstring plucked by an unskilled
 hand.
     'Come to me, beloved,' the mounted man said softly.
 'Come.'
     'My Lord is dead.' Elienne's inflection was lifelessly
 flat. The torn, bloodied corpse she had dragged from the
 weapons of the Khadrach had been real enough to shatter
 even this skilled fantasy. Her husband's death had been
 final as Eternity itself. The image on the horse mocked
 her with false promise. Drawing a great shuddering
 breath, Elienne broke.
     'Mindbender!' she shouted. 'Defiler! Release my hus-
 band's likeness. You aren't fit to wash the clothes he
 wore. I'll not have you dishonor his memory with
 sorceries.'
      Cinndel's features unraveled, exposing the face of
  Faisix. Anger clothed its delicate, narrow bone structure,

within her could no longer be restrained. 'Beside you, the
abominations of the ruervine are the picture of innocence.
Your presence itself is an atrocity. I would sooner wel-
come the foulest demon of Hell than suffer the sight of
you.'
    Elienne twisted in Ielond's grasp, violently presenting
her back to the subject of her insults. She buried her face
in the Sorcerer's cloak, and he, gathering her weeping
body close, faced his adversary over her heaving
shoulders.
    'It would seem your offer has been refused,' he said
quietly. 'Go from this place.'
    Faisix gathered the reins of his mailed fist. For a
prolonged moment he sat and glared, the image of fury.
At last he pointed to Elienne. 'She,' he said coldly, 'will
regret her words through the Eye of Eternity before I am
through,' and like powder blown before wind, both he
and his mount dissolved, leaving the ice plain empty in
the deepening shadow of night.
    Ielond placed his hands on Elienne and gently pried her
away from his chest.
    With his eyes caught on her tear-streaked face, he said,
'What in the Name of the Most Holy is a rnervine?'
    Elienne stared back, blank with shock. Then her thin
face transformed and a broken laugh escaped her throat.
'It's a relative of the weasel.' She caught her breath. 'And
more properly phrased as a creature of Hell. The domi-
nant offspring of each litter consumes its siblings at
maturity. If the surviving kitten is male, it will also couple
with its own mother before leaving the nest. Have you no

and the golden eyes held murder.                     ruervine in Pendaire?'
    'Woman, still your ripefish tongue,' he said, whetting 'We have Faisix and a very corrupt Grand Council,'
his consonantswith menace.                        said lelond. 'That is share enough of the Devil's
   But E!ienne had passed beyond caution, and the pai~ handiwork.'
                                   22                                                                      23

~ closed her eyes and shuddered. 'What are we
          going to do about them?' Her voice still sounded strained,
          but there was a fresh spot of color in her cheeks, and the
          set to her lips proved she had spirit still in reserve.
           'Ma'Diere's Saints!' The light about lelond's shoulder
       lit his sudden smile. 'We are going to change history, my
       Lady, and send Faisix to his Damnation. But it cannot be
       done from here.'
           'Then Faisix was wrong. You'll not be dead on Sum-
       mer's Eve,' said Elienne quickly.
           The Sorcerer's smile faded at once. 'Summer's Eve in
       Pendaire is the locus of my true death.' His tone was
       suddenly clean of inflection. 'Every action has its conse-
       quence, Mistress. That is one I cannot change if my Prince
       is to survive to claim his heirship.'
           Elienne shook her head vehemently. 'But if you died in
       Pendaire, how can you be alive in this place? Your words
       are like riddles, impossible to understand.'
           lelond placed an arm around Elienne's shoulders.
       'Walk with me, and I'll explain.'

        2
Icebridge by Sorcery

Ielond took a long stride forward. Imprisoned by his
physical hold, Elienne had little choice but to follow. The
Sorcerer had promised her understanding of facts that
appeared to conflict without compromise. Worn thin by
the weariness that dragged at her body and mind, Elienne
resolved that such explanation had better satisfy her
beyond all doubt. Life and Death by Ma'Diere's Law
were profound and final opposites. If in Pendaire the law
of mortality was so fluid as to be reversible, she knew she
could never endure such a place. Why seal herself in
marriage to a stranger if Cinndel could be restored to life
by a Sorcerer's touch?
    Ielond interrupted Elienne's thought. 'I must begin
with the Prince. His fate brought us both to this place.
When he was still a child, his royal parents died in a fire,
and, following custom, the Grand Council of Pendaire
appointed a Regent and a Guardian. The offices are
separately held by law, lest a single man be tempted by
his power as Regent to lessen his responsibility as
Guardian.
    'Faisix took the Regency of Pendaire. I was given
charge of Prince Darion and his elder sister, Avelaine.'
    Ielond paused. The coarse crunch of ice crystals crushed
by his boot soles accentuated his silence until Elienne
gave way to curiosity.
    'The Prince has a sister?' she said. 'Then will the girl
not inherit in his stead, since the Council has ruled him
unfit for the succession?'

24                                                          25

    'Avelaine is dead.' Ielond spoke abruptly, his voice
suddenly toughened with grief which had slipped
restraint. 'An accident with a horse took her life at the
age of fifteen.'
    Bitterness touched the Sorcerer's face. 'The Grand
Justice himself ruled her death a mishap. Yet, Eternity
witness, treachery claimed her. Avelaine could ride the
black Damnation itself, had it come shaped as a horse.'
'You had no proof,' said Elienne in sudden sympathy.
'None.' Ielond fell silent again, and this time she did
not interrupt. The wind sighed over the ice, chasing loose
crystals ahead like sand. The scratchy whisper of their
passage set Elienne's teeth on edge. When at last Ielond
resumed, the sound of his voice made her start.
    'The loss of Avelaine alerted me to the possibility
Prince Darion might likewise be threatened. He was then
twelve years old. Every protective ward in the spectrum
of White Sorcery did I cast about his person. Ofttimes the
boy complained the lights of my enchantments kept him
from sleep. Yet I dared not dilute the potency of my
work.
    'For five years the wards remained untampered. Then,
the day of his seventeeth birthday, Darion returned home
stripped of all protection.'
    Ielond stopped in his tracks. His pale eyes seemed to
stare through E!ienne, and though darkness obscured his
face, his words were forced as steel forged over a flame of
anguish.
    'The Prince's clothes were streaked with blood. He said
he had gone hunting with his cousin Jieles, and that they
had made a fine kill. But he could remember nothing of
the beast he chased, and his knife was clean in its sheath.
His very aura rang with the reverberation of Black magic.
When light was brought by my apprentice, my worst fear

26

 was confirmed. The bloodstains formed recognizable sym-
 bols, evil ones, and I knew if I probed their origin, I
 would find them to be the heartblood of a maid.'
     Ielond's hand tightened painfully on E!ienne's shoul-
 der, yet she did not shrink from his touch. 'Then Black
 Sorcery made your Prince sterile?'
     'Just so,' said Ielond, 'There was only one in all of
 Pendaire with both power and motive for such an act.
 Faisix of Torkal. It was he who possessed the horse that
 killed Avelaine. And now, if he has his way, the Grand
 Council of Pendaire will murder the Prince lawfully
 without his needing to soil his hands a second time. Jieles
 will assume the crown in Darion's stead, and as ready a
 pawn for Faisix's hand was never conceived in human
 form.'
 'Could you not lift the curse, Gifted?' asked Elienne.
 Ielond's hand fell from her shoulder, and he resumed
 walking. 'I could. But to do so I would have to transgress
 Ma'Diere's Law. Only through Black Sorcery may the
 Prince's affliction be reversed. The counterspell would
 require the death of another virgin.'
    'You would be twice Damned,' said Elienne softly, and
expected silence to follow her comment. But Ielond's
response was explosively swift.
    'I'd suffer Damnation gladly, Mistress, if I could spare
Darion! But my Prince forbade me permission to work
the darklore. He would not have me take a maiden's life
to save his own, Eternity take his courage.'
    Impulsively Elienne reached for the Sorcerer's hand.
His grasp was light, almost hesitant. Plainly, he held
himself responsible for the fates of both of his wards.
Elienne suddenly understood his lack of sympathy for her
own grief at the loss of a husband, motivated as he was by
the anguish generated by such inner guilt.

27

    'Then you think Cinndel's child can be passed for
Darion's own,' said Elienne at last, hoping to draw lelond
from his brooding.
    The Sorcerer's hand tightened on hers. 'Yes. But it's
hardly so simply arranged. First, since I am Darion's
Guardian, it is my charge to present the Council Major
with a candidate for betrothal. They, in turn, will establish
the fact she is not pregnant, and virgin, by sorcery.
Following their endorsement, by written law the Prince
has until the end of his twenty-fifth year to get her with
child. Royal marriages by tradition follow conception.'
    Elienne stopped cold. Her fingers went lifeless in Iel-
ond's hand. 'I can't help your Prince. I wouldn't pass a
blind midwife's examination for virginity. And you told
me I carry Cinndel's child.'
    lelond was at once clinically brisk. 'Virginity can be re-
created with a simple healer's spell. As for your preg-
nancy, I have spent years at a stretch studying the process
of conception. I have learned things about the body of a
woman only Ma'Diere would remember from Her Cre-
ation. Mistress, it will be another two days before any
Sorcerer in Pendaire could detect Cinndel's child, and
that is all the time you will have to establish paternity.'
    Elienne found herself trembling in the grip of fresh
anger. The idea of false virginity was abhorrent, and
thought of strangers, Sorcerers, scrutinizing her body
made her flesh crawl. Was there no end to the indignities
she might have to perform over Cinndel's grave?
    Ielond grasped her shoulder and lightly shook it. 'Have
a care, Mistress. Another outburst from you will bring
Faisix back. I doubt we could stand against him a second
time.'
    Elienne opened her mouth to utter a heated protest,
but lelond cut her off with rebuke.

28

'Should my Prince die for your dignity, Mistress?'
Elienne's temper dissolved into tears. She had no spirit
left for resistance. Ielond drew her close in his arms, and
emotional exhaustion overtook her at last, like a wave
dashed ragged against rock. Stroking her smooth hair
with his fingers, Ielond said in her ear, 'Lady, I have been
seeking you through Time and Space, for thousands of
years. Know that I cherish you as I would a daughter, and
strive for understanding. My actions are those of a father
whose only son is threatened, for I love Darion as a son.'
    Elienne's head spun. How could any man, Sorcerer or
otherwise, live for thousands of years? Her mind was too
numb to grapple with impossible concepts.  'I'm tired,' she said simply.
    'Rest, then.' Ielond traced a symbol over her forehead
with his thumb. Sleep rose in a dark tide, drowning the
well of Elienne's thoughts. She sagged against the Sorcer-
er's shoulder and, hoisting her like a child, he took her up
into his arms and began to walk.

Eiienne dreamed. She knew a place of moonlight and
rocks. The sky was starless, black as Eternity, and against
its featureless, velvet expanse a crescent moon gleamed
like Ma'Diere's Scythe, the one She carries in Her Left
Hand to gather in the Dead.
    Elienne stood alone in that dream place and silently
waited. Her body gradually assumed the fixed patience of
the stone under her feet, and her mind became balanced
on the needle-fine instant that comprises the present. All
thought was fenced by an implacable cage of discipline
and, moment to moment, she was able to contemplate
only what was.
    The moon traced a low arc above the horizon, dragging
dawn after its lower limb. The sun rose, hot and white as

29

 the Seed of Life Ma'Diere holds in Her Right Hand, and
 still Elienne waited.
    Her body seemed to melt and flow, conjoining with the
barren gray rock. Muscles, sinews, and joints became as
rigid as statuary, enduring as the stone itself. Unburdened
of its transient, mobile casing of flesh, Elienne felt her
mind free itself and expand. She beheld the plain where
she stood as part of a round, spinning planet. The sun
swelled into sphericality, and Elienne's perception broad-
ened further, until it embraced the stars in their multi-
tudes and encompassed the Pivot of the Universe.
    E!ienne felt herself merge and become one with the
vast ebb and flow, Ma'Diere's Right and Left sides that
balance Life with Death. Still she waited, until her
concentrated thought honed itself into a weapon and
finally shattered the taut pinpoint of the present. Con-
sciousness broke through. Time became visible, a shining
white ribbon that streamed before her across the void,
until perception became dimmed by incomprehensible
distance.
    The stonelike rigidity released Elienne's flesh. Com-
pelled by impatience, she stepped onto the path of Time
and began to follow its track. Her mind restlessly over-
took the plodding of her feet and roved ahead, gathering
speed until space, stars, and universal reality whirled past
as a featureless blur. Time spun onward, sweeping
Eiienne's awareness with it like thread cast haplessly from
a spool. Aware its nether end passed straight through the
Eye of Eternity, beyond which lay the heart of Ma'Diere's
mystery where no mortal may enter, E!ienne tried to
brake, to slow the rush of thought. But the effort only
served to reunite her sluggish flesh with her mind.
    Flung beyond control, Elienne glanced back, frantically
searching for sanctuary. But instead of a haven, she found

30

 a wide, light sky peppered black with shapes. Heil's
 Demons were extended in full pursuit. Beneath the strain-
 ing pinions of their wings, claws and fangs gleamed like
 steel polished in anticipation of blood and killing.
     Elienne yelled in stark fear and stumbled. Faisix and
 his snake-scaled horse led the HeWs Horde, and the
 creature's forked red tongue tasted her presence. It
 quickened pace.
     E!ienne screamed again. Terror froze her thoughts. She
 forced herself to run. Time unreeled futureward under
 her, but its course was no longer straight.
     Cut, spliced, and fewoven repeatedly, the Timepath's
 clean line had been altered to the point where the eye
 could scarcely follow its spiraling tangle of convolutions.
     Elienne had no chance to wonder whose hand had
 meddled with the thread of natural progression. Her
 pursuers drove her forward without mercy. She fled over
 the first splice in the Time-track, her only thoughts of
 escape.
    The universe splashed into fragments. Darkness
reigned between one step and the next. Reality re-formed
as Elienne's foot came down, but its shape was unrecog-
nizable, utterly changed. Hardly had her senses encoun-
tered an impression when a second junction came upon
her. Another void opened underfoot, replaced by yet
another sequence of existence. But the alien reality of
that Time-borne place held no comfort to human percep-
tion, and it was shortly spliced away in favor of still
another.
    Elienne glanced behind, saw Faisix and the Horde had
fallen back. More junctions passed beneath her step.
Time-track interwove with Time-track in blinding pro-
gression, until each successive reality fell into the next
like a toppling row of dominoes whose faces defied

31

counting. Then, without warning, Time's line straightenec
out.
    Elienne knew a world, a land with customs separate
from any she had ever known, and in that place a woman.
Almost it could have been herself, so fresh in the strang.
er's mind was grief for a lost husband and mined home.
E!ienne felt herself sift through the woman's existence
body, mind, and emotions, striving to match characte;
and circumstance with a pattern she found embedded like
a signpost along the path she traveled. The woman faile~
to fit, and Time bucked underfoot, spliced into chang~
with unarguable purpose.
    A second woman waited on the other side, and beyone
her, women by the thousands in tireless succession. Eact
had suffered the recent loss of home and lover, and ear
carried a newly conceived child. Elienne entered the live.
of all of them, mercilessly driven by the meddler who hag
carved Time to fit his purpose and left his pattern at eve~
turn.
     'Release me!' she wanted to scream, yet she knew sucl
 outcry would be futile. Faisix and the Hell's Horde wet.
 still behind, and she could stop only when a woman wa
 found whose character and circumstance meshed with he
 predecessor's requirements.
     She traversed mind after mind. Her nerves becam
 frayed by others' pain until humanity '!tself wearied her
 and the lives she experienced became numerous and pett~
 as the movements of insects. Yet pursuit denied her;
 second's rest.
     Elienne felt her feet become heavy; every mort~
 instinct balked at the distance she had wandered from he
 proper Time. She glanced often over her shoulder, eacl
 time horrified to discover that Faisix and his Hell's Hord
 had gained.

32

    Dulled like water-polished stone by fatigue, she
dragged herself over another seam in the Time-track. The
woman on the other side had met despair with mulish
defiance. Elienne invaded her consciousness with fiat
distaste, stunned by startling discovery; the master pattern
that had so long gone unsatisfied at last had found its
match. A closer look at the woman who had met the
Timesplicer's qualifications shocked her anew. She faced
her own self.
    Elienne felt herself hurled headlong into a scene similar
to one she had lived only hours earlier in the darkness of
Trathmere's dungeons, but in her dream she was present
also as observer. Dirty, tear-streaked, and possessed by
grief and wild anger, her former self stood braced against
the prison's barred door. At her feet knelt a Sorcerer
magnificently clad in blue. He had cut through the stuff
of Time with what she now saw revealed to be a focused
projection of his living soul. It shone like a winter star,
hard, brilliant, and blue-white. He took the severed
strand of Time into his hands, and in growing horror the
dreaming Elienne became aware he intended to make a
loop; join it back into itself at an earlier point in its own
past.
    'No!' she cried, momentarily set adrift by revelation;
the path just followed had been a Sorcerer's condensed
perception of five thousand years' search for a Prince's
bride. 'You must not!' Newly wise to the laws of Time,
she was aware crossing a Time-track back into itself would
cause death to its wielder.
    The Sorcerer, recognizable as Ielond, glanced up, his
face pale with weariness. Yet beneath lay a will too strong
for mortal interference.
    'I must,' he said simply. 'By the time I had unraveled
the mysteries of Time and learned to alter its sequence,

33

Darion had already stood before the Grand Council and
been condemned. If he is to be saved, the past must be
changed.'
    Elienne shook her head, blinded by swelling tears. Her
throat squeezed shut, trapping her protest unspoken, and
the soul brilliance that drifted over Ielond's hands dis-
torted into starred slivers as her eyelids spilled their salty
burden down her cheeks.
    Ielond rose from the cell floor. The lining of his cloak
echoed the red of Cinndel's wounds as he stood before
her, immovable as chiseled stone. 'E!ienne, you mustn'!
weep,' he said gently. 'It is the Prince's life or mine, I
make the choice with peace in my heart.'
    The words were spoken aloud, and their sound woke
Elienne from sleep. Disgruntled and shaken, it was ~
moment before she realized that she had passed the nighl
in Ielond's arms. Over his shoulder, an orange sun toppet
the mountains at the edge of the icefield's bleak expanse.
     Elienne felt rested. Yet the dream's impact remaine~
 irrevocably inscribed into waking memory. All she ha<
 been forced to witness through the night was sharp a~
 direct experience, and the tears on her face were real
 Elienne stared up at the sliver of light that drifted alway
 in Ielond's presence. No Guild Sorcerer from her ow~
 !and could have disciplined self-will to a focus so precis~
 that soul became manifest, a visible pinpoint of force.
     Conscious of the Sorcerer's gaze upon her, Elienn,
 spoke, embarrassed to find her voice shaky with the effe›
 of her tears. 'I understand, I think. You splice Time. Tha
 is what gives you power over Destiny.'
     Ielond shifted his grip and gently lowered Elienne t~
 the ground. 'I can influence all destiny but my own,' h~
 said carefully. 'It makes little difference. I have built m!
 lifework around Darion's future. If he dies, my effor!

have been wasted. Since I will not be alive to see them
through to completion, I rely on the resources of the
woman I send to Penclaire as his bride. Lady, if you fail,
there can be no other after you. Are you prepared to
devote your life to a man who is a stranger?'
    Elienne stared at her feet, reminded by the unfamiliar
jeweled slippers which covered them that Ielond's words
carried the weight of finality. A long minute passed before
she answered.
    q go only to preserve a life that is dear to you, for you
saved my life, and the life of Cinndel's child.' She met the
Sorcerer's intent gaze. 'I'll give you my best effort, and
my son for the royal heir. But I cannot promise I will love
your Prince. Husband he may be, but only in name. My
heart is not available for bargain.'
  'So be it,' said Ielond. 'I can ask no more.'
    The Sorcerer's attitude turned brisk. He unpinned the
neck of his cloak and drew forth a heavy gold chain. A
filigree pendant dangled from its end, set with a glassy,
transparent gem that shone like dew on silver in the dawn
light.
    Ielond cupped the ornament in his hand. 'This is a
mirrowstone. It will react to any living substance that
comes into contact with its surface. This one has been set
over a strand of Prince Darion's hair. You will see his
current location reflected within, provided no other influ-
ence is touching the stone.'
    He extended the gem to Elienne. 'Take care when you
look. Handle it only by its setting, otherwise you will see
nothing but yourself.'
    Eiienne accepted the jewel gingerly, the gold a hard,
warm weight against her palm. With an eerie sense of
foreboding, she gazed within. The mirrowstone's reflec-
tion jolted her like a physical blow.

34                                                         35

    Elienne gasped, 'Ma'Diere's mercy!' It took an extreme
effort of will not to fling the object away into the snow.
Framed by the ornate grace of the setting, she saw a slim,
chestnut-haired man; he wore black, unrelieved by device
or embroidery. Manacles adorned his wrists. Whatever
emotion lay beneath the pale mask of his face was
shuttered behind forced control. Hazel and wide-set, the
eyes were haunted. And beyond the stiff line of his
shoulder stood a hooded executioner with an ax.
  'Do something!' cried Elienne. 'They'll kill him.'
    'That is for you to determine.' Ielond was remorselessly
curt. 'Now listen, because time is precious. That stone has
been interfaced by enchantment. In the locus of Penclaire,
it will also act as a means of communication; you have
only to touch the stone and speak, and Darion will hear
you. Do you understand?'
  Elienne nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
    With steady hands the Sorcerer pulled the chain from
E!ienne's fingers and slipped it around her neck. He the~
summoned his light and carefully joined the end links
until no seam remained. When his work was complete,
the mirrowstone could be removed only with a file.
     'I am going to splice us into my personal study i~
 Pendaire.' Ielond ran his hand over the chain one last
 time before letting it fall. 'The time will be Summer'~
 Eve. You will find on my desk a sealed writ presenting
 you to the Grand Council as candidate for the Prince'f
 betrothed. My tower is situated in the west wing of the
 palace. You should have little trouble getting the wril
 from there to the chamber where the Grand Council will
 convene by noon the following day.'
     Ielond placed his hand on the small of Ellenhe's back
 and gently pressed her forward. 'I will further alter you~
 own Timepath to converge with Pendaire but an hou~

36

past the moment your son was conceived. This will give
you a full three days for the Council to affirm your
candidacy. You must bed the Prince at all costs before the
close of the week.'
    Ellenhe's expression went wooden. The Sorcerer
appeared not to notice. He strode at her side and drew
breath to resume his list of instructions.
    Elienne interrupted. 'And you will die,' she said bit-
terly, and followed with a curse.
    Ielond loosed an explosive sigh. 'Mistress, it's inevi-
table. My life has already passed through Summer's Eve
on Pendaire. My reemergence there will create an imposs-
ible differential between past and present. The same
reality cannot exist twice in a single location.'
    The Sorcerer's brisk manner plainly indicated he wished
no more said on the subiect. Elienne walked on in
mutinous silence as, slowly, the sun's rising disc stained
the horizon yellow-gold. Disturbed more than she cared
to admit that Ielond would not survive the transfer to
Pendaire, she realized he had won more than cooperation
during her short time in his presence. Elienne worried.
Denied the stability of his presence, her wayward, out-
spoken manner would make it difficult to mind her
promises concerning Darion. Cinndel had been enter-
tained by her quick tongue; another man might learn to
hate it.
    Ielond stopped so abruptly Elienne almost bumped into
him. Shaken from thought, she looked up and saw they
had reached what appeared to be the uttermost edge of
the world. The icefield ended almost underfoot. As
though chopped by a giant's cleaver, the plain dropped
off sheer into a glassy, crystalline precipice. The base lay
thousands of feet down beneath an ocean of dawn-tinted
sky.

37

    Ielond gave E!ienne no time to recover her breath.
'This is the point of our departure, Mistress. Time-
wielding requires much space. Since we will be leaving a
wide change ripple behind us, it is important the site be
uninhabited.'
    Elienne said nothing. She knew if she framed her
thoughts into words, the useless, angry emotions dammed
within her mind would prevail. Ielond took a braced
stance. He extended his right arm with his light cupped
beneath his palm and uttered four words.
    Wind sprang up. It swept in from behind, a demon's
howl of cold that clutched Elienne's skirts wildly against
her ankles and whipped her hair like a horse's mane. The
gale mounted, ice crystals driven like a scourge before its
fury. Yet Ielond effortlessly bridled the forces of his
summoning and funneled the result through the pinpoint
focus held balanced between finger and thumb.
    The wind keened through the vortex. Faintly over the
rush of noise, E!ienne heard Ielond speak again. The pull
of those three words tugged her soul, made her yearn to
escape the confines of flesh and merge with the nexus of
power that converged beneath the Sorcerer's hand.
    Ielond raised his voice a third time, and two more
words built like a pyramid upon those which had pre-
ceded. Eiienne experienced a physical wrench, compelled
to grasp Ielond's wrist to maintain her footing.
    The light waxed brighter and blazed. Through burning
eyes, Elienne saw the ice begin to alter. Fine crystals blew
loose and streamed, separate as table salt, over the abyss.
Tossed into empty air, the particles spread like a cloud
and visibly swelled; from specks, they expanded rapidly
to the size of rocks, then touched and intermeshed to
form a solid, crystalline bridge whose hard facets shat-
tered sunlight into colors. The sight was one of indescrib.
able beauty. Yet even as Elienne paused to admire,

38

 Ielond capped the pyramid of his incantation with one
 final word. The light shot like a meteor from his hand,
 trailing a tail of fire over the gleaming arch of ice.
     'Come.' Ielond took Elienne firmly by the arm and
 drew her onto the narrow span of the icebridge. The path
 was precarious, barely wide enough for the two of them
 to pass single file. Elienne felt as though the breadth of
 the sky had expanded, engulfing them like specks poised
 on a thread above the Eye of Eternity. The icefield fell
 behind. Ahead, the slender walkway led upward and
 disappeared through the blazing heart of Ielond's light.
     'You may confide in my apprentice, Kennaird.' The
 Sorcerer's words fell as a whisper in that wide space. 'He
 will attend to the details after my death. Taroith, also, is
 trustworthy. He heads the Sorcerer's League and also
 holds a seat in the Grand Council. Heed his advice, and
 look to him for guidance.'
    Ielond towed Elienne onward, oblivious to her growing
alarm. The orange sun hung off to the right as though
suspended, and awash in torrid light, the icefield glim-
mered behind like the Plains of Hell. Following Ielond's
footsteps, Elienne saw the steady brilliance of his focus
begin to shine through the solidarity of his person. At the
next step, his cloak glittered like frost-shot glass and
sparkled into transparency. Elienne felt the cold tingle of
enchantment pierce her innermost flesh. She wanted to
stop, but the Sorcerer pulled her relentlessly forward.
    'We have entered the threshold of the Timesplice.'
Ielond's voice seemed diffracted, and both hands and feet
disappeared after his cloak. 'Ma'Diere's fortune go with
you, Lady Elienne. You are Darion's last hope in life.
Abandon him, and his death is certain.'
    The Sorcerer moved directly through the dazzle of light
that burned, hot as a star, at the end of the icebridge. The

39

solidity of his body unraveled into a blaze of blue-white                                3
sparks and vanished. Elienne felt herself gripped and
hurled after him into oblivion. The light snapped out with                   The Council Major
the speed of a lightning flash, and sky and icebridge fell
away into darkness.
Elienne could neither hear nor see. Her throat would
not answer her desire to scream, and her very soul was Elienne wakened rudely to the stinging, bitter taste of a
plunged into cold darkness, fathomless as Eternity.         strange liquid; fumes scoured her nostrils and made them
                                                            burn. She choked, supported by strange hands. Through
                                                            watering eyes she caught the blurred impression of an
                                                            anxious face lit by a candle. All else was darkness.
                                                            'My Lady?' said a voice. 'Can you hear me?'
                                                            Elienne nodded, unable to speak. Whatever she had
                                                            been made to swallow bound her throat in knots. The
                                                            cold lip of a flask brushed against her mouth. Fearing a
                                                            second draught would be forced upon her, Elienne turned
                                                            her head violently to one side.
                                                            'No more,' she managed to croak, and coughed wrack-
                                                            ingly so that her objection could not be ignored.
                                                            Rewarded, after an interval, by the thin clink of glassware
                                                            being set aside, Elienne blinked away the tears that
                                                            dammed her eyes.
                                                            She lay on a thick-piled carpet magnificently patterned
                                                            with birds of paradise. Her shoulder was propped against
                                                            the knobby, carved foot of a dragon whose middle region
                                                            supported the seat of a chair; and, in the trembling light
                                                            of a hand-held candle, a sandy-haired man bent over her,
                                                            thin face drawn with concern.
                                                            'Ma'Diere be praised,' he said in a rush. His blue eyes
                                                            protruded slightly, lending a faintly surprised expression,
                                                            but his mouth was kindly and generously proportioned. 'I
                                                            was afraid we had lost you too.'
                                                            E!ienne struggled to sit. 'Ielond,' she said, and stopped.

41

Her eyes had begun to adjust to the dim room. Over the 'Damn you,' Elienne responded, shaping her conson-
young man's shoulder she saw a figure in blue velvet robe,ants with extreme effort. Her tongue had grown as
sprawled awkwardly across the top of a paper-littere~luggish as her eyelids. 'Damn yooouuu...'
desk. Horror and loss wrenched a gasp from her lips. Her eyes closed. For a long moment Kennaird stood
'No!'                                                                  and regarded the small, almost delicately proportioned
   'He is beyond help.' The young man swallowed. 'Dead.woman intended as Prince Darion's bride. Ielond had said
   Elienne bit her lip and restrained an obscenity. She w~he would seek a lady of spirit. The apprentice blasphemed
less successful with the urge to weep that followed.                   with uncharacteristic fervor. 'Ma'Diere's everlasting
The man gave Elienne's hand a self-conscious squeezemercy! He's sent us a veritable harridan.'
'I know how you feel.' His own voice betrayed grief
'Master Ielond has instructed me since my fourteentlEiienne woke to warm sunlight. She stirred languidly.
year. I loved him better than my own father.'                          Her clothes had been removed, and whoever had done it
    'Then you must be Kennaird.' Elienne blotted her fa01ad also left her in a marvelously soft bed. She felt rested
on a silken sleeve. 'I was told to trust you.'           and pleasant, but for the pestilent itch that had developed
She disengaged her hand from Kennaird's clasp anin the area of her crotch.
began to rise, but, overcome with dizziness, she made i Elienne shot upright, sending pillows and bedclothes in
only as far as the cushions of the dragon chair. 'Hell't cascade to the floor. More than sleep had invaded her
Damnation, what's the matter with me!' The room bega~ody during the night. She'd have bet every jewel Ielond
to swirl in sickening circles.                                         lad given her that Kennaird had also blessed her with a

    Kennaird confessed with embarrassed haste, 'It's th:onvincing reconstruction of her maidenhead. The
elixir I gave you. It will only bring you sleep.'         bought raised blistering anger.
    Elienne struggled to stand. 'Where is Darion? I wish ~ The apprentice sorcerer chose that moment to poke his
speak with him.'                                  lead through the door. 'Good day, my Lady.'
'You must not. Not before the Grand Council h~ 'You,' Elienne accused scathingly, 'have the manners
sanctioned him as your betrothed.' Kennaird's wor0nd the morals of a billy goat.' She made no move to
sounded as though they were funneled across a wi~over herself.
distance.                                                               Kennaird gaped. The tops of his ears turned scarlet,
   'Eternity take the Grand Council!' E!ienne str,u. ggle~nd he retreated hastily, slamming the door as he went.
                                                       d thick I ha~rhrough the thick, carven anels, his voice
for control. Her tongue seemed swollen an                  '  .                          '               p           '     ' sounded
to see Darion.'                                   trangled. 'Missy, what was done was for Darion's sake.'
 But Kennaird remained stolidly unsympathetic. 'Ielo~ 'He damned well better be worth it.' Elienne flung the
 guessed as much. It was his final will that I keep y~verlet aside in anger. 'I'll not suffer every churl and his
 safely in this tower until tomorrow. A little sleep will dlrother sticking his hands beneath my skirts without
 you no harm, and it might improve your temper.'     ~ranting the courtesy of asking first.'
                                    42                                             43

 'Missy, please.'                               Consort whom Ielond has entered, and suspicion is
 'You're not forgiven,' raged Elienne. 'Let me be.' already high because he waited so very late. Your case
 The door opened. Kennaird stood braced as thougmust be presented at the earliest possible moment.'
expecting a blow. But Elienne merely slipped out of b0, Eiienne offered no response. Instead she gazed about
and stood, wrapped in the chaste folds of a sheet likethe study with unconcealed interest. Absent were the
barefoot queen.                                  flasks, braziers, and phials that would have cluttered the
    'My Lady,' the apprentice said coldly, 'kindly dress Zlwelling of a Guild Sorcerer from her own land. Though
once. It is already half-past eleven, and you must appeaIeiond's walls were tiered floor to ceiling with the usual
before the Council within the hour. Ielond recommenirows of dusty leather books, she found no implement of a
you to them as a Prince's brideú Act like one, whetherLoremaster's practice anywhere in the room.
pleases you or not, or another will pay with his life.'              'Ielond's soreeries were crafted entirely of mind and
  'Goat,' said Elienne.                                              will,' said Kennaird. 'His art was discipline; his power,
   Kennaird departed. But he paused on the far side ~elf~awareness. He had no need of gimmicks.'
the door to loose a snort of laughter into his sleeve. Ov~ Elienne stared. 'Was it he who taught you to read
his work the past night, he had envied Prince Darion t~houghts?,
mate Ielond had delivered, but no more. That missy tt Kennaird shook his head. 'I was guessing. My training
Prince could have all to himself, and his Grace would ~has not progressed so far.' He tapped a sheaf of papers
lucky if his hair wasn't gray before the turn of the seaso~vith a finger. 'But Ielond left much information on you

                            ,                                        and the place you came from He had established knowl-
Kennaird sat at Ielond s desk sorting through papers wh~_., ......                         ú .       , . ' ........
                                                                      ú        cugc t.}! yOUr existence oeIore ne oroKe the oarner o!
E!ienne emerged from the bedroom Alerted by trle sou~.                          . ,
                                              ú                     I .lime an(] left Pendaire He had only to locate you and
of the door latch, he looked up and studied her with igl                      ,                    '
    ..... return
    os~t Ielond had fashioned dress and ~ewelrv with tt ,                    '
CUrl    y.                                          ,       ~                                ú           ú ,
                                              .... Why are you telling me this9
finesse of a master. Golden slik and tourmanncs comp,                                                      '
                                                                        'I wish you to know just how much faith Ielond placed
mented Elienne to the point where it was impossible
 imagine her dicey temperament, far less her waspiin you.' Kennaird rose hastily from his chair, heated for
tongue.                                                               argument.
     'I am glad you're not one to fuss overlong with dref Elienne interrupted. 'I think I already know.' Her
 ing,' said Kennaird. 'Ielond's death has put an airea~nnøYance showed. 'Ielond gave his life, and I my word,
 delicate situation squarely on top of a nest of chaos. Tfør the sake of Prince Darion's succession. I realize I am
 Council will be in knots arguing over Darion's successi0~ sorry substitute for your Master's living presence, but
 because but seven days remain before his twenty-six~lat was his choice. Honor his memory by respecting it.'
 birthday and he has not fathered even a bastard chi~lienne paused to rein in another stampede of tears. She
 You are the first and only candidate for the Princ~as through crying over what could not be changed.

                                   44                                                                  45

'Don't take your Master's death out on me,' she finishewondered briefly whether she would be as free to indulge
shakily. 'And quit trying to shepherd my conscience.' in hawking and riding as wife of a King.
Kennaird looked down at the papers beneath his han~ Kennaird led her through an arched portal at ground
as though they held an answer for his uncertainty. T~ievei. The view beyond stopped Elienne in her tracks.
brown jerkin he had worn the night before had bee The tower opened into an immense garden completely
replaced with a heavy black robe bordered at the curenclosed within a courtyard. Blue, orange, and yellow
with a triple band of blue. The deep colors contrast›flowers bloomed in a magnificent array, framing founo
harshly with his light hair and complexion, and morni~tains, lawns, and hedgerows with breath-stopping artistry.
light only accentuated the fatigue that ringed his eyes. FIA.b.ove, washed in golden summer sunlight, and brilliant
a moment, Elienne regretted her outburst. Ielond had nlwltl~ pennants, rose the spires and battlement of the royal
left his apprentice an easy legacy. But before she coulPalace.
offer apology, Kennaird rose and collected a docume~ 'How beautiful,' exclaimed Elienne softly, but that
crusted with seals.                                                  ~oment she caught sight of a flaw amid the garden's
'My Lady, the time has come to present you before tlberfection. A dirty, dark-haired child sat huddled beneath
Grand Council of Pendaire.' With evident annoyance, ~n evergreen beside the path. She glared at the two of
scooped the remaining papers into an untidy pile. Th$hem, a scowl printed on her smudged oval face.
he flung wide the study door and motioned the Lady~ 'Hello,' said Elienne.
Ielond's choosing over the threshold.                                   When Kennaird turned and saw whom she had
Elienne waited on the balcony that overlooked the he~ddressed, he stopped at once and bent imposingly over
of a spiral staircase while Kennaird set a ward to gua$he bush and the child it sheltered. 'What are you doing
the doorway. His focus resolved after an interval ~ere? Does your governess know where you are?'
profound concentration. Compared with Ielond's brillia 'No!' The girl shrank into her thicket of needles, hands
manifestation, the apprentice's effort shone dimly, ~lenched tightly around scuffed knees.
more than a faint bluish gleam over his spread palm.                    Elienne grasped Kennaird's elbow. 'Must you be so
Yet Elienne watched without criticism as he tracedharsh with her?'
pattern over the oaken panels above the knob. None! The girl seemed no older than twelve. Elienne stooped
the Guild's followers could have done as much with $nd offered her hand, but the child backed violently
little. Completed, the ward sparkled to invisibility.    Iway. Branches whipped, dealing Elienne a stinging
Blotting sweat from his brow, Kennaird nodded towa~ebuff, and the girl escaped at a run across the emerald
the stairs. 'I hope you are as sturdy as you are stubbor~Xpanse of lawn on the far side.
It's a long way down.'                                                  'You insolent brat!' Kennaird yelled after her. 'I'll have
  The words were no understatement. By the time thgøu punished.'
reached the bottom, Elienne was grateful she had !edt Elienne frowned. 'Let the poor child be. She was
unfashionably active life for the wife of a Duke. S~bviøusly frightened to death of you.'
                                               47

    Kennaird presented her with a startled glance. 'Thapring and summer lit with the warmth of the Seed of
was Minksa,' he said angrily. 'She's Jieles's bastard anLife. A dais centered this array, upon which sat an
incidentally, one of your enemies. You've a lot of !ear~xquisitely dressed collection of notables.
about this court and its ways before you question m' 'Which is the Prince?' whispered Elienne in Kennaird's
iudgement, Missy. Remember that.'
    Kennaird strode off before Elienne had time to repl} 'Hush.' The apprentice was sweating. Something had
She was obliged to hurry as the apprentice hustled henade him nervous, and, searching that vast chamber for
without sympathy through an exquisitely carved entry an~he reason, Elienne began to take note of the proceedings.
down a maze of hallways. The decor within reflected th An emaciated old man stood on the dais. Heavily
same restrained artistry as the garden. Though Elienn~rnamented red and black robes draped his stooped back,
longed to linger and stare, Kennaird's hasty step pr~nd though his poor health was evident from a distance,
vented her.                                      fis tremulous voice carried clearly the breadth of the
He slowed at last before a wide doorway with bro~'oom.
double panels and a round stag device chased in gol~ '... since his Guardian's death, his Grace has done
The knob was set with gems.                       Iothing but drink himself senseless,' the elderly man said
Kennaird addressed the liveried steward who guardMth succinct clarity. 'Were he a Prince worthy to rule, he
the entrance against intrusion with urgency. 'I bring wi~vould not indulge himself to the point of shameless
me lelond's candidate for the Prince's Consort.' He wayexhibition. It is my opinion this Council wastes time
the sealed document. 'This writ was the Master's last eeking a formal Consort. What can his Grace achieve in
life. Let me and the maid pass. She is the one chosen even days that he hasn't already tried with every scullery
share his Royal Grace's destiny.'                                     Irudge and loose wench he could find to fill his nights?
    The steward raised eyebrows in surprise. 'You bring~ly Lords, your Excellency, I say Prince Darion is unfit
missy endorsed by the Prince's Guardian? Enter, with r~r succession. The sooner that sad fact is faced, the
blessing. They're fighting in there like the two halves ~etter for the well-being of this realm.'
Eternity over His Grace's future, and-'              Elienne wondered how anyone could listen to such a
  'I know. Excuse me.' Kennaird pushed past the stewa~idebound outburst; but like the first warning of storm-
and opened the door, motioning Elienne after him. rind on a still afternoon, murmurs of assent swept the
  Neither the garden nor the exceptional elegance of ttacked galleries. Elienne's temper roused, stripping away
  palace halls prepared her for the sight of the Gra~~e last vestige of restraint. Caution abandoned, she
  Council Chamber of Pendaire. The room was ovfipped past Kennaird and walked boldly onto the floor.
shaped. Loftily domed, a triple row of galleries filled wi~ 'Fools!' she said scornfully. 'Would you listen to that
seated councilmen tiered its entire circumference. Tame old rooster? Fathering children is a pastime for the
floor was tiled with a mosaic depicting Ma'Diere's seoung.' She shot a withering glance at the elder, whose
sons, fall and winter beneath her shining Scythe, aaw quivered with outrage in a face gone red to the top of

48                                                                 49

his bald skull. 'Or had you forgotten that, in the advan~new she confronted Ielond's equal, a Sorcerer she could
state of your senility?'                           ~oth trust and like
    Hard hands gripped Elienne's arm, and a flurry of bla 'Kennaird,' Taroith said immediately. His step, as he
velvet rippled against her skirts. 'Will you shut up?' hisstescended the dais, was that of a man half his years. 'I
Kennaird in her ear. The council chamber had fall~ee you wear mourning for Ielond. You have my sym-
silent, and every eye in the room was upon them. At t~athy' He was the finest Master Pendaire has ever
moment, Elienne noticed who sat in the great chair at ~own.'
top of the dais.                                    Taroith gave Elienne a smile of reasurrance and with
  She had not looked closely at the man when she fi~onest curiosity accepted the writ. 'Welcome, my Lady.'
entered, but now his golden gaze drew all of her attenti.~le looked down and briefly inspected the seals on the
Fear knotted her stomach. Though unfamiliarly frarnlocument' 'Pendaire could benefit under a Queen such as
by a court setting and a collar of burgundy brocade, ~ I ' v
                                   ., u. wish _ou the best of fortune with the Prince.'
fine, light hair, high cheekbones, and sculpture-perf~ The Sorcerer broke the seals with swift efficiency in a
features were indelibly etched in E!ienne'smemory. a~rtain prescribed order. Though bent with age, his
    'Have you business here, woman?' Faisix said softlY.ingers moved like lightning. As the last wafer of wax
so, it had better be exceedingly important. Your abus~arted' a bright blue glyph blazed into view alongside the
contributions are not welcome.' His eyes passed iig~ight of his focus.
over her gown of yellow silk. 'And the clothing you ~ Taroith smiled and addressed the Council. 'That is
is a royal affront. How dare you, without this Councelond,s own ward. It could have been set only by his
approval, dress yourself as Prince's Consort?'       lying hand. Therefore, what it sealed lies beyond our
  Kennaird objected loudly. 'She has Ielond's endoright to question here.'
 ment.' He flourished the writ in his hand, and confus The chamber became still as death. Taroith quickly
 erupted across the council chamber.               canned the written lines and at last raised his eyes from
 'Silence!' The uproar reluctantly subsided as Fathe parchment.
 nodded pointedly at the document. 'Bring that here.' 'Your Excellency,' he said to Faisix. 'My Lords.' He
 Kennaird bowed neatly from the waist. 'Your pardlirected a respectful glance toward the galleries, momen-
 Excellency. I was instructed to give this only into Ma~rily preoccupied; then, with a confident gesture, reached
 Taroith's hands.'                                       ~ut and grasped Ellenhe's hand. 'The writ of Ielond,
 Faisix seemed unperturbed. 'Very well. Taroith?' 3uardian of the Royal ward, Darion of Pendaire, recom-
 A tall, white-haired gentleman rose from a seat on nends to us this maiden, Elienne, as candidate for
 dais. Robes of silver-gray covered a spare body, and ~onsort. Ma'Diere bless her presence. She has solved a
 eyes, brown and kindly, were set in a face moldedlifficult problem.'
 wisdom and compassion. From the first glance, Eiie; A tumultuous wave of talk rose, drowning Taroith's

50                                                    51

last words. Beckoning to E!ienne, the Sorcerer nodde~ Taroith gave Elienne's hand a light squeeze. 'Formali-
toward the dais.                                   ties, only. Don't let them upset you. Ielond's word will
'Go with him,' said Kennaird. 'And good luck, Missy.'stand. It cannot be otherwise. There may be inconveni-
Elienne moved forward, aware the uproar in the coun~ences added to satisfy a few malcontents, but nothing
chamber centered on her. Taroith led her up the st,ep,s ~ovefly serious. Ieiond without a doubt had compelling
the dais. The insulted elder stood at the top, snaKl~reasons for selecting this hour for your presentation.
glaring at their approach Elienne ignored him He was An one who knew him as I d~d will trust h
       o                       ú                      ' " ' w i Y                               '          ' '              is judgement,
known enemy Surrounding her, as yet unaec~area, e and the rest must acknowled h~                                               '
                  ú                                               n t~                                   ge's legal writ
others Elienne studied the faces of the notables o                       Elienne stared at the nchl attern                   '
        ú                                                        'd b                                ' Y p          ed carpet under her
dais before their first startled expressions cou~
                                                                      leer ana wondered how much Taroith knew of Faisix and
replaced by less revealing ones.
    Taroith placed Ielond's writ in Faisix's hands and drethe Prince's curse. Obviously the Sorcerer endorsed her
Elienne forward. 'His Excellency Faisix of Torkal, w~cause' But if the unsettled emotions she had noticed
serves Pendaire as Regent until the Prince's rights ~amon. g the council members had accurately gauged their
                                                  reaction to her presence, she would need more than
succession have been confirmed.'
 Elienne curtsied, since courtesy demanded isupport. She required nothing less than an ally who was
 ~ ú i~guarded against treachery, and of those present Ielond
 Strangely, no trace of recognition appeared on t'a~s
 features. He would not recall the meeting on the icefiehad placed trust in only one.
 until a fortnight hence, Elienne realized. Ielond h~ 'Gifted,' said Elienne to Taroith, turning so Faisix
 spliced her back in time; for Faisix, the encounter had n,wøuld not overhear. 'Gifted, one present wishes the
 Prince to fail his succession. He has powerful followers.'
 yet taken place.
 Faisix's light, chill gaze broke through her thought Not a flicker of expression altered Taroith's counten-
 rapt with the curiosity of a predator whose hungerance, but he drew Elienne away from the crowd of
 temporarily quiescent. At last his glance returned to t~øtables promptly. 'Missy, if Ielond told you who the
 writ.                                                                Prince's enemies were, you had best name them to me

  'lelond's choice,' he mused. 'Your Prince has benOW.'
 made to wait a long time for you, Missy.'             They reached the stairs and started down. Taroith's
     Abruptly the Regent rose and addressed Taroith. 'Crocus lit features that were calm but receptive; and,
 cumstances are hardly normal. The Prince's grace peri}!rawing a deep breath, Elienne plunged ahead. 'Don't
 is nearly over. I will urge the Grand Council to adjo~sk me to explain,' she said in a low voice. 'I know this
 at once, that the ten Select may meet separately over tlnuch first hand, without Ielond to warn me. Your Regent
 matter.' Faisix turned and spoke anxiously to a por~ants Prince Darion dead, Gifted, and my own life to
 individual who stood nearby. Though confusion still Phim is but a grass stalk before the Scythe of Ma'Diere.'
 vailed on the main floor and in the galleries, his w0r Taroith directed a swift glance over his shoulder. Faisix
 brought gradual order to those on the dais.         .ingered yet on the dais, though the Select of the Grand

52                                                                 53

Council had begun to heed his summons and gather in~ else its peasantry was excessively oppressed. The last
a group. Looking back to Elienne, Taroith said, 'Wh? the Select filed in, the elder Elienne had insulted
ever you do, don't mention him directly by name. He~tered among them, supported on Faisix's arm.
Sorcerer enough to follow what concerns him, and ~'We can also assume that old Garend there is no friend,'
ward of secrecy is possible in this place.'            urmured Taroith in Elienne's ear. 'You touched his
    As they reached the level of the mosaic, Taro~de with your slight to his manhood, I'm afraid. He is
ushered Elienne across its echoing expanse toward a srn~e who holds a vicious grudge.'
side door.                                               Confronted close hand by Garend's crumpled cheeks
  'Your accusation is a grave one, Missy.'
Elienne dodged around a message boy who had stopp~~d pinched, miserly features, Elienne found it difficult
in her path to stare. 'Gifted, Ielond left me but two na~ regret her hasty words. The man reminded her of sour
I could trust in all Pendaire. Yours was one of them. ~ilk. Never one to bury dislike under innocuous cour-
said I was to look to you for guidance.'                 sies, Elienne accepted the chair Taroith offered without
Taroith regarded Elienne long and steadily as ~mment. The Select of Pendaire's Grand Council would
walked. 'Ielond gave his life to bring you here, didn't hO doubt provoke response from her soon enough; she
Elienne nodded, avoiding speech. The Guardia~d simply to wait and to watch.
death was too recent for her to contemplate with~ Faisix opened by having Ielond's writ read aloud by a
emotional interference.                                  ribe. The document was lengthy, detailed, and formally
'Well then.' The Sorcerer reached the door, pushed~rased, yet the Select listened without interruption until
open, and briskly drew Elienne after. 'We mustn't f~was complete. The silence held as the scribe returned
him in his final wish. You have my protection, Lady. ~e writ to Faisix and departed, leaving the liveried door
will soon see who would rather           Darion   fails [~ward the only other nonofficial in the room beside
inheritance.'                                           lienne.
'Jieles, also,' Elienne added.                          'It appears Ielond has left us an eminently qualified
Taroith made a noise in his throat. 'That one I alrealndidate,, said Faisix to the assembly. 'All that remains
know to be grasping and selfish.'
With a wave of his hand, the Sorcerer set his f(x' satisfy the procedure of the law is this Council's
  ............ on                                 Th'n n~nature of endorsement.'
artout tlae task oI ~gmung me wan sc ces. ~                                        .
flames lit a white-walled room trimmed with gilt molditA subtle and clever opening: Faisix had used simplicity
and furnished with a long table and chairs. The last w~ a gambit in a trap to be sprung by the Prince's own
had barely caught fire when the door opened wide~PPørters, Elienne realized immediately. Her suspicion
admit the Grand Council's Select. They were all ptis swiftly confirmed.
middle age, and as brilliantly dressed as a flock of rt'There are but seven days left for Prince Darion to
 birds.                                          ~nceive an heir,' said one of the Select. 'Ielond's timing
   Pendaire must be a rich kingdom, Elienne concludis given him poor odds of fulfilling the terms of the Law.

54                                                    55

I~owed a twelve-month extension,
       he be condemned without fair chance.'
           The debate was opened. Faisix sat back in his chai:
       ambiguously silent, as another voice contested. Hist0~
       held record of six royal executions. Not one of Darion
       predecessors had been granted additional time.
           The original defendant was quick to point out
       those six unfortunates had been paired with a leg:
       Consort for years. But Garend struck down that argumet

with a specific.
    'What difference, my Lords?' he said in his raspir nant without her examiner's knowledge. And I remind
tenor. 'King Mistrael II had no legal Consort at all. [ you all it is Darion's ability to father offspring which must
was granted his rights of succession on the evidence satisfy the Law, not the past history of his Consort.'
four illegitimate children. This Prince of ours has lain ~i 'But suppose Ielond was capable of creating pregnancy
enough women to demonstrate the potency of his fav0~øa~h~l'ilieg"i' ~Y'~'qx-~e~; ' ~               '
                                                                                      ~,~a~as~ p~m~maq. '~qlb:. pu~s',:-
He has sired no bastards. The Grand Jury would have bility must be considered.'
choice but to rule out his case.'                          Surprisingly, Faisix himself ended the controversy. His
Murmurs of assent underlined Garend's statement, ~lips slid easily into the thin, brittle smile Elienne recalled
argument prevailed. Words grew heated, and delicatefrø.m. the icefield. 'My Lords,' he admonished. 'Are we so
without Faisix's prompting, the Select swung their qu,easdy made victims of hysteria? Pregnancy cannot be
tioning from Darion to Ielond's own motives for reveal/fabricated without employing the Black arts. If such is the
case, it will be quite obvious even to the green eye of an
an unknown candidate at the bitter end of the Prin›            .. ,
apprennce
trial period. Garend's contributions figured heavily } The R '
                                                       ú         egent paused, allowing his words to take effect.
was the first attack to be targeted at E!ienne, and e~His gaze touched each man present for a brief second
through dignified phrases his malice was apparent. before he resumed. 'I will allow a conspiracy might be
The accusations prompted Taroith, who had remai_npresent to falsely establish Darion's rights of succession.
silent, to speak out at last. 'Gatend,' he said with fiTherefore, as a deterrent to injustice, I move another
finality. 'The Lady's candidacy is not yours to questionSorcerer be present during our candidate's examination.
'I must,' Gatend responded. 'For the sake of PendaiThe task would normally be Taroith's alone, as Master of
Though no Sorcerer, even I am aware a gifted healer lhe Sorcerers' League. But Ielond addressed his writ
simulate virginity well enough to pass your examinati~olely into Taroith's hands, which is not common custom.
If this missy were an ordinary candidate, Ielond su~Most likely, the gesture was innocent. But it might be
would have presented her case before today. I say 'wise if I attended Elienne's examination for candidacy,

                            56                                                    57

Prince is incapable, and that fact is what prompted his
Guardian's great delay.'
    A muttering swept around the table, killed by Taroith's
forceful exclamation. 'Nonsense! Ielond was the most
respected Master in Pendaire: that was the reason he was
appointed Guardian to begin with. You do him and
Elienne both a disservice by mistrusting her candidacy. I
personally believe she is someone special, that Ielond
took pains to select her above other more available
women. Whether true virgin or not, she cannot be preg-

and also at her confirmation of pregnancy should she I~ together into another, wider purpose; and rather than
blessed with the good fortune to conceive.'               allow Faisix to arbitrate to his advantage a second time,
                                                          E!ienne gave her seething temper free rein. Even Taroith
  'I second,' said Garend at once.
E!ienne's blood ran cold. She hardly felt Taroith started in surprise as her small hand crashed down on the
squeeze of reassurance beneath the edge of the table tabletop in exasperation.
Faisix was a master of manipulation. One smooth mo~ 'Must you peck the issue to death like crows?' she said
had shed doubt on Taroith's integrity and assured thin sharp annoyance. 'The Prince has but days to establish
Regent access to her through two critical examinationshis rights to succession. You do him no favor by wasting
The Select molded to his touch like soft wax. Round th his time over trifles.'
table, the votes in favor of his motion were entered wi~    'Missy -' Garend snapped ~)ver stunned silence.
swift and deadly ignorance of its possible consequence.     'Lady. I'm not your relative.'
Elienne battled rising uneasiness. She had only ju~         'Missy, his Grace is, at the moment, disgustingly inebri-
begun to appreciate the practiced sophistication of thated. His condition is so deplorable that he is incapable
Sorcerer who opposed her. If she wasn't careful, he woulof bedding anything but himself. For a good many hours
shift her out of his path without even the unpleasantne~o come, he is unlikely to wish anyone's company, far tess
 of a confrontation.                                      that of a well-born maiden.'
     Discussion resumed over a host of lesser details. Tin Acidly suspicious, Elienne was not so easily put off.
 and date were set for Elienne's examination, followed t;Does his Royal 6race usually drink himself senseless?
 arrangements for a ceremonial banquet celebrating tti,hat doesn't sound to me like the behaviour of a man
 royal betrothal. Normally, an endorsed ConS~ts~VeadS' P~ho might face execution in seven days' time. Ithink the
 mitted to pass her time øf leisure as ~rheee ~           ~l~nce had help, outside help, with his indulgence.'
 6arerid questioned Elienne's right to         d m o~ t Immediate protestation arose from the Select, but the
 grounds that another man might bed her in the Prince           .
                                                      ú ,host clramatic response came from Faisix He pushed
 stead This idea was bandied about at wearying lengt~lmself forward                                    '
       ú                                           .      '              in his chair White anger tautcried the
 Some deemed it demeaning to confine one who m~gl nes of h                             '
                   ,                            . . i             is face, and his voice cut like a whip through the
 become Pendaire s Queen; others felt an ass~gneo esc›,
 to be an appropriate and tactful precaution. Elien~eneraløutcry' 'Silence!'
                                                           The Regent settled back. More calmly he said, 'My
 herself listened without visible sign of rancor until she st
 the beginnings of another smile take shape on Faisi~~ady' your words are both treasonous and ridiculously ill-
                                                          ounded. You have neither voice nor vote in this Council.
 features.
     The back of her neck prickled with apprehensic)isrupt these proceedings again, and I'll have you sent
 Faisix, like a man manipulating chess pieces, was elinrom the room.'
 hating her options through a series of carefully plann, 'You're afraid I might smell the fish beneath all this
 moves. Small, petty arguments would soon be weldinery.' Elienne started at the sudden grip of a hand on
                 58                                          59

her arm. She shrugged the clasp off, then turned and~
the bland, round face of the door steward.
    'Escort her out,' said Faisix with incisive finality. 't
keep her with you until this Council adjourns. She
be available afterward for physical examination.'
    Eiienne slid her chair back. She bent over wi
muffled exclamation and fussed with the fit of her sh~
the position placing her head within inches of Taroil

      4
Prince's Consort

~lienne wanted time to herself, which meant shedding the
n'esence of the steward who had been assigned escort

knee, well inside his sphere of influence should he ~luty. She watched the man emerge from the council
mental contact. Her tactic was rewarded. Taro~øøm; he shut the door firmly behind himself and leaned
response came as a light touch u, pon her mind. l'llfores~a it, puffing. After appraising the paunch that strained
the Regent. Wait patiently. Don t stir up any more trou~, e seams of his white and gold livery, Elienne judged he
Elienne finished with her shoe, rose, and walked oub'as not a man who loved exertion. She tailored her
the room without a backward glance. Left standingnethods to suit.
himself, the steward stumbled awkwardly over her ct The mammoth oval expanse of the Grand Council
in his haste to follow, and with varying degrees~hamber was quite empty, yet the ornate decor held
disgruntlement the Select of Pendaire's Grand Co~~plendor enough to rouse a stranger's curiosity. Elienne
resumed debate.                                                    !eigned a country girl's ignorant enthusiasm and, with
                                                                   ~pparent innocence, began to rove the room and admire.
                                                                   The steward grunted like an unhappy sow, but the
                                                                   :ffect was irresistible. He pushed his bulk away from the
                                                                   1oor and followed while Elienne wandered the length and
                                                                   ~readth of the room. No detail was too slight for her
                                                                   nterest, though nothing commanded her attention quite
                                                                   ong enough for her to linger. When the lower level and
                                                                   ~wery detail of its mosaic floor had been exhausted,
                                                                   ~lienne investigated the dais. Up and down twenty-five
                                                                   narble steps went the steward at her heels, his breath by
                                                                   low a stertorous wheeze.
                                                                   Elienne failed to notice his distress. She plied him
                                                                   readily with questions, then abandoned the dais and went
                                                                   ~n light feet straight to the staircase that led to the upper
                                                                   ;alleries. The steward balked and parked his bulk against
                                                                   he banister.

60                                                               61

 'Missy,' he gasped. 'No more steps.'
    Elienne turned in mid-flight and gave him a round-eyel
look. 'Oh, I'm sorry. I'm quite carried away. I've neve;
in my whole life seen the equal of the craftsmanship~
this room.' She paused to gaze wistfully upward. 'Mightn"
I just take a look? You can always call if the Select wis'
me back. I'll come straight down.'
    'Very well.' The steward grumbled to himself and too
a seat on the bottom step. Elienne could not leave with0t
tripping over him. She would be secure enough, and k
responsibilities did not include guard duty.
    Elienne ran briskly up the remainder of the flight. Sh
toured the upper gallery in a methodical fashion that ha
little to do with her earlier display of false curiosity. Sh
covered all three levels from end to end, thoroughly. unt
she was satisfied that no other entry was possible excel
by way of the stair. Then she leaned with artful reckles~
ness over the topmost railing and shouted down to tt
steward.
    'There are soft chairs up here. Would you mind if I di
my waiting sitting down?'
    The steward nodded immediate assent, as much to g~
her away from the overhang as any other reason. ~
settled more comfortably on his step, relieved Elien~
had at last decided to stay quietly in one place. ~
meeting of Pendaire's Select had ever been brief; this 0N
was unlikely to differ.
    Elienne chose a railing seat that offered an un0!
structed view of the lower floor. Until her oppositio
elected to reveal its plot there was no way to gauge tt
extent of her personal peril. She dared not let the fir
move surprise her. Nor could she depend on Kennai:
and Taroith for shelter against harm. Trathmere's fall h~
shown how easily the best defenses could crumble. If s[

62

 ~l~~iost the Prince, her fate might be worse than any she
 would have suffered in Khadrach hands.
     Elienne pulled forth the thick gold chain that hung
 beneath the neck of her gown. The mirrowstone dropped,
 warm and weighty, into her palm. For a long, still interval,
 she held it without seeking the image contained by the
 jewel's depths. After fourteen hours in Pendaire, this
 would be her first, unhurried glimpse of the man she had
 promised to marry.
     Carefully, Elienne tilted the gem. The clear, reflective
 surface became immediately congested and dark. Set like
 yellowed ivory against a field of black, she saw a man's
 face, lit by the dribbled stalk of a half-spent candle. A
 tangle of brown hair arched over one ear. The long,
 spider~' lines of shadow cast across cheek and brow lent
 an impression more sinister than neglect. Garend had said
 the Prince was drunk. Puzzled, Elienne wondered why no
 servants attended his Grace's comfort until the effect of
 the spirits wore off.
    Elienne bent closer. The planes of Darion's nose,
forehead, and chin had the spare grace of a draftsman's
sketch~ but there all semblance of harmony ended. The
mouth drooped open, slack as the empty pouch of a
forester's pack. A small scar bisected the jawline, stark as
an ink line against the pale, dry skin drawn taut against a
lean framework of bone. The Prince was obviously ill.
    Elienne frowned. Often she had sat with Cinndei's
younger brother when the aftermath of his carousing had
laid him low. The face she remembered had always been
flushed and sweating. Whatever held Darion under cer-
tainly was not drink. And in a palace as richly adorned as
Pe~daire's, she doubted whether the dim, drab place
where Darion lay was anywhere near the royal suite.
 Eiienne bit her lip and found herself shaking. The

63

 Prince's enemies were confident indeed if they could
 remove him on the pretense of drunken stupor and hold
 him without being questioned. Were Ielond alive, they
 would never had dared. Without him, Darion had no
 other to act in his defense with the possible exception of
 Kennaird. And Kennaird had been kept busy through the
 night with her.
    Elienne cursed. The jewel in her hand was the only
weapon Ielond had left her. Darion's oppressors did not
expect him to be seen by other eyes, and according to the
Sorcerer's instructions, communication was possible as
well. Perhaps the Prince could be awakened.
    Placing her fingertip against the cold surface of the
mirrowstone, Elienne leaned close and whispered,
'Darion! Your Grace, can you hear me? Darion!'
    She released contact. The image flooded back, clouding
the stone like dark smoke. The Prince roused enough to
stir. This time the magic exposed him full face; his lashes
quivered, spiking his cheek with trembling lines of
shadow.
    Eiienne cupped the jewel closer and whispered again,
urgently, 'Darion, wake up.'
    Faint as the distant roll of surf in a shell, she heard a
coughing sigh. The Prince closed his mouth. His eyes
flickered open, irises wide and black in the candlelight.
Hazel, Eiienne recalled from her brief impression on the
icefield, but they remained unfocused and confused.
    'Darion, you've been drugged,' said E!ienne through
the mirrowstone.
    She held her breath as the Prince threw one veined
wrist across his face. If anyone were present, such move-
ment would surely attract attention.
    As though answering Elienne's fear, a large hand
appeared, momentarily obscuring her view. The Prince
moaned thickly. E!ienne looked on in horror as a second

hand moved into sight. Fingers marred by an old, puck-
ered scar pressed a twist of soaked linen firmly over
Darion's nose and mouth until his weak struggles
subsided.
    'Oh, poor man,' Elienne whispered. Hot tears blistered
the inside of her eyelids. When the hands removed the
drugged cloth and passed from sight, the mirrowstone's
dark depths returned Darion's image with faithful clarity,
even to the angry imprint where the rag had toughened
his skin.
    Elienne shoved the jewel back inside the neck of her
dress. The heavy gold setting had gouged purple grooves
in her palm where she had gripped too tightly. Angrily
she closed her fist over them. Something would have to
be done. She no longer found it tolerable to sit like a lady
while the Council's Select dallied over trivia. She could
start an inquiry after a man with knowledge of drugs who
also had a scarred hand.
    Elienne rose and ran between the rows of chairs. She
took the stairs two at a time while formulating a plan to
forestall the steward. Just below the first landing, she all
but bowled over someone who ascended the flight in the
same state of haste.
    'My Lady!' Kennaird divested himself of an armload of
yellow silk skirts.
    Elienne paused only to draw breath. 'Darion's been
drugged,' she said tersely, and described what she had
seen in the mirrowstone. Kennaird was already familiar
with the jewel. He had seen it around her neck the night
before; it was the only item on her he had been unable to
remove.
    'I'll see what I can do,' Kennaird promised. He grabbed
Elienne with both hands as she tried to slip past him. 'I
said I would look after it.'

64                                                                                    65

 'But -' Elienne began in protest.
    'No.' Kennaird shook her with curt annoyance. 'No.
You'll stay here as you were told. Darion is not the only
one in danger. I came to warn you to guard your own
life.'
     E!ienne stopped resisting Kennaird's hand, and only
then realized his homely face was drawn with anxiety.
  'Tell me,' she said.
    Kennaird released his hold with a tired sigh. 'The ward
over the study door was broken when I returned.' He shut
his eyes and leaned back against the paneled wall of the
stairwell. 'All of Ielond's papers were stolen from the
desk. Someone now knows more of you, Lady Elienne,
than is meet.'
    Kennaird staved off Elienne's response with a raised
hand. 'Wait, Missy, until I finish. Ielond was not careless
enough to leave written all the facts about you. There was
nothing in his notes that would prevent your -'
     'Shh? Elienne pointed down the stair and whispered.
 'The steward.'
     Kennaird obligingly lowered his voice. 'They can't stop
 your Consortship with the contents of those papers. But
 every facet of the culture you came from was outlined in
 detail, and among the documents taken was the written
 summary of the birth chart Ielond cast for you. He left
 out everything that pertained to your former marriage.
 But well outlined for my own purposes was a list of the
 dates and times your natal stars warn you will be
 vulnerable.'
     Elienne felt the constriction fall away from her chest.
 Astrology she understood. The Guild had placed great
 stock in the movements of planets and events; but E!ienne
 had never paid much attention. No Guild seer had been
 required to foretell disaster in the path of Khadrach's

armies. She spoke at last, concerned mainly for Ken-
naird's loss. He seemed greatly upset. 'Can't you recast the chart?'
    Kennaird shook his head. 'Ielond spliced Time to find
you, Missy. Ma'Diere only knows when and where you
were born.'
    'Well then, look after Darion.' Elienne shrugged
lightly. 'There's no use fretting.'
    Kennaird regarded her anxiously. 'Lady, you had better
hear me. Ielond knew his craft. Trathmere's Loremasters
were as blind men feeling their way among the stars in
comparison. That list in the wrong hands could spell your
bane in this world. Guard yourself well.'
    'I will.' Elienne needed no warnings to emphasize her
current danger. Aggravation made her response more
curt than she intended. 'But since I am in no direct danger
at the moment, see to Darion, I beg you.'
    Kennaird made no move to depart. 'Beware of Minksa,
Lady. She means you ill. I suspect she may have been
involved with the theft of Ielond's papers. Restrain your
sympathies where she is concerned.'
    'All right.' Elienne bit back impatience. She failed
entirely to see how a little girl could have broken a
Sorcerer's ward, but that small point was not worth
delaying Kennaird with argument. Darion needed help,
and in another moment she would disobey completely
and search for him herself. But Kennaird was through
lecturing.
    'Ma'Diere keep you, Lady.' The apprentice walked
with her to the foot of the steps. Leaving her in care of
the steward there, he hurried across the council chamber
and disappeared through its wide double door.

67

The meet'~r~g of the Select did not adjourn until well into
ti~e a//'ernoon. Escorte6 by x~e foot steward, Elienne
reXurne~l Xo the white and gilt paneled chamber in compli-
ance with a summons from the Regent. She entered with
reluctance. A surreptitious peek at the mirrowstone only
minutes before had shown Dafion's condition unchanged.
Kennaird had not yet managed to aid the Prince, and
Elienne fumed inwardly at the barriers of formality that
hampered her from taking action herself.
     As expected, Taroith and Faisix awaited her in the
 recently vacated council room. Elienne held her eyes
 downcast, but not through any maidenly deference.
 Though she wished to alert Taroith to the Prince's present
 danger, she dared not risk eye contact with the Regent.
 On the ice plain, the man had displayed a mindbender's
 skills without visible sign of effort. Better Taroith should
 remain ignorant than risk having awareness of Darion's
 drugged state plucked from her thoughts.
     'Come here, Lady Elienne,' said Taroith. In response
 to her evident apprehension he added, 'This examination
 will neither hurt you nor disturb your dignity.'
     E!ienne obediently sat in the chair the Sorcerer offered.
 With the same rigid indifference she had shown when
 Ielond transformed her dress, she held still as Taroith
 brought his focus to rest on her abdomen. The touch
 roused a chilly prickle of awareness. The Sorcerer cupped
 his hand, bent fingers eclipsing the white blaze, and
 exerted gentle but firm pressure.
     Elienne felt cold slip like water through the fabric of
 her dress. The light penetrated the skin beneath, then
 muscle, and sank deeper. An alien presence invaded her
 innards like frost.
     'Relax.' Taroith smiled and quietly slipped his other
 hand around her waist and placed it fiat against her back.

    Elienne took a slow breath. The icy, tingling sensation
of the soulfocus within her body totally absorbed her
attention.
    'The Lady is innocent,' said Taroith presently. 'Test for
truth if you wish, Excellency.'
    Faisix rounded the chair and knelt beside the Sorcerer.
He reached out and placed his narrow hand over Tar-
oith's. Despite all effort at control, Elienne's stomach
muscles knotted.
    'There is nothing to fear, Elienne,' said the Sorcerer
gently. 'The Regent will only attune his awareness to
mine. There will be no pain, I assure you.'
    Elienne closed her eyes, forced herself to remain calm.
The sensation of cold in her middle sharpened and grew
heavy. Since she had no way of knowing whether Faisix
could exert any control over Taroith's probe, Elienne
tried to limit herself to trivial thoughts as a precaution,
until the trial should end.
    A small bubble of surprise rose in her mind. Startled
by a swift flare of annoyance, Elienne repressed a shiver,
certain the emotion was not her own. The feeling vanished
as Faisix removed his hand. He had passed briefly ~through
her awareness, and some of his own reaction had leaked
through the contact. The Regent had expected to find
evidence of Ielond's meddling, Elienne realized. Faisix
knew that she carried some means of establishing preg-
nancy. But the Prince's Guardian had predicted accu-
rately; no trace of her child by Cinndel could be detected
yet through conventional sorcery.
    Elienne found little comfort in the fact she had passed
safely through the examination. Faisix would now be
forced to seek her ruin beneath the Law, and in a strange
court with unfamiliar customs she had little defense
against treachery.

69

    Taroith lifted his hands. Like a spark fanned by an air
current, his focus withdrew from Eiienne's body. Numb-
ness lifted and her own warmth flooded back like circula-
tion returning to a cramped limb.
    'The Lady is indeed innocent.' Faisix mastered his
disappointment with finesse, and his yellow eyes seemed
empty of malice. 'I owe you an apology, Master Taroith,
for expressing doubt against you earlier. The Law has
been satisfied. The Council will place its seal of approval
on the required documents this afternoon. I will person-
ally send word to the kitchens to prepare a banquet in
celebration.' The Regent bestowed a smile as cold as a
snowdrift on Elienne. 'Congratulations, my Lady Con-
sort. May the Prince's favor become you.'
    Elienne rose warily and curtsied. Her mistrust of the
Regent proved justified; she had barely completed her
gesture when the door opened and admitted two strapping
women in armor. Their hair was cropped short as a
child's, and wide mesh belts clinked with weaponry.
Broad, ca!loused hands and sinewy wrists offered mute
evidence that scabbarded steel and heavy ash spears were
not all ornamental.
     'Aisa and Denji,' Faisix introduced. 'They will stand
 guard at your door, Lady, until the royal grace period is
 past. They have orders to kill any man who enters your
 chambers - other than the Prince, of course. Questions
 will be asked afterward, should such a situation arise.
 Pendaire's succession is no light matter, and with Ielond
 dead, the Select chose caution.'
     E!ienne said nothing. Plainly, she would have no chance
 to speak alone with Taroith. Rather than place her escort
 on their guard, she smiled sweetly and allowed herself to
 be marched from the room. The muscled height of the

70

guardswomen made her small build seem fragile by con-
trast. Elienne hoped with all her heart the impression
would cause Faisix to underestimate her. She needed
every advantage she could foster, however slight.

Eiienne was given a suite of rooms in the top of a keep
overlooking the sea. Aisa and Denji guarded the only
door, which gave onto the stair. The room was built on
the defense wall, and arrowslits pierced the stone in place
of casements.
    Left to herself, Elienne looked out. Hundreds of feet
down, green, foam-laced breakers crashed against the
black, splintered rock of the headland, and sunlight struck
rainbows through the spindrift thrown up by the surf.
Chilled by more than damp air, Elienne turned away.
Though savagely beautiful, the view foreclosed any hope
of escape. Even the spartan ugliness of the arrowslits
became a blessing to her eyes. Windows, in that place,
would have left her susceptible, not to attack from the
outside, but to a push from within. And all too likely, the
guardswomen were hostile. Until they proved otherwise,
Elienne chose to regard her surroundings with an eye for
her own defense.
    The chambers themselves were lavish. In keeping with
what she had observed of Pendaire's palace, the furnish-
ings were handsomely adorned with stone and inlay of
silver filigree. Thick, patterned carpets brightened the
parquet floor, and a fire burned in the grate to drive off
the damp. Through the doorway, a maid labored over a
carved double bed, patting smooth silken sheets and
embroidered coverlets in deferential silence.
    Yet the beautiful decor did nothing to allay Elienne's
sense of vulnerability. With stiff self-reliance, she began
at once to rearrange the furniture. The maid emerged

71

from the bedchamber, startled to find the new Consort
pushing a heavy chest across the floor.
    She curtsied deeply. 'My Lady, did you not find the
room to your liking?'
    Elienne shook her head and leaned like a draft horse.
The chest rumbled another foot across the parquet. She
abandoned it in the middle of the chamber and gathered
the ornaments from a small side table.
    Puzzled more than politeness would permit, the maid
tactfully curtsied again. 'The Lady mustn't spoil her dress
before this evening's banquet.'
    Elienne responded with a preoccupied smile, both
hands full of glassware. When she deposited the items on
a cushioned chair and hefted the table toward the other
side of the room, the maid salvaged the awkward situation
as best she could by offering her help.
    'Thank you.' Elienne nodded toward a stuffed stool.
'That can go there.'
    She and the maid labored for a time in silence. After a
particularly trying struggle with an armchair, Elienne said,
'Why won't Aisa and Denji speak to me? Have I offended
them?'
    'The shieldmaids?' The woman's eyebrows rose in her
round, sweating face. 'My Lady, they are deaf-mutes.'
    'Forgive me; I'm foreign,' said Eiienne quickly. 'I didn't
know. Is it common practice to put out ears and tongues
in Pendaire?'
    'Ma'Diere, no, my Lady.' The maid wiped sweaty
palms on her sleeves. 'That pair belonged to the royal
family of Kedgard.'
  Elienne's face remained carefully blank.
    'It is an island kingdom,' explained the maid. 'The
Regent took pity on them during a diplomatic visit and

bought their freedom. They have served out of gratitude
since.'
    'That was a kind act.' Glad she had not trusted the
guardswomen, Elienne bent and began to wrestle with an
immense potted plant. 'Is his Excellency often moved to
charity?'
    'I wouldn't know.' The maid sighed. 'Lady, must you
move that?'
    Elienne gave the plant a determined shove. Branches
swayed, bobbing small pink fruits precariously against
stem moorings. The tree was top-heavy, and would likely
upset if she disturbed it further.
    'I suppose the thing will do well enough where it is.'
Elienne critically surveyed the room and finally nodded in
satisfaction. 'That will do. And thank you.'
    The maid's reddened face reflected little appreciation
for Elienne's taste. 'I'll send a girl up to help tidy your
hair and dress, with permission, Lady.'
    Elienne hesitated. She disliked personal fuss. As Duch-
ess of Trathmere, she had often declined the services of a
maid, and since her arrival in Pendaire she wanted
nothing better than to be left alone. 'I'd rather manage
myself.'
    The maid pursed her lips with evident disapproval.
Elienne's labors with the furniture had badly mussed her
dress, and her dark, copper-brown hair sported loosened
wisps like a peasant woman's. Should she appear in that
state before Pendaire's best blood, she would disgrace her
royal partner.
    Elienne signed and tilted her head toward the reddened
slice of sky visible through the nearest allowslit. 'It's only
sunset.' She smiled with girlish innocence. 'I have until
the ninth hour of the evening before the banquet, and
nothing at all to do between. If I have to sit idle, I think
the excitement will ruin me.'

72                                                                                          73

    'Very well, my Lady.' Dubious still, the maid curtsied
and departed, weaving her way through a tortuous maze
of tables, chairs, and hassocks toward the door.
    Eiienne sank into the nearest chair the moment the
heavy inlaid panel closed and left her solitary. She was
hot and tired, and the excuse she had just uttered had
been an outright lie. The necessity of acting and reacting
with strangers who had no awareness of her recent loss
strained her. Not even in Trathmere, as prisoner of the
Khadrach, had she felt so bereft, and until now Darion's
difficulties had denied her the rest and quiet she needed
to reach acceptance of foreign surroundings and the role
she had agreed to play through.
    Unbidden, Cinndel's face arose in her mind as he had
appeared the night his son was conceived. Elienne thrust
the memory forcibly away. Darion's uncertain succession
endangered her own safety, and only the Prince's enemies
would gain advantage if she indulged grief to the exclusion
of caution.
    Reluctantly Elienne rose, pulled a stick of kindling
from the bin by the fireside, and wedged it beneath the
fruit tree. She gave the ornate pot an experimental shove.
It tottered unsteadily. Satisfied that an easy push would
topple the ungainly plant, Elienne crossed the chamber
and sat down before the lady's dresser. Brushes, combs,
hairpins, and a manicure kit gleamed in neat array
beneath a gilt-flamed mirror.
    Elienne sorted the items until she located a cuticle
knife. Though the wrought gold haft was delicately set
with pearls, the blade was tempered steel. Elienne exper-
imentally pared a broken thumbnail. The knife parted it
like butter. Nothing but the best would serve for one who
might become Queen of Pendaire. Thoughtfully Elienne
returned the instrument to a tooled leather sheath. Faisix

74

would hardly have troubled to see her legally locked in a
remote palace keep without devising a threat to match
that advantage. She tucked the knife beneath the cuff of
her dress and smoothed yellow silk over the lump; Dar-
ion's enemies would not catch her entirely defenseless.
    The light through the arrowslits slowly failed.
Oppressed by the deepening shadows, Elienne located a
flint striker and lit the candle on the dresser, then busied
herself with the pins that held her hair. Freed, the locks
tumbled down her back, rich as dark mahogany. Fanned
in wide, curling waves over her shoulders, the hair pro-
vided a perfect screen for her hands should the guards-
women look unexpectedly through the door.
    Elienne drew the mirrowstone from her collar. Silver
highlights gleamed coldly over its polished face, eerie
against the warm yellows of the candle flame, yet Elienne
noticed little beyond the image beneath.
    Darion lay still, exactly as she had last observed him.
But now the dribbled stalk of the candle had burned out.
Elienne observed a scene carved into clarity by the frosty
glow of a Sorcerer's soulfocus. Even as she watched,
Taroith's veined fingers entered into view and gently
unfastened the Prince's shirt. The Sorcerer bared a tautly
muscled chest adorned by a pendant wrought with the
golden stag device of Pendaire's royal house. Elienne held
still. The mirrowstone transmitted sound along with its
image, but only faintly.
    'Can you rouse him?' said a voice to one side -
Kennaird's, surely, by the impatient inflection.
    'Not here.' Taroith leaned forward and placed his ear
against Darion's ribs. The soulfocus drifted lower, hov-
ered closely over the Prince's forehead. A long moment
passed. Then Taroith sighed. As he moved to rise, his
hair snagged in the Prince's pendant. He freed the lock

75

with an abrupt gesture that roused a flickering sparkle of
reflection from the mirrowstone's depths. 'Not here,' he
repeated. 'I fear Nairgen overdid himself. The Prince
suffers severe overdose. To heal him now would require
deeper trance than I wish to risk in this place.'
    'He must appear at the banquet in three hours.' Ken-
naird sounded frantic.
 'Then we must move,' Taroith said.
    The image in the mirrowstone dipped and spun as
hands lifted the unconscious Prince from the pallet.
Elienne caught a blurred glimpse of shelves stacked with
glass jars, a shuttered window, and the supine figure of a
woman on the floor. Then a sound beyond her own door
recalled all her attention.
    She thrust the mirrowstone back under her collar.
Someone climbed the stair without, and by the weight of
the tread, sharply punctuated by the ring of booted heels,
her visitor was male. Without protest from the guards,
the latch tripped sharply. Elienne whirled as the door
swung open.
    Over the threshold stepped a man of medium build,
resplendently dressed in a white tabard blazoned in gold
with the royal stag device. Through the blurred shadow
of twilight, Elienne saw a polite smile of welcome spread
across Darion's features.
    'Good evening, my Lady Consort,' said the man in a
light, pleasant voice. 'I have waited long for this day.
Permit me to express admiration for Ielond's choice. He
has sent a true beauty, far finer than my most fanciful
dream. I hope you shall find happiness with me.'
    Elienne barely noticed the compliment. Faisix had aptly
demonstrated the powers of Pendaire's masters to alter
faces with illusion; the man was surely an impostor, shape-
changed by sorcery to the Prince's image. If she trusted

that the mirrowstone from lelond had reflected the real
Darion, this one was surely a stranger and a threat.
    'Come here, Elienne.' The man politely offered his
hand. 'Let me have a closer look at you.'
    Elienne's heart pounded with leaden strokes against
her breast. The guardswomen were deaf. She could expect
no help from them. 'My Lady?'
    E!ienne curtsied and forced a smile. Her lips responded
woodenly. 'There is better light here, your Grace.'
    Her only choice was to play along, delay the man with
coyness until she could catch him off guard. There was
risk no such chance would present itself, but Elienne
shied from the conclusion of that possibility. As the man
wound his way between the furnishings, she rose warily,
left her stool placed in his path, and rest one slippered
foot on its embroidered cushion.
    'I thought I was not to see you until this evening's
banquet.' Her voice, maddeningly, reflected false bravado
rather than surprised nonchalance.
    The man stopped before her. His smile brightened.
Animated with life and spirit, the Prince's face was
handsome - not so gentle as Cinndel's, but certainly not
unpleasant. 'I was impatient.' He studied her with frank
admiration. 'Can you blame me? And having stolen this
glimpse of you, I become all the more so, Lady.'
    He reached out as if to touch her fallen hair. Elienne
kicked the stool at his shin and stepped back, but the man
dodged lightly to one side.
    'Minx.' With easy good humor, he moved again in
pursuit. 'You'll not escape me. You are my Consort, by
the seals of the Grand Council, and by Ielond's writ. Do
you play games with me for sport?'
 'You're a stranger.' Elienne paused, taut with alarm,

76                                                                        77

behind a table. Her hands left sweaty prints on the rare
wood, vividly betraying her fear. Yet stubbornly she
resumed her charade. 'I would like to know you better. I
cannot please a man I've only just met.'
    'But you have.' The imposter stopped and leaned
expectantly toward E!ienne across a spread of ornaments
on the tabletop. 'You have pleased my eyes past bearing.
I have but seven days to establish my right of succession.
We'll have time enough later for talk. Years' worth.'
    His hand shot out and seized E!ienne's arm. The grip
was light, almost bantering, but Elienne saw threat in the
contact. She shoved the table rim hard into the man's
groin. Glassware pitched over the brink and struck,
decking the parquet with a sparkling spray of costly
fragments.
    The man gasped. But instead of losing his hold, his
fingers tightened cruelly and he yanked Elienne to him.
    'Lady.' The word came half-strangled from his throat.
For a long moment he wrestled for breath. 'That was an
affront. A man in Pendaire can face execution for striking
a Prince.'
    Elienne went lax in the imposter's arms, and smiled,
clothing the murder she felt inside with tenderness. 'But I
am no man,' she said softly.
    He chuckled. 'Bless Ma'Diere, you certainly aren't.'
Entirely without courtesy, he brushed the hair away from
her face, leaned down, and kissed her mouth.
    E!ienne permitted him. She could do nothing effective
with her arm pinned, and resistance would not entice the
man to drop his guard. Though the touch of the man's
lips revolted her, she feigned response, grateful she was
not the inexperienced virgin she had been made to
appear. Fatigue and excessive responsibility had made
Cinndel difficult to please in the last months before his

death; this man's wants were simpler, E!ienne sensed,
and when he raised his head at last, his face was flushed,
and a light sweat shone on his brow.
    '^h, Missy, that was more polite.' But his grip on
E!ienne did not loosen, and his intention was evident. He
wished to bed her ahead of the Prince. If he succeeded,
her Consortship would be suspended until it could be
proved she had sustained no pregnancy. There would be
no way to avoid having Cinndel's child ascribed to this
stranger's paternity. Should that happen, Elienne realized
Darion's chance, and her own, would be irrevocably lost.

78                                                                                         79

         5
The Hand of the Healer

The man easily lifted Elienne off her feet. 'You're a small
thing,' he said, and stepped over the fallen glass toward
the bedroom door.
    E!ienne leaned against his shoulder and teased his ear
with her tongue. The taste was bitter, but she maintained
her ruse. 'Be easy with me, my Lord,' she whispered. 'I
beg you.'
    The man squeezed her, studying her face in the fire-
light. 'A moment ago you were willing enough to play
rough.'
    Elienne lowered her eyes. 'Your pardon, Lord. My
sister once said men prefer women who show a little
spirit.'
    'And did your sister teach you that kiss?' he mocked
lightly.
    Elienne flushed. Hoping her squirm would he mistaken
for embarrassment, she buried her face in the loose satin
that clothed the man's arm, and strained to loosen her
wrist from his hold. Once her hand was free to reach the
knife in her sleeve, there would be no need to endure
further.
    The impostor's smile returned. Reddened by firelight,
his expression this time displayed wolfish eagerness.
    Chilled even through the warmth of the man's embrace,
Elienne said, 'Please, you're hurting me.'
    'All right, Missy.' The man became serious. 'My Coun-
cil members tell me that you were gently born. We'll
make that gently bred as well.' He laughed quietly to

8O

himself, as though wanting to taunt Elienne into further
rebellion. Although the jest made Elienne's pulse leap in
her veins, she controlled her instinct to resist.
    The man laid her on the wide bed in the darkness. The
fingers that circled her wrist tightened cruelly as he
brushed her forehead with his lips. But passivity could not
conceal the heavy, racing pound of her own heart, loud in
her ears over the distant rush of surf. The man seemed
not to notice. 'Shall we have light for our first time?' he
said in her ear.
    Elienne masked raging annoyance with complaisance.
'If my Lord wishes.' The maneuver with the table had
evidently warned the man off. He wanted light so he
could keep an eye on her. Her only chance was to bait
him until desire made him careless.
    Elienne kissed the fingers that rose to caress her face.
They tickled across her jawline and came to rest, heavy
with implied threat, across the bared column of her
throat. After a suggestive squeeze, the man released her
wrist and fumbled after a striker for the unlit candlestick
on the bedside table. The spark flared, gleamed whitely
against a puckered scar crossing swarthy knuckles.
    Fear numbed Elienne's resolve. That same hand had
drugged Darion. She reached to draw the knife then,
despite the hold on her neck, but the man leaned suddenly
over her, compelling her to wait. Her tenseness this time
did not escape notice.
  'Frightened, Missy?' he said softly.
     Elienne swallowed and tried for a smile of seductive
 invitation. 'Of what would I be frightened, my Lord?'
 The meek tone she intended came out sounding cowed,
 yet she had no other alternative. If she fought him openly,
 his size and weight would quickly overpower her.
  Elienne threaded her arm beneath the impostor's elbow

81

and drew him into an embrace. His skin smelled sourly of
ash soap and herbs. The odor repulsed her. But without
use of her other hand she could not draw the knife, which
waited cold and heavy in her sleeve. The man pressed
against her and covered her lips with his mouth.
    Elienne endured, and while he was occupied, explored
the fine cloth of his tabard with spread fingers. What lay
beneath roused a stab of warning. The man was muscled
like a bull. He stretched out alongside and wound one
arm under her shoulders. Elienne felt her wrist pinned
helplessly beneath his weight. She tried in vain to shift
position. The man kissed her again, demandingly. His
free hand roved from her throat, across her breast, and
downward. Overwhelmingly conscious her move must be
made qu;.ckly, Elienne leaned into his embrace with a
show of sudden passion. The man sought the fastening of
her bodice. She rolled and managed to block him.
    Undetered, he pulled clear and ran his palm, hard,
down her leg. Though she had not planned to kick, he
must have thought she might try. His booted foot ground
her ankle into the coverlet. Elienne started in pain. Her
show of acquiescence had not convinced him. She felt the
!imp silk of her chemise slide inexorably upward. Cold air
raised gooseflesh on her exposed thighs.
    With lips and tongue, she strove to delay him. But
panic caused her to shape her response too thoroughly.
The man broke into hot sweat, and a deep quiver shook
his frame. Elienne immediately realized her mistake. The
man was now inflamed enough to finish what he had
started without need of further motive. His shaking
fingers tore away her last, thin undergarment with a sharp
jerk.
    Terror exploded across Elicnne's mind. She twisted her
face away from his kiss and clasped his broad back,

desperate to free her pinned hand. The man rolled, half
crushing her. He fumbled at the points that fastened his
hose. A hard, sweaty fist yanked at knotted laces and
jabbed Elienne in the stomach. She gasped. The man
swore. His breath blew ragged and hot against her face.
His belt buckle mashed her hip as he shifted against her.
    But in his haste, he miscalculated. Elienne seized her
chance and tugged her numbed arm from beneath him.
She shoved her freed hand between his shoulder and the
moist flesh of his neck, the knife in her other sleeve
almost within reach.
    The man strained against her, intent upon conquest.
He arched his back to hold her while he wrestled free of
his tangled points. His shoulder quivered, dropped, and
E!ienne's fingers closed at last over the knife's pearl
handle. Half-smothered by the animal heave of the man
on top of her, she clawed the blade free of its sheath.
Though the awkward angle of her arm prohibited a sure
stroke, hesitation would place her beyond all remedy. As
the man lifted himself to take her, she twisted the knife
and struck.
    The man felt her tense with the thrust. He jerked
instinctively back. The blade's sharpened edge glanced
across bone and opened a gash in his scalp.
    Blood coursed down Elienne's wrist. Hot as tears, it
splashed her face as the man flinched. His bellow of
surprise stung her eardrum, and his hand closed reflex-
ively, pinching the exposed flesh of her groin. She cried
out. One fleeting, startled moment, his grip relaxed. She
tore free. He cursed and pitched himself across the bed
after her. Heavy fingers caught the trailing end of her
hair.
  Elienne lashed out. The man fell back with bloodied

82                                                                     83

knuckles and a fist full of trimmed curls. His quarry
withdrew, beyond reach.
    'Animal,' said Elienne hoarsely as he dragged himself
off the mussed coverlet and stood. The fine gold of his
tabard was splashed red, and beneath, loosened points
hung snarled like the frustrated remnants of a child's
thread game.
    The man hitched at his hose. 'I'll have you executed.'
He tossed away the severed hair.
    'You're not Prince Darion.' Elienne's voice shook. She
stood her ground behind a large wingchair, sticky fingers
clenched around the little knife. 'More likely you'll face
execution for laying hand on what isn't yours.'
    'Bitch.' The man reached up, felt the slice on the back
of his head. 'You'll regret this.'
    He lunged and caught the wingchair full in the chest.
Though Eiienne was small, long days spent in the saddle
in Trathmere ensured she was not weak as her size
suggested. As the man recovered his balance, she ran
through the door into the sitting room. He followed,
gasping for breath.
    Elienne said boldly, 'I know you for an impostor, and I
can even guess your name. It is Nairgen, is it not?' She
positioned herself behind an ungainly potted fruit tree.
    The man swerved in pursuit, smashed his shin on a
footstool. 'Demons? The room was arranged like a maze.
    'You drugged the true Prince,' E!ienne accused as he
approached.
    A spiky cross-weave of branches effectively prevented
him from reaching around to catch her.
    Elienne spoke again, galling him intentionally. 'Taroith
and Kennaird have surely found him. They will rouse him
from the drug.'
 'None of that will matter in a few minutes,' the man

responded, and he thrust his arm through the bush to
grab.
    E!ienne dropped down and threw her weight against
the pot above the wedge of kindling left positioned
beneath. The plant overbalanced, bearing the man with
it. He back-stepped, tried desperately to save his footing.
But a diabolically placed chest tripped him up. He fell
heavily. His head struck a marble statue of a fish. The
tree crashed awkwardly over, jabbing him with twigs and
a shower of loose fruit.
    E!ienne approached him carefully. Her knees shook.
Knife held ready, she snapped off a bough and prodded
the prone body on the carpet. But the man remained
limp.
    Elienne uttered a rude epithet and discarded the stick.
She would have to bind the man, and the room was dark.
She fetched the candle from the dresser. As an after-
thought, she also included the nail scissors.
    Her attacker lay as she had left him, but light revealed
a changed face. Elienne started, despite her certainty that
the man had been shape-changed. In place of Darion's
image, she saw sallow cheeks, peaked brows, and a
narrow, hooked nose. Iron-gray hair trailed in a growing
scarlet puddle. But hawking after small game in Trath-
mere had accustomed Elienne to blood. Pragmatic out of
necessity, she knelt and dipped the nail scissors in the
gore and threw them on the carpet. Then she wiped the
knife clean and sheathed the blade beneath her sleeve.
She might have further need of a weapon.
    Elienne rolled the tree aside and tied the man at wrist
and ankle with drapery cord. The fall had only stunned
him. She worked quickly lest he rouse before she finished.
Though the wound on his head was shallow, it bled
fiercely. Elienne stanched the mess with a pillow cover.

85

Then she flung open the main door and beckoned Aisa
and Denji inside.
    If the sight of a middle-aged man prone on her floor
and dressed in the Prince's device startled them, their
faces showed nothing. Unsettled by their cold expres-
sions, Elienne pantomimed explanation as best she could.
A rapid exchange of sign language passed between the
guardswomen. Then the taller, Denji, motioned Elienne
back with her spear. Aisa left the room, weapons ringing
in time to her step. She vanished down the stair as Denji
positioned herself like a sentinel over the man's still form.
    Badly shaken and in need of quiet, Elienne returned to
the bedroom. She straightened her clothing and hair; a
maid's assistance would be required to even out the gap
in her curls where she had cut herself loose, but there was
no time to fuss with appearances now. Elienne combed
out the tangles. She had just finished tying her hair into a
knot when Aisa returned, accompanied by Garend and
Faisix.
    Still puffing from his ascent of the keep stair, the elderly
councilman sank into the nearest chair. Garend's red-
rimmed eyes passed distastefully over the prostrate impos-
tor and fixed upon E!ienne as she came through the
adjoining door. 'A pity,' he said, between wheezes.
Whether he referred to the man's misfortune, or her own,
was unclear.
    Faisix accepted the incident without immediate com-
ment. After the briefest glance at the unconscious man,
he dug a flint striker from a nearby drawer and set about
lighting the wall sconces. Elienne watched him progress
from sitting room to bedchamber, aware that his eyes
missed little. The distant crash of the surf masked his
graceful step, lending an errie quality of pantomime to

the scene. The glare of multiple candles made Elienne
feel helplessly exposed to his dispassionate gaze.
    Faisix set his boot against the chest lid by Nairgen's
foot and leaned forward on crossed wrists. 'Lady, what
passed here?' The gold trim on his doublet glittered as he
drew breath. 'Aisa informs me you claim to have been
assaulted.'
    Elienne received his inquiry with alarmed apprehen-
sion. Whatever she said, certainly Faisix already knew
why a man had sought entrance to her chambers. She
related in bald terms what had occurred, but the knife
was exchanged for the nail scissors in her account, and
she omitted mention of Nairgen's actions against Darion.
    Faisix regarded her narrowly when she finished. After
brief hesitation, he said, 'How did you know this man to
be other than the Prince, whom you have yet to meet?'
    E!ienne chose not to reveal the mirrowstone. 'Excel-
lency, my Lord Garend insisted his Grace was incapable.
Drunken and senseless, I believe he said. This man didn't
smell of spirits, nor did he act in the least unfit. Truthread,
if you doubt me.'
    'That won't be necessary.' Faisix straightened deci-
sively. 'I'd rather see what the man who molested you has
on his mind. That might be more informative.'
    Wary of soiling the impeccable black and gold silk that
clothed his lean height, the Regent knelt on a clean patch
of carpet. Tapered white hands fastidiously clasped the
unconscious man's head at either temple. Under his
touch, the eyes soon flickered open. But Elienne barely
noticed Nairgen's unfocused stare. She chose instead to
observe the Regent.
    'What is your name?' Faisix tempered his words with
sorcery. The command touched Elienne's own throat with

87

the desire to answer. But since the truth call was not
directed at her, she was able to keep her silence.
    'I am called Nairgen, Dar's son,' said her attacker in an
inflectionless tone.
    'Nairgen,' Faisix repeated. He bent lower. 'What are
you?'
    The reply followed mechanically. 'I am a healer by
profession.'
    'A healer. I understand.' Faisix glanced quickly at
Gatend. 'Listen carefully, my Lord. I'll require your word
as witness.'
    He addressed Nairgen once more. 'And did you, in
Darion's image, enter this room with the intention of
forcing the Royal Consort?'  'I did,' Nairgen intoned.
    Light glanced off the trim on Faisix's cuffs as he shifted
his grip. 'Were you successful?'
    Elienne stiflened, but managed to conceal her outrage.
If the Regent had not broached that question, Garend
surely would have in his stead.
    Nairgen dutifully admitted failure. Faisix swiftly deliv-
ered his next demand, words sharpened with a keen edge
of threat. 'Who sent you to undertake such an act?'
    Elienne felt the words pierce her singly. She shrank in
acute discomfort, as though live bees crawled across her
skin. The command certainly held more than simple truth
sorcery. Nairgen thrashed weakly in Faisix's hold. His
eyes bulged like marbles, and spittle dripped from quiv-
ering lips. Without warning, he screamed. The sound
made E!ienne's hair prickle, and even Garend flinched in
his chair.
    Only the Regent remained calm. Implacably he
repeated his question. 'Who? Tell me.'
 Nairgen groaned and drew a rattling breath. His body

arched against the grip that clamped his head. Faisix's
knuckles whitened with stress, and the tendons bulged
beneath his immaculate sleeves.
    'Speak!' The corners of Faisix's eyes wrinkled with
concentration. 'Who sent you?'
    A terrible spasm shook Nairgen, leaving his body limp
as wet cloth. A breathy stream of unintelligible words
poured from his lips. Garend bent intently forward in his
chair. 'Who sent you?' The Regent stooped lower,
impatient, and the intensity of his expression touched
E!ienne with dread.
    'Taroith,' murmured Nairgen, softly but with unmistak-
able clarity. 'Taroith sent...' The words trailed off into
stillness like death.
    Elienne felt as though she had swallowed ice. The
testimony was false. She was certain.
    The Regent sighed. Pale with weariness, he looked up
at Garend. 'Did you hear that?'
    'A pity.' The elder's forehead puckered into a frown as
he sank back. 'Who would have guessed? Master Taroith
is not a Sorcerer one would associate with treason by
conspiracy. Those are base charges, for a League Master.'
    'I greatly regret this.' Faisix blotted sweat from his
temple. 'League Master or not, he'll have to be detained
until the Grand Justice can be convened.' Regretfully he
regarded the bloody head in his hands. 'This one will be
needed as evidence. Best we get him healed at once.'
    The Regent closed his eyes. Sunny golden light
appeared above his fingers, and at the sight of what must
be a soulfocus, Elienne knew fear. Nairgen must surely
have condemned Taroith under a mindbender's influence.
Faisix had that capability. If he had used it, Nairgen
would never be permitted to recover, lest he contradict a

89

forced confession. But Elienne dared not intervene. Her
own peril was too great.
    Nairgen quieted under the Regent's touch. His mouth
gaped open, and his eyes glared, sightlessly spiked with
spearheads of reflection as the focus slowly lowered and
touched his forehead. Faisix knelt motionless as a velvet-
clothed statue in his trance. Sweat shone fine as gilt on his
brow, and his pale eyes fell closed. His breathing slowed
and almost seemed to stop.
    Suddenly his soulfocus guttered like a blown candle,
and went out. The Regent started. He glanced up, but his
handsome features remained woodenly still as he set
Nairgen's head gently down and steadily faced Elienne.
    'You appear to have broken the unfortunate man's
neck.' He blotted stained fingers on the rug. 'What a
shame. He is dead.'
    Murdered, Elienne thought. Hostility rose within her,
heated and restless as fire. Nairgen had suffered cuts and
a bruise at her hand, nothing more. But she held her
protest. How easily Taroith had been framed with respon-
sibility for an act against her. If she denounced Nairgen's
testimony, she might force Faisix to silence her as well,
and where better than in a keep surrounded by his own
allies.
    'I was frightened.' Without difficulty, Elienne allowed
tremulous uncertainty to color her voice. 'I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to kill him.'
    Faisix rose and stood over the corpse. 'You spared him
the unpleasant process of trial and execution. And you
would be of little use to Darion if the fellow had had his
way with you.'
    His appalling attempt at sympathy offended E!ienne.
She looked away as the Regent made a fluid sequence of
signs with his fingers. Aisa stooped and shouldered the

body. Faisix grimaced in distaste as she carried it out.
Then he turned back and studied Elienne closely.
    'You're untidy,' he remarked at last. 'I'll send you a
maid for your hair and clothes. A drudge will be along to
mop up and straighten your rooms again.'
    'Thank you, Excellency.' As the Regent moved to
depart, Eiienne curtsied, alert to the fact he would never
again underestimate her resourcefulness. His sharp gaze
had not missed the altered array of furnishings, and she
had seen him note the kindling she had used to wedge the
pot. It had been a mistake not to remove that. Faisix
certainly knew she had anticipated an assault, and pre-
pared well for it.
    The moment Garend's shuffling step carried him
beyond the door, E!ienne reached for the mirrowstone.
Taroith would have to be warned of his impending arrest.
She prayed he was still in the Prince's presence, within
reach of the jewel's interface. She could then call the
Prince, and hope the Sorcerer would overhear.
    The stone's image showed Darion slung across Ken-
naird's shoulders like a barley sack. The apprentice
walked down a flagstone path bordered by topiary and
flowering trees, similar to those Elienne had seen in the
palace gardens. Though full night had fallen, the scene
was illuminated by cold, silver light, as though by a full
moon.
    Elienne knew relief. She had seen the moon set earlier,
in crescent phase. Such light could be shed only by a
soulfocus. Taroith surely followed just behind Kennaird.
Elienne called his name through the mirrowstone. There
came no response. Kennaird's feet rose and fell in regular
strides; the click of his boot heels against the flags carried
faintly over a background chorus of crickets. Elienne tried
again, urgently.

91

     Kennaird turned a corner. Darion's dangling arm
 brushed a stand of snapdragons, and dew fell, sparkling
 like cut gems in the souifocus light. Either the apprentice
 heard nothing, or he ignored her call deliberately.
    E!ienne jammed her thumb over the stone's image and
shouted an epithet pungent enough to make a fishwife
blush. She ended with a demand that Kennaird stop still
in his tracks. Nothing happened. Elienne cursed and
blinked back tears of frustration.
    Perhaps the mirrowstone's interface worked only on a
mental level, and Darion alone could have heard her.
Whatever the reason, Elienne could get no message
through. Taroith would face arrest unwarned.
    Sudden sounds disturbed her from thought. Voices
echoed in the stairwell. Apprehensively, Elienne slipped
the mirrowstone beneath her collar. She faced the door-
way just as the heavy oaken panel opened, and servants
invaded her suite.
    Faisix had kept his word, in quantity. No fewer than
ten maids arrived in answer to his summons. Only three
were drudges. Elienne frowned. The remainder no doubt
were intended to forestall activities that did not involve
personal appearance; the wedge of firewood and the
maneuvered array of furnishing had plainly shown the
Regent she was warned against treachery. If he saw fit to
distract her, there would be a cause.
    Moved by an unpleasant prickle of intuition, Elienne
turned her back on seven obsequious curtsies and chased
the drudge with the broom and dustbin who marched
through the bedroom door. The woman moved with the
purposeful efficiency of one who sought something
specific.
    Elienne quickened step. By the time she crossed the
threshold, the drudge's quick hands already brushed the

92

blood-soiled scrap of hair Nairgen had cast aside. The
woman bent to tip the dustbin into a sack that hung from
her apron.
    Fears confirmed, Elienne acted at once. She tripped
and slammed with feigned clumsiness into the drudge's
stout back. The woman staggered, grunting with surprise,
and the contents of her bin tipped onto the floor.
    Elienne recovered first. 'Oh! I'm sorry! Here, let me
make amends.' She snatched the brush and dustbin with
what she hoped would pass for contrite embarrassment
and recovered the spilled hair.
    The woman was not fooled. 'The Lady needn't trouble
herself.' She tried to regain her implements, but E!ienne
had anticipated the move. She smiled brightly and flung
the lock into the fire. The drudge glared as flames leaped,
fizzling, to consume it. Dark smoke trailed upward,
noisome with the reek of charred hair.
    Elienne stepped back and felt the dustpan jerked
angrily from her grasp. Though chilled by the vehemence
of the drudge's reaction, she removed the candle from the
nightstand and thoroughly examined the bedspread,
carpet, and floor, until she satisfied herself no strands
remained. If hair bound Darion's image to the mirrow-
stone, she dared not leave herself vulnerable to the
possibility an enemy Sorcerer might weave a similar
enchantment for use against her. The drudge's annoyance
confirmed her suspicion. Faisix had issued orders to
retrieve that lock.
    Elienne returned the broom to the glowering woman.
Then she pitched herself to the task of dealing with seven
maidservants, not one of whom could be trusted.

Washed, groomed, and poised despite the multiple con-
cerns that preoccupied her, Elienne paused above the

93

 stair overlooking the vast banquet hall where the court of
 Pendaire gathered in her honor as Prince's Consort. The
 decor matched the grandeur of the council chambers,
 aglitter beneath chandeliers expensively tiered with thou-
 sands of wax candles. Clean, smokeless flames illuminated
 a scene colorful as a flower bed, dusty with the glimmer
 of gems and gold-thread embroidery. Pendaire's courtiers
 dressed with costly extravagance. Elienne wondered again
 how one kingdom could support such vast wealth.
     A stern voice interrupted her thought. 'My little Lady.'
 A tall, lanky man with a harried face and balding, frizzled
 hair loomed over her. Peach brocade went poorly with his
 sallow complexion. 'You must not make an appearance
 before you've been properly announced.'
    The comment identified him as Master of the Revels.
E!ienne gestured at the elegantly spread tables which
seated the crowd at the foot of the stair. 'Were you
responsible for preparing all this in the space of a single
afternoon?'
    The Master of Revels sketched a self-conscious bow. 'I
did my best.'
    'Do you always conjure miracles?' Elienne smiled
warmly. The man must have worked himself half to death.
Never had she seen such an array, and at a glance, it
seemed the entire Grand Council, along with every living
relative, had attended.
    The Master of Revels grinned with awkward pleasure,
as though unaccustomed to praise. He took her hand and
bellowed over the heads of his guests. 'Our Lady Elienne,
official Consort of Prince Darion, fourteenth heir of
Halgarid's line.'
    E!ienne descended the steps to the sound of polite
applause. Aisa and Denji followed, the cold steel glint of
mail and weaponry jarring in contrast with the finery of

94

Pendaire's courtiers. The crowd stood. As she passed
between the ranks of tables, Elienne endured row after
row of faces marked by aristocratic appraisal. Pendaire's
ranking ladies exhibited great curiosity over the foreigner
Ielond had seen fit to import for their Prince. Elienne
walked the gamut of their scrutiny, and felt clumsy. Under
other circumstances, the escort clanking noisily at her
heels might have amused her. But with one attempt of
treachery against her already, anxiety clogged her sense
of humor. She searched the packed room, unable to
locate Kennaird.
    The sharp pinpoint light of a soulfocus drew her eye. It
belonged to a Sorcerer in green. He watched her
approach, eyes pale and flat as a cat's. Elienne passed
him uneasily. Taroith also, was not present. She won-
dered what had happened to him.
    A snowy length of carpet paved a path between the
guests to the marble dais where the royal table stood.
Seated there were the Select of the Grand Council, the
Regent of the Realm, and several others whose faces
were unknown to Elienne. A great stag rose from their
midst as centerpiece; golden hooves lay banked in a drift
of white starflowers, and a love wreath of myrtle circled
the raised, gleaming neck. Black antlers shadowed two
highbacked chairs embossed with carving and pearl inlay.
Both appeared empty.
    Eiienne gathered her skirts and climbed the dais steps.
Where was Kennaird, and more important, Prince
Darion? If this banquet could go on without the Prince,
the event would be the most costly sham she had ever
witnessed, and her own Consortship no more than a
courtly show of manners. Elienne repressed a frown. She
swept across the dais, skirts fanning disturbed air through
the starflowers.

95

    Aware of little but her own angry thoughts, Elienne
almost walked into the man who rose and pulled out a
chair for her. She checked precipitously, blocked by a
move that seemed calculated to make her look awkward.
Small, flame-haired, and exquisitely dressed in blue silk
with white fur trim, the courtier languidly observed her
discomfort from narrow-lipped, arrogant features. But
Elienne paid his rudeness scant notice. Her attention
moved beyond man and chair to another who lay
slumped, face downward, with both hands buried to the
wrist in starflowers.
    'Ma'Diere's Mercy.' Elienne knew a moment of horrid
recognition. 'Your Grace?'
    'Charming, isn't he?' said the red-headed man. 'I'm
almost ashamed to admit he's my cousin.'
    Elienne slipped past without answer. She stopped
beside the prone figure, her cheeks blanched like wax.
The Prince of Pendaire never moved. The fine white
tabard, twin to the one worn by her attacker, lay twisted
untidily across lax shoulders. A fillet of gold bound an
uncombed snarl of hair, and his head was pillowed on the
crested china of his dinner plate.
    Darion's cousin blinked pale eyes and broke an awk-
ward silence. 'My Lady, you'll feel better if you sit down.
There. Darion is indisposed. He'll recover after a while, I
assure you. He took Ielond's death rather hard. That's
understandable. He lost his mother at a very early age,
you must be aware. His Guardian was all the family he
had.'
    E!ienne regarded the Prince. Taroith evidently had not
had time to reverse the drug. Though another present
held a Master's powers, no one had troubled to act in
Darion's behalf. The opposite had been the case. The

96

Prince's person reeked of spirits, a detail so crude it lit
her temper.
    'This man belongs in bed with a healer to attend him.'
Elienne turned a withering glare upon the courtier. 'As
his cousin, you should be ashamed to allow a public
exhibition of him in such condition.'
    Light fingers settled on Elienne's shoulder. She started,
and found Faisix behind her. 'Come,' he admonished with
a smile. 'Would the Lady argue before being introduced?'
Elienne stiflened under his touch, suspicious he might try
her mind with sorcery; but if the Regent had plotted the
move, he exhibited only courtly courtesy. 'Lady Elienne,
meet Lord Jieles, brother of Darion's late father, Duke
of Liend, and present heir of this realm.'
    Elienne found courtesy impossible. She stared in fiat
distaste at Jieles and said succinctly, 'I'd rather not. I find
him unworthy of his ancestry.'
     Faisix chuckled and removed his hand, settling himself
 into the seat on the Prince's immediate right. 'I think the
 Lady won't be demanding much in the way of dinner
 conversation,' he said to Jieles. 'She likes her words sharp
 and quick. And she has shown an astonishing knack for
 tripping up men who are larger than she.'
     Jieles laid a patronizing arm across Darion's back. 'We
 might have guessed wrong. Perhaps word of Ielond's
 choice drove his Grace to drink.'
     Elienne ignored the insult, her initial flare of temper
 controlled. If Darion was incapable, she would see him
 through the ordeal of the banquet with as much dignity as
 she could. With two unresponsive victims, Jieles soon saw
 further antagonism was wasted breath. He left the Prince
 and sat, just as the Regent rose to address the gathering.
     Eiienne heard little of his speech. She slid her heavy
 chair closer to Darion and worked to straighten the

97

rumpled tabard. The slick silk of the stag blazon resisted
her efforts. Elienne tugged the cloth over limp shoulders,
conscious the flesh beneath was lean and well muscled;
this Prince Darion was not a man who spent himself in
decadence. E!ienne recognized the same hard fitness
Cinndei had acquired when the Khadrach had forced him
from peacetime pursuits into daily training with arms.
    The comparison shocked her. Cinndel was beyond
need. And in Faisix's presence, even her husband's
memory endangered her. Though grief roughened her
throat, Elienne moved her hands briskly on.
    Darions hair lay matted across a fevered, dry forehead.
The fine chestnut strands resisted Elienne's fingers. In the
end she contented herself with smoothing the stubbornest
tangles beneath the fillet.
  At last she turned to Jieles. 'Help me get him upright.'
    Jieles grinned. 'I rather thought his ear would make a
fine trencher for the roast.'
    'You're unpleasant.' Elienne returned his smile with
venomous annoyance. 'I'm not above trying out that
suggestion on your own anatomy.'
    Heads turned in their direction, decked with frowns of
disapproval. Garend furiously gestured for silence.
    'What a fool I was, to call you "Lady,"' Jieles mur-
mured, but he moved to lend a hand.
    Together they raised the Prince like a puppet from the
table and propped him against the chairback. Elienne
sent the table page for cold water and, the moment the
ewer arrived, began to blot Darion's face with her napkin.
    Faisix completed his speech. Jieles filled the expectant
hush that followed with a barbed excuse for his cousin's
ineptness. Forced, uneasy laughter swept the tables below
the dais. Elienne endured in tight-lipped silence. When

98

Jieles tried to prolong the issue with pleasantries, she
stepped hard on his instep beneath the table.
    Jieles sat precipitously and turned a wide, furious gaze
upon her. 'You could face the headsman for striking a
descendant of Haigarid,' he whispered sharply.
    'It would shame your manhood to put me to trial,'
Elienne replied without lowering her voice. 'And you're
the second man who's threatened that in a single evening.
I find the repetition dull.'
    A page arrived with a covered dish. Jieles seized upon
the diversion, red under the interested stares of his
neighbors across the table. An uneasy meal commenced.
Even the conversation below the dais seemed dampened
by tension. Elienne studied the exquisitely prepared food
and pitied the Master of the Revels. Though she had
forgotten when she had last eaten, her plate went largely
untouched. The others around her fared little better. The
drug caused Darion to be violently ill at the table. Elienne
struggled to support him in an upright position as his body
was wracked time and again with spasms.
    Servants descended like a swarm of insects. While they
labored to clear the mess, the guests continued their
toasts to the Prince's health as though nothing were amiss.
But Darion's apparent drunken stupor cast doubt like
blight over his integrity. That was inevitable, Elienne
knew. Little dignity could be gained from the Prince's
present condition, and even the table pages found diffi-
culty showing his Grace the deference due an heir of
Haigarid.
    The evening dragged through endless ceremonies.
Tongues loosened with the wine. By the time dessert was
served, the toasts had turned ribald, and a few were
maliciously barbed at the Prince's expense. Elienne never

99

so much as blushed, but she did request leave to retire
with the Prince. Jieles overheard, and laughed.
    'You can't go, Missy, until after the Seeress of
Ma'Diere's Order of the Seed and Scythe delivers the
Trinity of Fortune.'
 'I'm foreign,' said Elienne flatly. 'Explain.'
    Jieles did, with a self-important display of mock cour-
tesy. At a betrothal banquet, tradition required a Seeress
to deliver three prophecies, one for the Consort, one for
the Prince, and one for the realm. Not even the guests
might depart until after the custom had been met.
    'If the Seeress's words are unfortunate, the celebration
will end early, but I don't see much cause for impatience.'
Jieles glanced deferentially at the Prince's still form. 'Just
now my cousin doesn't seem a particularly rousing
bedfellow.'
    Elienne braced herself to endure. Servants cleared the
plates away and returned with cordials and baskets con-
taining comfits and sugared nuts. For the thousandth
time, Elienne peered beneath the stag's glossy belly and
searched the diners below. She failed to locate Kennaird.
    A bard, a troupe of jugglers, and a knife dancer all
performed and were applauded. The candles in the chand-
eliers overhead burned slowly lower. Elienne waited
anxiously for the next of the revels, but sudden quiet
settled over the long hall. A bent figure swathed in black
and yellow waited, motionless, on the stair at the entry.
    'Ma'Diere's Seeress,' announced the Master of Revels.
'Archmistress of the Holy Order of the Seed and Scythe.'
    The Seeress's lame step carried her down the stair and,
slowly, the length of the white carpet that led past the
table to the dais. As she approached, E!ienne saw she was
aged beyond estimate. The slice of face visible over her
shroud of veils was as brown and creased as a dead leaf.

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 Elienne felt sweat dampen her palms.
    The hour was well past midnight. Most of the candles
had burned out. Those left alight guttered, couched in
pools of wax, and long shadows flickered over a crowd of
expectant, upturned faces. Silence reigned as the Seeress
shuffled to a stop by Elienne's seat. The woman's eyes
were milky, all but blind. The hands that caught the
chairback for balance were crabbed claws of age, and the
heavy robes reeked strongly of herbs and moth poison.
The smell made Elienne dizzy.
    'Lower your head, Missy,' the Archmistress
commanded.
    Elienne obeyed. A dry, bony finger rested against the
crown of her head. The silence deepened until it seemed
to pound against her eardrums between heartbeats. After
a pause the crone leaned forward. Her breath brushed
hot as a desert wind against the skin of Elienne's neck as
she delivered the required prophecy in a dry, quavering
whisper.
  'Foreign one, you will die truthful.'
    Sudden gooseflesh prickled Elienne's back. Numbed
through with shock, she watched the Archmistress move
on to Darion. Could she be destined to fail? For Cinndel's
child to become Darion's heir was itself a falsehood, one
upon which her life depended. Elienne felt faint.
    'You know,' Jieles said softly to her, 'the prophecy
always comes to pass.'
    Elienne buried her distress as the seeress delivered
Darion's third of the Trinity of Fortune into an ear that
surely heard nothing. Then she limped to the table and
rested bent hands on the back of the golden stag. Eterni-
ty's stillness claimed the packed hall below. Servants and
nobles alike froze, motionless. The crone spoke.
  'The true blood of Haigarid will inherit the throne of

101

Pendaire, and there shall be a son to stand fifteenth in
succession from that seed.'
    Faisix rose and repeated the prophecy loud enough for
all to hear. Cheers erupted across the breadth of the hall
and speech became impossible. Hundreds of glasses raised
in toast. Ignorant of Darion's curse, the court believed
the Seeress had spoken of his own inheritance. Even the
steward who poured the wine offered Elienne congratu-
lations and a wide smile.
    Elienne nodded in response, her features stiff as paint
on a child's doll. Darion was the fourteeth heir of Hai-
garid. Cinndel's unborn son, key to his succession, was a
stranger's get, an impostor. If the prophecies held true,
logic demanded that Jieles claim the crown. He was the
only other genuine blood descendant, and no curse would
bar his conception of a natural son. Shaken, Elienne
raised her goblet. The wine ran bitter on her tongue. She
would make that succession difficult, she decided. And
before fear could destroy her resolve, she drained her
wine in toast to that end.

102

         6
Interface by Mirrowstone

The Seeress of Ma'Diere's Order of the Seed and Scythe
was ushered out amid a wild pandemonium of celebration.
There followed no more ribald comments on Darion's
apparent lapse of morals; Pendaire's court rejoiced in the
heat of restored faith. But at the royal table, the atmos-
phere remained subdued. Though Elienne felt emotion-
ally bereft, she still managed to maintain a polite facade.
    Jieles called for more wine and saw her goblet refilled.
'Drink to Darion's fortune with me. It would seem I am
to remain forever a Duke. Or did your own prophecy say
differently?'
    Elienne clenched her teeth. A graceful reply was going
to be difficult. But Garend spared her the effort.
    'You would think someone would notice, despite the
felicity yonder, that the Seeress's words implied more
than one alternative. You, my lord Duke, are equally
descended from Haigarid. And you possess already two
fine boys, one almost old enough to be declared for
heirship.'
    Elienne had had enough, suddenly, of intrigue. Aware
her temper might shortly triumph over manners, she
searched the crowd beneath the dais with growing desper-
ation, and at last spotted Kennaird shoving between the
packed mass of guests. She rose at once, impatient, but
careful not to show the uncertainty the prophecy had
inspired. She smiled sweetly at Garend. 'My Lord, it
would be less offensive if you could withhold your list of
alternative heirs until they are lawfully necessary. Don't

103

obligate me to prove you a fool. Of the remaining
prophecies, one left no space at all for discrepancy.'
    Rewarded by a flush of anger on the withered cheeks,
Elienne turned with perfect timing and greeted Kennaird.
She spoke quickly. 'I wish to retire at once with his
Grace.'
    The apprentice needed no urging. After one brief
appraisal, he hefted the unconscious Prince from the chair
and made at once for the stair. E!ienne followed, Aisa
and Denji on her heels.
    'Ma'Diere's mercy, my poor back,' murmured Ken-
naird as he threaded a path between jumbled ranks of
tables and guests grown raucous with drink. A wave of
raised goblets toasted the Prince's departure, undignified
though it was. Elienne felt as if the room would extend to
Eternity, and the staircase before the door loomed like a
mountain.
  'Can I be of assistance?' said a kindly voice.
    Elienne looked up. The Master of Revels stood before
her with offered hands, but Kennaird responded before
she could reply.
    'Just help me get his Grace up onto my shoulders.
Beyond that, I can manage.'
    Both men labored to lift the Prince. Shortly, Darion lay
slung across Kennaird's back exactly as Elienne had seen
him earlier in the mirrowstone. Chestnut hair curtained
pale features, and strong, well-shaped hands dangled
limply from shirt cuffs stiff with embroidery. From the
apprentice's bowed stance, it was evident the Prince
wasn't light. Elienne wondered, with a twist of uneasiness,
how he had come to be overpowered.
    Kennaird shifted his load, and something fell, glittering,
from the Prince's person. The Master of Revels caught
the object before it struck the floor. He had barely

104

identified what he held before his face registered distress.
'My Lady, this belongs with you.'
    E!ienne reluctantly extended her hand. The possibility
of a gift from a man she had never known rankled, and
Cinndel's memory rose, unbidden at the thought. But
instead of placing the object in her palm, the Master of
Revels slipped it onto her finger. Startled, Elienne pulled
back from his touch and stared at a thin gold band set
with a topaz. Slightly large, it circled her flesh like a
snare, cold reminder of an alien destiny.
    'That is the Consort's betrothal ring,' said the Master
of Revels softly. Tears lined his wise hound's eyes. 'His
Grace was to have presented it to you this evening.'
    'Then I thank' you in his stead.' Elienne hoped the
shake in her voice would pass unnoticed. 'I won't forget
your kindness.' Whatever happens, she added to herself,
and taking her leave, she followed Kennaird from the
banquet hall.
    The return to the suite in the keep was a long walk.
Except for Aisa and Denji, and the occasional palace
guard on sentry duty at the arched entrances of corridor
and portal, Elienne was alone with Kennaird.
    'What happened to Taroith?' Elienne spoke urgently,
aware this might be her only opportunity to find out.
    'He's been confined to a warded cell.' Kennaird grunted
as he stumped up a decorative staircase. Exertion made
his next words raggedly breathless. 'Accused of conspir-
acy against the Prince.'
    'The charge is false.' Grateful her wardens were both
deaf and mute, Elienne briefly related Nairgen's attack.
    'That was bold, for the Regent.' Kennaird sounded
more thoughtful than upset. 'He usually acts with more
subtlety. Perhaps, for once, we've caught him on the
defensive.'

105

'But what does that matter? So far we've gained nothing
but a muddle of prophecy that points toward failure.'
    As they reached the courtyard at the foot of the keep,
Elienne stopped abruptly and faced Kennaird. Darkness
hid his expression. 'The Trinity of Fortune?' Kennaird
walked stoically past her. 'You'd better tell me.'
    Elienne softly repeated the Seeress's prophecy, eyes
caught by the rumpled blazon on the Prince's tabard. The
leaping stag shone dull gold by starlight, bu! an unlucky
fold shadowed the animai's neck, rendering it headless as
a sacrifice. Trapped by a sudden sense of foreboding,
Elienne could not keep her voice steady.
    Kennaird was strangely silent when she had finished.
Elienne waited through an uncomfortable interval as,
oblivious to the din of chain and bolt, Aisa unbarred the
keep door. Kennaird followed her inside, the faint gleam
of Darion's finery marking his progress up the stair. He
spoke at last, words half-smothered in echoes.
    'Incomplete, the Trinity of Fortune is invalid. The
King's prophecy often provides the key to its meaning.
Ask Darion, when he wakens. If his third also spells ruin,
we must then disbar Jieles from inheritance by exposing
Faisix; Ielond's instructions, Mistress. It will be easiest
for all of us if you keep Darion alive. His execution would
discredit us all.'
    Elienne felt despair. If Darion's prophecy held the key,
the Trinity's meaning was irrevocably obscured; at the
time of the Seeress's appearance, the Prince had been
senseless, beyond reach of any spoken word. And even
if, by some miracle, Darion was able to achieve his
heirship, E!ienne saw no future for herself or her unborn
child in the court of Pendaire. 'You may confide in my
apprentice, Kennaird,' Ielond had said. But the man had

106

not inspired her trust. Unable to voice her fears, Elienne
set feet like numbed weights on the stairs. A misstep
earned an impatient shove from Denji. Absorbed in her
own misery, Elienne let the indignity pass.
    A sharp, metallic clink and a heated expletive from
Kennaird disturbed a tangle of echoes. Startled, Elienne
looked up. Kennaird stood at the head of the stair,
sweating in the spill of light from the open door beyond.
Bright as new flame, Aisa's shortsword rested against his
breast. Each labored breath transmitted an orange flash
of reflection.
    'Godless bitch!' Slowly Kennaird bent. Darion slid,
uncontrolled from his shoulders, and sprawled awkwardly
on cold stone. One wrist tumbled over the lip of the top
step and dangled. Aisa gestured curtly with her blade.
'Father killers!' the apprentice shouted over his shoulder.
A backhanded blow from Denji sent him stumbling down
another stair. 'Elienne, look after his Grace!'
    Denji unslung her ax. With a rising sense of helpless-
ness, Elienne watched as Kennaird was driven from the
keep. Though the mute's unguarded back invited a swift
push from behind, Darion was her first responsibility.
Elienne turned back in time to see Aisa's booted foot roll
the Prince, coarsely as a hunter's kill, over the threshold
of his own chambers.
    Anger left no breath for insult. Elienne launched her-
self at Aisa, hands grasping recklessly for the knife that
swung from the studded belt. Warned by movement, the
mute whirled. Elienne's knuckles bruised into an armored
hip. Mailed hands caught her shoulder, sent her reeling
sideways through the door. Her foot caught on Darion's
inert bulk. She fell clumsily across his chest. Above her,
Aisa smiled. Elienne caught the oaken door and hurled it

107

shut with all her strength. The bar fell with a dissonant
clank, shutting the guardswoman out.
    Elienne discovered herself shouting Cinndel's name,
and her rage suddenly broke before terrible, wrenching
grief. Bruised, exhausted, and overwhelmed by all she
had experienced since her arrival, the despair that had
stalked her since the prophecy at last overcame her.
Ielond had been a fool to believe she could be effective
against Pendaire's entrenched palace intrigue. Stripped of
allies, she was left no defense, and no guide. Tears slipped
unnoticed down her face, glittering like jewels on the gilt
embroidery of Darion's tabard. A faint sound echoed in
the passage without; Denji bolting the outer door after
Kennaird. His last shouts sounded distant, futile and thin
as a child's protest.
 Elienne wept for a long time.

The savage thunder of the surf that pounded the reefs
below the wall gradually lulled Elienne's shattered com-
posure. Her sobs quieted. Through swollen eyes, she took
stock of her surroundings. The room had transformed
since afternoon to a shifting sea of shadow. The candles
guttered fretfully in the sea breeze, which slipped through
the arrowslits. Ignited by flamelight, gemstones glittered,
hot as sparks, from the ornamental gilt of furnishing and
hanging, but the air was damp and clammy. Elienne
shivered.
    Darion's face lay buried in chestnut hair. The gold
fillet, symbol of his royalty, had fallen off. With hesitant
fingers, Elienne pushed heavy locks, so like Cinndel's,
away from features inescapably different. The brow
beneath was iced with sweat. Elienne froze, afraid. Her
lapse into self-pity had been dangerously indulgent. Dar-
ion's life, and her own security, depended upon her clarity
of mind. The Prince required immediate care.

108

    The bedchamber door lay beyond a wide expanse of
carpet, cluttered still by the trap of obstacles she had
contrived earlier. The servants had long since departed.
Aching with stiffness, Elienne rose, hooked her arms
beneath the Prince's shoulders, and attempted to raise his
torso from the floor. Silken cloth rucked beneath her
hands; the royal head lolled back and thumped into the
rug. Elienne swore. Gracelessly straining, she hefted the
Prince higher and tried to drag him, but the carpet's thick
pile resisted her efforts, and after barely a yard she was
forced to stop, panting. Why couldn't Aisa have left the
Prince his dignity and allowed Kennaird to deposit him
on the bed? Elienne lowered Darion back onto the rug.
Bereft of intelligence, his hard, swordsman's body became
an awkward parody, and she would see herself damned
before she allowed those ruervine who guarded the door
the satisfaction of finding the Prince on the floor in the
morning.
    Elienne left Darion where he lay, and with ferocious
energy began to move furniture. Careless of sweaty
fingerprints or chipped inlay, she labored until the wall
beneath the arrowslits was as untidily stacked as a junk
merchant's stall. Elienne cleared a path up to the bed-
chamber door, then crumpled the rug and left it heaped
by the hearth. Bared and gleaming in the candlelight, a
well-oiled expanse of parquet stretched between Darion
and the bedchamber door. With quick hands, Elienne
plowed sheets, pillows, and coverlet away from the bed.
The mattress was horsehair quilted with down, luxuriously
costly. She hauled it onto the floor and by the fire fixed a
makeshift bed. The delicacy of the silken coverlet was too
flimsy for her intentions, and she searched the room for a
substitute. A tapestry from the next room, torn from its
hanging, better suited her purpose. E!ienne bundled the

109

Prince's senseless body onto an exquisitely stitched fal-
conry scene, then seized one edge and pulled. Darion slid
easily on his improvised sled. Callously deaf to the
scraping rebuke of the gemstones scratching into wood,
Elienne dragged her burden from sitting room to bed-
chamber. More effort saw Darion transferred onto the
mattress.
    E!ienne removed his heavy jeweled belt and gold-
stitched boots. The tabard gave her difficulty. The gar-
ment had no fastenings, and the stiff, decorative fabric
had been snugly tailored to fit shoulders broader than
Cinndel's. The comparison rose unbidden. Hot and tired,
Elienne blinked back fresh tears. She wrestled the tabard
over slackened limbs and with renewed gentleness began
unlacing the lawn shirt beneath. The Prince lay like a
corpse beneath her touch. His skin was gray with pallor,
his breathing barely perceptible. Elienne's own breath
caught in her throat; Darion's condition had worsened
considerably since the banquet. The drug might easily kill
him. With growing apprehension, she recalled Taroith's
mention of overdose.
    Elienne seized a limp wrist, horrified by the touch of
flesh as moist and chill as autumn earth. The pulsebeat
was weak and erratic. Pity wrung her heart, followed by
fear. What could she do for his Grace except try to warm
him? Kennaird had offered no advice, and Taroith was
imprisoned, beyond reach.
    Darion's chest heaved as Elienne removed the damp
shirt. The stag medallion he wore glanced in the flame-
light, red as a gate to Hell. Elienne smothered it with her
hand, unwilling to face any more omens of death.
    'Ielond gave his life to save you,' she whispered, and
paused, arrested by the sight of a silky tangle of white
hair twisted in the links of the meda!lion's chain. A

110

memory from the mirrowstone surfaced: Taroith, raising
his head from examination of the Prince, hair snagged in
the ornament; the impatient gesture that had jerked it
free.
    Elienne gripped the Prince's shoulder hard. Hair,
Ieiond had said, bound the interface that allowed her
contact with Darion through the mirrowstone. If the stone
were unset, and the Prince's hair exchanged for Taroith's,
might she be able to reach the Sorcerer by means of the
same enchantment? Kennaird had said the cell that con-
fined Taroith was warded. Elienne wondered whether its
defenses would exclude a force applied from without. She
looked at the mirrowstone, hesitant. She had little knowl-
edge of lore, even from her own time. Meddling might
well destroy the spell that bound the stone's function.
Elienne touched Darion's lifeless cheek, suddenly firm in
her resolve. The Prince's condition would not wait; and if
he died, the jewel's linking properties would be useless
anyway. With trembling hands, Elienne untwisted the
hair from the chain. Then she covered the Prince well
with blankets and seated herself by the single candle left
burning on the nightstand.
    The thin gold of the mirrowstone's bezel yielded easily
to the cuticle knife's edge. Elienne tasted sweat on her
lips as she pried the gem clear of its setting. Half-braced
for the dazzling flare of a broken spell, she sat rigid as the
stone tumbled into her palm. But the crystal only flashed
with the reflected light, teardrop cool and inert in her
hand.
    Elienne released a pent-up breath. Coiled tightly
against the gold backing lay a strand of chestnut hair. She
tipped it carefully onto the table and laid the silvery
thread she had robbed from Darion's chain in its place.

111

When she returned the mirrowstone to the setting, the
gem's glassy depths clouded instantly.
  'My Lady?' The voice was Taroith's.t
Elienne flinched, startled. Jerked by its tether of chain
the mirrowstone's setting tore from her grasp. A winking
arc of light marked the jewel's fall, extinguished at once
by the table's shadow.
    Elienne swore, bent, and groped across the carpet until
her fingers touched ice. Prepared now for the unexpected,
she retrieved the stone and set it back into place over
Taroith's hair.
    'Elienne?' The inquiry this time was gentler, less sur-
prised. 'In the name of Ma'Diere, who taught you the art
of mindspeech?'
    The jewel's interface worked, then, on a mental level.
Elienne released her hold on the mirrowstone, rewarded
by a view of a narrow, stone cell lined with closely spaced
iron bars. Taroith sat on a wooden bench, white head
disheveled and ascetic brows raised in astonishment.
    Reluctantly, Elienne covered the gem with her finger.
'Gifted? I've had no training. Only a jewel Ielond left to
allow me contact with his Grace.'
    Elienne felt rather than saw Taroith's nod. 'A mirrow-
stone? I understand. But how did you alter the interface?'
    'Never mind that.' The words sounded sharp, even to
Elienne's ear. 'Forgive me. Darion is very ill, perhaps
dying. The guardswomen would not allow Kennaird to
treat him.'
    'He hadn't the skill, in any case.' Taroith rose and
paced the cell. 'I have been consumed with worry . . .
Elienne, you must explain how you changed the mirrow-
stone's interface. The precise nature of the enchantment
is crucial if I am to help the Prince. And you are right,

without care he might well die. Nairgen was recklessly
heavy-handed with the drug.'
    'I used hair,' E!ienne said, and added a concise account
of her deductions.
    Taroith shook his head, bemused. 'I have to concede
Ielond's judgement, my Lady. You have been admirably
resourceful.' The Sorcerer paused with clasped hands.
Framed by the bleak, barred expanse of cell wall, his face
looked lined and weary. 'Tell me how his Grace fares.'
    'Not well, Gifted.' Elienne described the Prince's con-
dition ignoring her own self-doubt. Even with Taroith as
consultant, there seemed little she could do to relieve the
Prince's condition. Yet when she released the mirrow-
stone, the Sorcerer had summoned his soulfocus. The
cel!'s close confines blazed with the blue-white brilliance
of a lightning flash, and Taroith's features carried a
hammered look of determination.
'Lady, there is only one course of action open to us.'
His evident apprehension made Elienne's stomach
tighten unpleasantly, but she held her questions. Taroith's
gaze caught her through the mirrowstone. 'I can - possibly
- escape the prison's ward if I transmit myself, in spirit,
across the jewel's interface.'
    E!ienne fought dismay. The linking enchantment was
surely too tenuous to act as a bridge for anything more
complex than words.
    Taroith understood her concern. 'There is danger. But
Ieiond's work was exceptionally thorough. I trust his hand
better than my own.'
    Though intended as reassurance, the carefully meas-
ured phrases implied a risk all the greater for being left
unmentioned. 'Gifted, no!' At once ashamed, E!ienne
wished the words unsaid.
  Taroith was patient. 'Have courage, my Lady.'

112                                                                    113

'Courage!' Elienne shook her head. She swallowed,
half-sickened by fear. 'Then, I beg of you, be cautious.'
    The Sorcerer returned a quiet smile. 'I shall be, for
Darion's sake, as well as my own.' His face sobered as he
explained how the transfer would be effected. 'Lady, are
you ready?'
    Elienne forced herself steady. A large measure of
Taroith's safety rested in her hands, and his confidence
wrenched at her heart. She laced the mirrowstone's
loosened setting securely between her fists and nodded.
    Taroith set his soulfocus, first to trace and define the
construction of Ielond's spell. Physical sensation failed
Elienne from the first instant of contact, and, despite all
previous warning, the sudden plunge into black, weight-
less silence came as a shock. Blinded, deaf, and adrift in
what seemed oblivion, she strove to regain the attitude of
calm Taroith required, but her fear fed off that unnatural
night, enfolding her like the wings of some monstrous
creature. Just when she thought she would suffocate, a
pinprick of light appeared.
    Watch. Taroith's thought reached Elienne, strangely
disembodied. Every Master's work is unique. lelond's
sorceries were wrought with indescribable beauty.
    The light source waxed brighter, acquired a bluish
tinge. Elienne recognized Taroith's soulfocus. Where it
moved, she saw a thin needle of luminosity scribed against
the gulf of negative space. Elienne seized the distraction
hypnotically, following the focus's progress as it shuttled
to and fro, tracing out - curve and countercurve - the
path of Ielond's artistry. A structure gradually took shape.
Awed, suddenly, by recognition of geometrically perfect
symmetry, Elienne forgot herself. The spell's pattern
extended delicate as interlaced threadwork, line for line a
harmonic consummation of balance.

114

    Taroith patiently mapped an interlocking mesh of cir-
cles. Elienne wondered at the delicacy of his touch, until
a fiat, angular flash of reflection caught her attention.
Intricate as glass lattice, a crystalline array of planes
appeared across the spell.
    The mirrowstone's matrix, Taroith sent. The enchant-
ment passes through the stone near the origin. You may
experience a sensation. Keep steady, whatever happens.
    The master pattern narrowed, converged into a series
of straight doubled lines. Elienne sharply recovered
awareness of her body, as an alien touch hooked the vitals
behind her heart. There followed an uneasy feeling of
tension. Elienne fought revulsion. The sorcery tugged like
fish line. Gooseflesh prickled her neck and arms.
    I have crossed the prime command. Taroith's soulfocus
drifted, separated at last from the softer luminescence of
the spell. As I thought, lelond aligned the interface out-
ward. Lady, you are the source. The mirrowstone will
activate for communication to your touch alone.
    Which reduced the risks to Darion, Elienne knew. But
the success of Taroith's transfer would rest all the more
heavily upon her. If she lost contact with the stone while
he crossed the interface, the dissolution that would result
might well carry his spirit with it, since his entire aware-
ness would be attuned to the link. Elienne battled fresh
fear. When the interface assumed a psychic burden
beyond its intended capacity, much of the stress would be
transferred directly to her. And however soundly Ielond
had wrought, the strength of his original handiwork was
limited by her own frailty.
    Taroith tried to encourage her. Lady, lelond had faith
in you. My safety is in good hands.
But Ieiond surely had not known of the Seeress's

115

prediction of failure. Elienne's grip on the mirrowstone
was slippery with sweat.
    Let me know if the discomfort becomes more than you
can bear. Elienne nodded with false bravado.
    Before her, the spell's linear pattern blazed to blinding
brilliance as Taroith left his physical body and merged
conscious awareness with his soulfocus. The result shone
with the solitary splendor of an evening star, framed by
the ingenious subtlety of Ielond's interface. Yet the
display's raw beauty escaped Elienne entirely. As Tar-
oith's spirit began the journey across the net, the physical
pull within her increased to a searing pain.
    Elienne cried aloud. Her hand clenched convulsively
over the mirrowstone. The ornamental setting bore
deeply into her palms. For long, agonized minutes,
unfamiliar forces closed over her with the cruel bite of
trap jaws. Breath dragged in her throat. She tried to call
Taroith's name, and found speech impossible. As a whirl-
pool of dizziness sucked at her consciousness, Elienne
clung to her ebbing senses with an animal's blind instinct.
    The crippling sensation suddenly ceased. Elienne
slumped forward onto the table, drained and shaking.
Something strangely insubstantial touched the fingers still
fisted around the mirrowstone.
    You may relax, Taroith assured her gently. My release
is accomplished.
    Elienne looked up, eyes assaulted by doubled images.
The Sorcerer stood beside her in spirit, a luminous figure
bound into existence by the pattern of the interface,
which glittered like shot-glass thread through the bed-
chamber. Solid as a beacon, it seemed, while candlelit
furnishings and stone walls wavered as though diffracted
by water.
 'But I won't hear you if I let go of the stone.' Elienne

transferred the jewel to one hand and pushed a damp lock
of hair from her face. 'And how else will you reunite
yourself with your body in the cell?'
    My return is no difficulty, Taroith explained. The pris-
on's ward is polarized only against sorcery applied from
within. I will care for Darion. You should try to sleep.
    Elienne rose, swayed, and caught the table for balance,
betrayed by unsteady legs. The weakness made her cross.
'Gifted, save your concern for your Prince.'
    Insubstantial as a drawing in silverpoint, Taroith knelt
on the pillows at the Prince's head. Darion lay still as
death in the light of the Sorcerer's soulfocus. Elienne
studied the waxy pallor of his features through the cross-
weave of Ielond's enchantment. In Trathmere, a healer
would have treated the Prince with an elixir containing an
antidote or, if none existed, strong potions steeped with
herbs. She wondered how Taroith would effect a cure
with nothing at hand but will.
    Taroith glanced up as though she had asked aloud.
Every creature possesses innate awareness of its physical
self, by Ma'Diere's Law. It cannot be permanently altered,
except by Black Sorcery.
    Elienne watched as the soulfocus drifted lower and
touched Darion's forehead. Taroith continued his expla-
nation. A trained Master can call forth that awareness, and
reinforce the original pattern with inanimate, elemental
forces. Drugs, diseases, even injuries have no natural place
in the structure and so cannot maintain existence.
    As the Sorcerer finished, the soulfocus blurred,
expanded, and enveloped the Prince's comatose body in
a shroud of illumination.  Darion.
    The strength of Taroith's call made the very air seem to
quiver. Ielond's enchantment pulsed with power, echoing

116                                                                  117

the rush of surf against the headland beyond the palace
walls. Elienne could feel the seething hiss of current and
the tumble of sand grains against the seabed as if she
stood, drenched by breakers, upon the rocky spine of the
reef.
  Darion.
    Taroith's second call all but summoned stars from the
sky. Cold, fresh air settled around him, and the chamber
expanded with silence. Elienne forgot her fatigue, fasci-
nated as the faintest flush of rose touched the Prince's
cheeks.
  Darion.
    Taroith's last call was but a whisper. As if his control
was pent, the light that clothed the Prince flickered, then
dimmed. Eiienne felt the heightened awareness fade
beyond perception, until the bedchamber lay stripped of
enchantment, shadowed and stale, and hemmed by stone
walls filmed with fog. The candles guttered, burnt low in
timed sockets. Darion remained unconscious, his features
limp and lifeless between Taroith's hands. Elienne
watched through burning eyes, unwilling to recognize
defeat, unable to accept that all their efforts had resulted
in failure.
    Taroith stirred, the soft glow of his presence barely
visible in the gloom. I could not maintain the final
sequence in spectral state. But all is not lost. I believe the
drug has been reduced to safe limits. The Prince should
sleep off the final stages on his own. Let him waken
naturally. And, Lady? Elienne looked up.
    Ask Darion to have Nairgen's woman questioned. She
may provide evidence of his guilt, or possibly names of his
accomplices.
 Elienne nodded quickly, shamed by neglect; Taroith

118

had entered no plea on his own behalf until now, and,
swept away by concern for herself and the Prince, she had
forgotten to offer any help. 'I'll see he does, Gifted.'
Contritely Elienne touched Darion's hand. The fingers
were warm. But before she could voice her thanks,
Taroith and all evidence of Ielond's spell vanished, leav-
ing her alone in near darkness.
    Even worn out, Elienne decided to restore Darion's
hair to the mirrowstone's setting at once. The aftermath
of Nairgen's rape attempt had taught her never again to
leave evidence of her activities for Faisix's eyes. Though
her fingers responded clumsily and her eyes stung in the
dying flicker of the candles, the ceaseless threat she had
known since arrival in Pendaire drove her to complete the
task. Not until the jewel was securely crimped in its
setting did she return to the Prince and settle her aching
body at his side.
    The hollows around Darion's eyes had lost the taut,
sunken look of fever. His skin was resilient to Elienne's
touch, and his breathing was deep and regular. Con-
fronted with tangible progress toward his recovery, she
wondered, through a fog of exhaustion, what she would
have to say to him when he woke. The thought tangled
unpleasantly with a memory of Cinndel, bloody and still
in the dusty bailey where he had fallen. Drowsily
Elienne's reflections drifted into nightmare.
    A faint scraping of leather against wood brought her
back to awareness. Elienne whirled to face the sound and
caught sight of a furtive movement beyond the tumbled
pile of bedhangings. A small face, fringed with dark hair,
withdrew hastily into shadow.
     Recognition eased E!ienne's initial stab of fright.
 'Minksa?'
 The girl flinched at the mention of her name, widened

119

eyes fixed on Elienne in distrust. Uneasily Elienne won-
dered whether the child had slipped in to hide during her
absence; if Minksa was sent to spy, how much of Darion's
recovery would be reported to Faisix? Quite obviously,
the child was terrified.
    'I won't hurt you.' Elienne hoped she sounded sincere
enough to reassure. From the first encounter, she had
been inclined toward compassion for Minksa, whose
nervous, hunted expression seemed that of a child sorely
deprived of affection. Ignoring Kennaird's warning, she
decided her best defense lay in winning the child's trust.
    Elienne gathered Darion's hand into her lap as an
indication that she had no intention of moving in pursuit.
'Come out, child. You must ache from staying still so
long, and it's chilly under the bed.'
    Minksa hesitated. Her eyes darted significantly toward
the door to the sitting room.
    Elienne strove to recapture her attention. 'My sister's
daughter was about your age, I believe. Are you twelve?'
    The girl stood, visibly torn. Nervously she plucked at
the e!fiocks that spilled over her thin shoulders. Her shift
was loosely cut, shamefully large and worn for the niece
of a Prince.
    Elienne patted the pillows at her side with heartfelt
sympathy. 'You look troubled. Do you want to talk?'
    Minksa chewed her lip, then shook her head in violent
refusal. A single candle revealed what might have been
tears on her pallid cheeks.
    Careful to move without threat, E!ienne offered her
hand. 'Will you let me help, Minksa?'
    But whoever had sent the child to spy had traumatized
her beyond coaxing. Minksa bolted madly for the door.
The wake of her rush smothered the candle, and in
darkness, Elienne heard the slap of sandaled feet crossing

120

the floor at a run. The sour clank of the outer bar and a
sudden draft of cold air marked Minksa's departure. The
guards made no move to stop her. A moment later,
Elienne heard the muffled sound of the door closing. The
soft note of the latch carried clearly over the low roar of
the surf.

121

        7
The Heir of Halgarid

She woke with her head pillowed against the Prince's
thigh. His hand lay in her lap where she had last placed
it, now cold-lit by dawn light from the arrowslits. But the
wrist was no longer limp, and the fingers curved protec-
tively against her waist. Abruptly aware of his conscious
presence, Elienne caught her breath, glanced up, and met
dark hazel eyes regarding her with close attention.
  Nothing had prepared her for this moment.
    The Prince's hand stirred. Elienne tensed for the inevi-
table caress, yet Darion withdrew his touch. His expres-
sion of polite restraint remained unchanged as he folded
his arm across his chest. 'My Lady?'
    E!ienne searched his face, relieved to find no trace of
passion. She inclined her head. 'Good morrow, your
Grace.'
    'Taroith left me with the awareness of how deeply I
stand in your debt.' Darion's voice was courteous, but
distant. Probably he wished to win his right of succession
and be done with her.
    That suited Elienne. Thought of the physical involve-
ment she had promised Ielond revolted her suddenly, and
she wished the obligation finished, quickly, without kind-
ness or commitment, so that she could forget. 'Your
Grace, you owe me nothing.' With self-control tight as
any she had shown before Faisix, Elienne began to
unclasp her bodice.
 Darion reacted instantly. 'Lady.'

122

    Deaf to his urgency, Elienne continued to disrobe with
mechanical efficiency. The loosened silk of her blouse
slithered back, baring one shoulder to the chill air. Her
fingers trembled as she reached to shed the garment
entirely. But Darion caught her hands with his own and
firmly resisted her intent. 'Mistress.'
    Elienne's heart turned with sudden fear. 'Mistress' was
formal title for a married woman, not an affianced bride.
She studied the Prince's features anew, prepared for
betrayal and cornered by need to defend herself and
Cinnde!'s unborn son.
    The eyes which met hers were calm. 'Yes, Mistress.
Ielond broke the barrier of time and gave his life to send
you to me. He told me you would already carry the son
who would become my heir.' Darion pressed her hands
down into her lap. He smoothed the fallen sleeve back
over her shoulder with a touch that was gentle but remote.
'You come to me straight from the arms of a lover who is
dead. lelond promised me that the lady he would send
would not be missed elsewhere.' The Prince's smile was
bitter. 'He was a Sorcerer who kept his word.'
    Elienne shivered. 'Please,' she began. Adversity had
forced her emotional turmoil at bay behind a wall of
restraint. She found sympathy threatening that barrier,
and grief was nothing but a liability. 'My Lord, please,
simply do what you must.'
    'Do you think me a man without feeling?' Darion's
voice was no longer quite selfless. 'Lady, you've been
through Hell itself to give me my right of succession. If
you're going to be imagining another man's face over
mine when we love, I'd prefer to know who he was. I
would rather respect his habits and his memory, that our
time together might tax you as little as possible.'

123

'Stop!' E!ienne tried to curb the tears that brimmed at
the edges of her eyelids. 'I beg you, be done with this.'
    'No.' Darion was final. 'Lady, allow for me, if not for
yourself. I would rather give Pendaire to Jieles than use
you like a street wench. You cherished someone enough
to grant him a child. Why don't you start by telling me his
name?'
    The sincerity of the Prince's compassion struck Elienne
like a blow, crumbling her defenses. Unwanted sobs
wrenched her throat, rendering speech impossible. Dar-
ion's features softened, then blurred through a rush of
tears. Elienne buried her face behind her fingers, only
vaguely aware of the arms that circled her and gathered
her close. Grief allowed her neither pride nor will to
resist. Cradled against the warmth of Darion's chest, she
wept for the husband and the home torn from her by the
Khadrach.
    The Prince held her, stroking the hair that spilled down
her back long after crying had left her exhausted. Quies-
cent, she lay against him, accepting his comfort, and
resigned to its inevitable conclusion.
    Yet Darion's touch remained passionless, and a lengthy
interval passed before he so much as spoke. 'Lady, your
man must have been exceptional to inspire such love.
Please, tell me about him.'
    Crowded by vivid memories, bewildered by the enorm-
ity of her loneliness, Elienne found herself tempted to
accept the consolation of communication. But Darion was
a stranger, inescapably removed from all she had known
and loved. 'Cinndel was beyond words,' she said at last.
How could she speak of the rapport, the humor, and the
joy she had shared with a man now dead? 'Why ask me
of him? You cannot take his place.'
 'I never expected to.' Darion's tone was complaisant.

His hands never broke their rhythm over her hair. 'I wish
only to understand you, Lady. If Cinndel was important
to you, he is important to me. If you feel I seek to
manipulate or use you, I will leave you now. I'll not
establish my Kingship through another's pain.'
    Elienne pulled away from Darion's embrace. She sat
up and stared through tear-swollen eyes, and on his
features read honesty like flint. 'Ma'Diere.' Her voice
shook. 'That scruple could cost your life, and Ielond's
sacrifice in your behalf will be wasted.'
    A fine web of wrinkles tightened the skin around
Darion's eyes. Yet his voice showed no strain. 'Even so,
Lady.'
    Reminded of the mirrowstone's image of the Prince
confronted by the headman's ax, Elienne drew back,
suddenly white. Assured and unselfish, the man who
would bestow her freedom was not one to waste himself
for a fool's sense of gallantry. About his stillness she
caught a shadow of the quality that had so haunted her on
the iceplain. Behind the Prince's concern lay a need
greater than her own, a need she now knew herself
incapable of denying.
    'My Lord, love for my husband never made me cold.'
Hesitantly, Elienne laid her hands in the Prince's. 'I want
you to live, and claim your kingdom, though it costs me
pain. Forgive the fact I haven't yet strength enough to lay
my past aside. That is my burden, not yours.'
    Darion drew her close, the stress coiled tight within
him now openly apparent. 'Lady Consort, I make that
burden mine as well.'
    The perception and grace behind the statement
demanded no less than the warmth of an understanding
response. 'I refuse you that, Prince of Pendaire.' Elienne
lifted her head and kissed the man who would soon be

124                                                                                 125

her husband, not with passion, but with honest appreci-
ation of his individuality. 'I came to grant you release, not
to add to your troubles.'
    Darion responded with tenderness. The kiss he
returned was a compliment rather than a demand, and
the hands that slipped the clothing from her body were
gentle and unhurried. Elienne felt herself stirred to inti-
macy. She might not love this man, but out of sympathy
she could return the gift of his compassion. She pressed
close to him, awakened to desire, and recognized the
familiar tension of shared physical passion. She fought to
keep her words light. 'My Lord, won't you rid me of
Kennaird's handiwork? I find it a nuisance.'
    Darion laughed softly. 'My Lady, that would be a
pleasure.' Yet the smile abruptly left his face, and the
bantering tone turned serious. 'But I am in no way
deceived.'
    He soothed her with his touch until the barriers of her
loss gave way before a torrent of physical passion.
    Sparked into flame like kindling, Elienne accepted him
fully; until, caught utterly by surprise, she felt her desire
peak with him. The moment caught like pain.
    Peace shattered before a cruel need for Cinndel, who
alone had shared this intimacy.
 Darion cradled her like a child. 'Have I hurt you?'
 Elienne turned her face away in distress.
    Darion gently withdrew, and began to rub her back.
'You miss Cinndel. There is no shame in the fact.'
    Elienne barely heard him. But beneath his ministra-
tions, knotted muscles slowly eased, and exhaustion
began at last to claim her.
    The Prince settled the coverlet over her and continued
to stroke her shoulders through its warm folds. 'Lady, I
respect your courage. From this moment, you may, if you

choose, have nothing but formal relations with me. You
have more than accomplished your promise to Ielond,
and between us I demand no falseness.'
    Elienne stirred and drew a long, shaky breath. 'Your
Grace, I cannot pretend to love you. But you have won
my admiration as Cinndel's equal, and your friendship is
a gift greater than any I could have wished.'
    Through eyes grown heavy with weariness, Elienne saw
Darion smile as she sank into dreamless sleep.

Movement roused her. Darion had risen, and as Elienne
rolled over, she saw him stretch once, striped with golden
morning sunlight, before he reached for the hose and
tabard she had discarded on the floor the past evening.
He caught her staring as he dressed. To her delight, he
colored slightly, embarrassed.
    'I don't mean to abandon you, Lady.' He knelt by her
side, concerned but impersonal. 'The Grand Justice will
meet shortly concerning the charges of treason against
Taroith, and I must be present.'
    'I understand.' Elienne wanted to inquire how much
information Taroith had left the Prince concerning Nair-
gen's plot against the succession, but his mood was not
one that invited interference. 'Master Taroith asked me
to request that you question the healer's wife.'
    Darion frowned. 'I should have in any case. Are you
comfortable? If you have needs, I will see they are
attended.'
    Elienne tried to soothe his sharpened edges with a
smile. 'Acquit Taroith, your Grace. I want for nothing
more than time to myself.'
    Darion rose and buckled on his swordbelt. Even as he
stood barefoot, with childishly disordered hair, daylight
unveiled with stark clarity the intelligence and the grace

126                                                                                   127

the drug's debilitating effects had robbed from him.
Elienne perceived with fresh understanding Ielond's ded-
ication to such a Prince, and renewed outrage stirred in
her against the faction of Pendaire's court that valued
power over the reaim's well-being. Even victimized by
injustice, Darion proved himself formidably suited for the
kingship that should have been his without hindrance or
doubt. Had Cinndel fallen heir to the same lot, in honesty
E!ienne wondered whether even he could have handled
himself with the same finesse.
    'Ma'Diere give you peace, my Lady Consort.' Darion
bestowed a courtly bow and departed. As his step faded
on the stair, E!ienne realized, by his absence, how deeply
he had touched her. Beyond her own fight for survival,
he had won her willing support. While turning that
thought over in her mind, she drifted into drowsy reflec-
tion, and thence to sleep.

When Elienne awoke at noon, the room was empty. The
sea's restless surface threw needles of reflected light across
the beamed ceiling. Annoyed at her laziness, Elienne rose
at once and found fresh clothing laid out for her, alongside
a basin, towels, and a basket of fruits and cheeses. No
servants appeared to attend her. Elienne washed, grateful
that Darion seemed to have taken her request for solitude
seriously. The dress was wheat-gold, trimmed with black,
mercifully plainer than the one Ielond had fashioned for
her, yet richly woven despite its simple cut. Elienne
dressed quickly, anxious to know how Taroith fared, and
afire to see how Darion's enemies would react to his
restored health. Yet she dared not consult the mirrow-
stone without advance precautions.
    The sitting room stood deserted. Elienne surveyed the
jumble of furnishings, then the tucked hump of carpet

128

before the dead ash of the fireplace. The peach in her
hand stayed untasted. The fact that no one had been sent
to straighten the chamber struck her as oddly excessive,
despite her desire to be left alone, and a fresh stab of
anxiety caught her. Though famished, she abandoned the
peach on a side table; left by an unknown hand, it might
contain drugs, or worse.
    E!ienne sighed and dragged a stuffed chair from the
pile. Rose and orange against oiled wood the fruit, she
had abandoned seemed to taunt her insecurity. It was
probably harmless. Impulsively driven to anger, Elienne
grabbed the peach and hurled it through the nearest
arrowslit into the sea. War had first taught her distrust. In
Pendaire, she found its harsh lesson of caution a hateful
companion. Unsettled, Elienne seated herself, sur-
rounded by the unfamiliar tang of cedar wood and salt
air. The mirrowstone would provide her with a window
through the uneasiness that imprisoned her.

The stone held an image of tiered walls of books and
scrolls, racked neatly behind finely glassed lattice cases.
Darion sat, candle-lit, at an oaken table, his stag tabard
replaced by a gold-trimmed doublet of black. A document
lay spread beneath his fingers, and a stooped, elderly
gentleman hovered anxiously at his shoulder.
    'Elienne,' the Prince mused softly. 'She is called
E!ienne.' The parchment's seals glanced in the light as he
laid it aside. Elienne recognized Ielond's writ.
    The gentleman crowed with delighted laughter,
retrieved the document, and tucked it reverently into a
jeweled slip case. 'Ma'Diere bless the woman! Your
Grace, she must have been exceptional to have busied
you to the point where you have to consult archives to
find her name.'

129

    Apparently bemused, Darion stared at his hands. But
Elienne glimpsed the concern that lingered like a shadow
before he schooled his features and looked up. The
morning they had shared troubled the Prince still, though
he masked himself with an actor's smooth skill.
    'My Lord Librarian, on that score, I find even memory
has failed me.' The response sounded genuinely amused.
Elienne found the light humor cutting because she knew
it was forced.
    The Librarian chuckled. 'I have lived to see you smit-
ten, your Grace, surely as the stars turn.'
    Darion rose. The mirrowstone's image followed him as
he started toward the door. 'Keep my secret, will you
please?' He stepped into the corridor, and brass-bound
panels shut firmly on the Librarian's conspiratorial glee.
    'Demons!' The Prince's expletive echoed down the
marble hallway, and he suddenly looked tired. lelond, I
was selfish. I never allowed for the potential of simple
misunderstanding to cause your Lady discomfort.
Ma'Diere grant me forgiveness.
    Elienne dropped the mirrowstone as though burned,
surprised to find its linking properties extended even to
the thoughts the Prince directed toward her. She had not
intended to eavesdrop on his private thoughts.
    Preferring to make her presence known at once,
Elienne placed her finger on the mirrowstone. My Prince,
you need ask no forgiveness. My place here is little more
than a lie, deserving of lies. 1 won't suffer.
    In the darkness of the hall, Darion saluted her with a
smile of irony. On that we shall see, Lady Consort.
Beneath Pendaire's glitter lies ugliness greater than you yet
imagine. And our Grand Justice, you will discover, is
nothing but a rude display of puppetry.
 The pungency of the Prince's warning reassured

130

Elienne concerning her decision not to eat the peach. Her
finger must have strayed across the mirrowstone, because
Darion's expression turned grim.
    Lady, the fruit basket is safe. I fetched it myself. His
mouth thinned with annoyance as he stepped away from
the library door. But you were wise not to trust until you
were certain. Ma'Diere! Had I been as cautious, Nairgen's
little snare would never have placed Taroith's integrity in
question.
    Piqued by curiosity, Elienne said, 'How? I've
wondered.'
    Darion answered with open disgust. Wine, sent by
Gatend as condolence of lelond's death. He brought the
gift personally, and 1 wasn't quite bloody-minded enough
to refuse to open it in his presence. Scruples, lelond once
said, would shape my bane.
    There was more. Elienne saw the flash of suppressed
thought behind his glance. After a moment the Prince
decided to share it. You may as well know. lelond's death
also signified your arrival. I was nervous as Hell's kittens
you'd take a dislike to me. My Guardian promised me the
Consort he chose would have prickles enough to shake
Jieles' s arrogance to the soles of his boots. Do you?
    Elienne burst into honest laughter, remembering the
banquet. 'Ask his Lordship about last night.'
  Darion grinned. Demons! I wish 1 hadn't missed it.

The chamber of the Grand Justice was deserted at the
time of Darion's entry. Half-lit by a high row of lancet
windows, the mirrowstone followed Darion's progress
across an echoing expanse of mosaic floor. Though this
room was considerably smaller than the Grand Council
Hall she had visited the day before, E!ienne saw the decor
was equally opulent. Dark, paneled balconies overhung a

131

lower level, centered by a dais. The Prince steered a
course through the maze of spooled railings and stuffed
brocade chairs that crowded the chamber at floor level.
The image flickered and dimmed as he passed under the
shadow of the far balconies, then stepped through a
narrow door into darkness.
    The mirrowstone's image pooled like ink. Elienne
heard the faint creak of wood as Darion seated himself to
wait. He intended to observe the proceedings for a time
before he made his presence known, so that his own
strategy could be timed to best advantage. Elienne spent
the interval sampling the fruit basket's contents. When
she next consulted the mirrowstone, Darion was newly
visible, silhouetted against a narrow square of illumina-
tion. Beyond the door of the cubicle where he sat,
servants could be seen lighting the wall sconces in prep-
aration for Taroith's trial.
    Elienne returned to her chair by the arrowslit and
looked out. The hazy band of a fog bank had erased the
sea's horizon. Though blue sky and sunlight shone fair
over the castle's towers, Pendaire's coastal location made
it a land victimized by changeable weather. Elienne
studied the brooding, gray curtain of what surely ordained
a squall, ears filled with the seethe of current over the
rocks below. She wished a fire still burned in the hearth.
It had been a mistake not to ask Darion for a maid.
    In the chamber of Pendaire's Grand Justice, notables
had beguin to gather. Elienne leaned over the mirrow-
stone and tried to pick out faces amid the mottled patches
of color that moved on the dais, but the image was far too
small for details. She used the link to communicate her
frustration to Darion.
    Faisix is there, the one in the Regent's robes of gold,
white, and black. The red sleeves denote his own house of

Torkal. He will preside, today, over the Grand Judge,
since the case is treason against the crown. The Grand
Judge wears the white and silver, signifying impartiality.
The third member of the tribunal which heads the Grand
Justice is a Master. Emrith, the Sorcerer in green at Faisix' s
left hand, will verify the truth of testimony, as necessary.
Unfortunately for us, he was lelond's most outspoken
critic.
    Elienne put her finger on the mirrowstone and mentally
assumed the memory of the Sorcerer who had directed
the fiat, impersonal stare upon her at the betrothal
banquet.
    He's the one, Darion sent. The row immediately oppo-
site the dais holds those who will testify. Garend and
Kennaird are there. Listen closely, they're starting.
    Faintly Elienne heard the tap of the Regent's scepter.
The distant hum of background conversation subsided as
Faisix rose and began the opening ceremony. Yet he did
not retire after the closing line. The mirrowstone reflected
Darion's sudden uneasiness, and Elienne understood his
additional speech was a departure from strict custom.
    'Your Lordships, honored members of the Collective,
Excellencies, I ask your attention this moment for an
appeal.' The raw conviction of the words carried clearly,
even across the mirrowstone's tenuous link. 'We are
gathered today to pass judgement upon a member of the
Select of Pendaire's Grand Council, at a moment of grave
and imminent uncertainty. Until the royal succession is
assured, we are a kingdom in peril, vulnerable through
our lack of definitive sovereignty. I beg all of you to
examine the accused's case with extreme care, that the
verdict not be influenced by the concern we all share for
our Prince. If treason has been committed against His
Grace, let us face it untempered by emotion. I personally

132                                                                                    133

 hope Taroith proves innocent. Through his years of
 Mastership, I believe he has served the crown faithfully
 and well. By Ma'Diere's Grace, I would be pleased to
 grant an acquittal, and commend him to more of the
 same.'
    A low murmur swept the chamber as Faisix returned to
his chair. Elienne swore savagely, the mirrowstone heated
as a coal in her hand by the resonance of the Prince's
anger. A court herald began to cite the charges of treason
and conspiracy, but the list was obliterated by the thought
Darion directed through the link.
    Cleverness has always hallmarked our Regent's style.
The accumulated evidence will condemn all the more
swiftly by contrast after that brazen show of idealism. How
I long to break that facade.
    The chamber quieted as the Grand Judge called for the
accused to be brought before the Tribunal. Bent intently
over the mirrowstone, Elienne saw Taroith's entry as a
blur of gray flanked by the black and gold surcoats of
guardsmen. His soulfocus was either absent or dimmed to
the point where it could not be seen through the
mirrowstone.
    The herald's recitation was overlaid immediately by a
strong surge of outrage from Darion. They've fettered
him. Damn them to Eternity, they'll soon regret that piece
o f foolishness.
    A Master's word, E!ienne understood, was a bond after
which the steel was an insult. The Prince's fury bored
through the interface with tangible force, but the visual
image of his person showed only flawlessly calm restraint.
Darion made a formidable opponent, Elienne observed~
suddenly glad her quick temper had not had the chance
to alienate him.
 The court will now hear testimony in defense of Taroith's

innocence, Darion sero, in answer to E~'~enne's ignorance
of procedure. Then the opposing case will be set forth,
after which the accused may speak in his own behalf. The
Tribunal then calls for a vote from the Collective gathering,
the result of which counts as one, followed by a vote of
equal weight cast by each member of the Tribunal. Three
to one, guilty, and Taroith is condemned. A tie demands a
second hearing.
     E!ienne listened with impatience through the two elders
 who spoke in Taroith's behalf. They lectured in broadly
 general terms on the Sorcerer's good character, and
 briefly listed charitable causes he had championed. The
 Collective fretted in their chairs. Kennaird's statement
 was badly weakened by his nervous delivery, and his
 description of Taroith's visit to Nairgen's cottage was
 heard through an atmosphere of restless disbelief.
     'Taroith acted in his Grace's best interests.' the appren-
 tice said, over a rising barrier of background conversation.
 Lamely he took his seat.
     The Regent formally closed the defense proceedings.
 Garend stood to contest Taroith's innocence, and by
 contrast, his presentation proceeded with devasting
 directness. Kennaird's claim that Darion had been
 drugged was dismissed as fabrication. Tales of his Grace's
 drunken stupor had widely taken hold, and fact corrobo-
 rated that Darion had spent the hours following Ielond's
 death alone in his chambers. The men-at-arms who had
 stood guard duty outside the royal apartments attested,
 under oath, that the only visitor had been Garend. The
 Prince himself had seen the Sorcerer to the door upon his
 departure. Emrith verified the truth of their account.
     'So you see,' Garend concluded softly, 'this mention of
 drugs is the product of an unsettled mind.'
 The attempted rape of the Prince's Consort and its

134                                                                                      135

aftermath unfolded with damning simplicity. The story
was received with horrified surprise. Elienne felt her
stomach knot. Faisix played the questions with deadly
precision, turning the Collective to a clamor of outraged
animosity against Taroith.
    The Grand Judge finally had to call for order. 'Your
Lordships! The subject is distressing, but I implore you,
maintain your objectivity.'
    The crowd subsided reluctantly. The chamber stilled as
the Grand Judge at last called for the accused to speak
before the court. A hush of anticipation fell as Taroith
rose to his feet. The rattle of the chain savaged the
silence.
    'Your Lordships, Excellencies of the Tribunal,' Taroith
began, so quiet, Elienne had to strain to hear, 'I deny all
charges of conspiracy against the crown.'
    The Collective shouted in protest. Faisix stood and
forcefully demanded order. Elienne shivered, sweat chill-
ing on her body as, beyond the arrowslit, fog extinguished
the sun with the stealth of a strangler.
    'Gentlemen.t' Faisix's rebuke cut across the chaos and
restored a semblance of calm. 'I remind you of the Law,
which grants the accused the right to be heard before this
court.' Flax-colored hair glinted as he nodded for Taroith
to continue.
    'I thank you, Excellency.' Arid with irony, Taroith
pitched his next words solely for Faisix's ears. 'I have only
now come to appreciate the virtues of our late Guardian.'
Elienne, bent over the mirnowstone, was impressed by
Taroith's quiet dignity. 'Had I known the extent of your
influence, as Ielond did these past years, I could not have
held myself as silent. You will perhaps succeed in having
me executed to preserve your intentions from public
exposure. The risk to you is minimal, ultimately. What is

136

another score against your soul, when already you stand
thrice damned before Ma'Diere?'
    'A conspirator's words carry little weight,' Faisix said.
'You waste time.'
    Taroith bowed. 'I am not yet sentenced, Excellency.
But I have no need to expose you. lelond has worked
your demise already.'
    Faisix's expression could not be read through the mir-
rowstone's tiny image. Yet his composure seemed unruf-
fled as the Sorcerer once more faced the Collective and
lifted his voice before the Grand Justice.
    'Written Law allows for one accused of treason to have
another speak in his behalf. I ask the Prince I have
allegedly betrayed to come forward and plead my case.'
    The request was answered by laughter from Garend.
'Master Taroith, I fear your cause will remain uncon-
tested,' the Elder said smugly. 'His Grace retired to his
apartments early this morning, and specified that he was
not to be disturbed.'
    The Prince rose quietly. Elienne applauded his choice
of timing as he stepped to the door. The lighted chamber
visible through the mirrowstone widened as he passed
through.
    Oblivious to the royal presence, Garend continued, 'I
spoke with Darion's chamber page. His illness, and his
night with his Consort, left him badly indisposed.'  'I beg your pardon, Lord Garend.'
    Heads turned. The Prince of Penclaire stepped from the
shadow of the galleries behind the dais, the understated
sobriety of his dress accenting his restored health. The
Tribunal twisted in their chairs for a better look.
     'Has this court lowered itself to the point where it will
 weigh even the gossip of servants?' A rustle of whispers
 followed Darion's progress up the dais stairs.

137

    In the tower, Ellenhe's knuckles whitened on the
mirrowstone, and rain pattered, unnoticed, through the
open shutters onto the parquet at her feet.
    The Prince stopped at the accused's side. 'Contrary to
opinion, I did not waste the morning in illness. Instead, I
saw fit to question Helein, the wife of our deceased
healer.' He paused and regarded a chamber taut with
expectancy. 'She told me, Lordships, Excellencies, the
one fact her husband beat her to keep silent. She will
attest, under truth examination if you like, that Nairgen
was shape-changed to my image immediately following
announcement of lelond's death. The man the guardsmen
saw with Garend at the door was an impostor. At that
time I was unconscious from drugged wine.'
    A loud murmur swelled the room, cut by Garend's
protest. 'Unconsciousness may be caused by wine alone,
your Grace.'
    Darion's clean laughter dispelled an ominous silence.
'Whether I was overcome with spirits or not bears little
on this case, Lordship. Don't grasp at straws. You had
Nairgen shape-changed to provide you with an alibi so
that I could be left senseless without suspicion.'  'You have no proof.'
    Above, on the dais, the Grand Judge leaned forward,
suddenly rapt. Faisix sat motionless at his side.
    Darion's reply held the sheered edge of self-righteous
anger. 'You are wrong, Garend. Ielond left my Consort a
mirrowstone interfaced to provide communication with
my person. Lady Elienne witnessed a scarred hand placing
a cloth with a sleep potion to my face during an attempt
to rouse me through contact. Examination of Nairgen's
corpse will reveal the selfsame scar.'
  Garend sank back, deflated, but Elienne was more

138

interested in the Regent's expression of startled calcula-
tion. The mirrowstone had been a surprise to him, she
realized, and to the court as well, by the tumult of talk
that burst forth.
    The Grand Judge pounded for order. Yet it was Dar-
ion's call for silence that finally calmed the uproar.
    'I will reconstruct what actually occurred,' said the
Pr;n›c, 'L~,r. r,,~t 1)~-f~,~'e Ta~-~,_:ith's fettt~.~ are str:~ck.'
     '}le has not been ac~l~ittcd yet, your Grace.' Faisix
spoke with the patience of a parent admonishing a child.
  'Since when do we bind a Master of the League?'
    The Regent inclined his head to the Grand Judge.
'Kindly inform his Grace.'
    The Grand Judge fingered his silver-trimmed collar
uncomfortably and cleared his throat. 'Master Taroith
refused to give his oath of self-restraint.'
    The Collective loosed a gasp of astonishment. Elienne
saw Taroith nod in response to the Prince's inquiry.
Clamor arose, still by Daricm's raised hand. 'Master
Taroith, will you deliver the oath in my presence?'
    'I swear to it gladly, your Grace.' Light flashed through
the mirrowstone as the Sorcerer's soulfocus sprang into
existence. Darion motioned to the guardsmen.
    .\wakencd, saddcnl3, to t!t,. downpour )hat drepched
her feet, Elienne stood and banged the shutters closed
with shaking hands. The closer Taroith came to acquittal,
the greater her anxiety Faisix would engage a counter-
stroke. If her observations through the mirrowstone were
viable as evidence, Taroith's innocence could be estab-
lished beyond question, revealing Nairgen's confession to
the Regent as false. Alone behind doors guarded by
mutes loyal to Faisix, Elienne sat and cupped the mirrow-
stone in damp palms. It took all of her will not to burden
Darion with her own fears as he delivered his final speech.

139

Over the pounding of rain against shutters. Elienne heard
the clink of steel as Taroitb's wrists were freed.
    'It is my conviction that there was a treasonous conspir-
acy against my succession, but Taroith was not involved.'
Darion direc'~ed h:~mself toward the Collective, but his
attention never strayed from the Tribunal. 'I am prepared
to produce c'~idence. that this case may be lawfully and
justly concluded. Gare~d, together with a Sorcerer
capable of completing a shape-change, sought to hasten a
declaration of my unfitness to rule by creating the sem-
blance of a weakness for alcohol. Nairgen the healer was
given my form so that Garend could deliver drugged wine
to my chambers and be observed to leave with my health
apparentll, intact. Neither his Lordship, nor the Sorcerer
involved, was aware Ielond had arranged selection of my
Consort prior to his death.
    'When this fact became known, Garend saw an oppor-
tunity to discredit the validity of Ellenhe's Consortship.
Nairgen, in my likeness, provided a tool too convenient
to be wasted. When his attack failed, I recall your
attention to the names of those present when his confes-
sion named Taroith as instigator.' Darion paused.
    The Grand Judge shook his head. 'I concede the
possibility of Garend's participat;on. But I see no cause
for inferring the Rege~,*'S complicity, or Taroith's
h;nocence.'
    Dar[on looked up, and Elien,~c saw hartlvcss in kis
eyes 'The facts :een, to mesh nearly. I adml. t. Except the
l_.c;dv Elien~e. at conside. r~ble risk, used Ielond's interface
to summun ]aroith's ass!statute wl~e~ the drag's effects
threatened my life. I stand t~efore you today, alive and
well, because the Master you accuse of treason restored me
to health.'

    Uproar ensued, but Faisix's unemotional calm pre-
vailed over the noise and reczptured the Collective's
strayed attention. ' ~3,~r Grace, I presume you accuse me
of tampering with Nairgen~s confession soiely upon the
testimony of a girl unknown to this court until yesterday?
I remind you that Taroith was instrumental in establishing
her Consortship through highly irregular circumstances.
Exercise care. She could be privy to this plot.' His voice
was smooth and convincingly sincere, as always. The
Prince seemed young and rash next to Faisix's understated
strength. Elienne felt panic twist her gut. Already she saw
heads nod among the Collective, conceding the possibility
the Prince had been deluded.
    And abruptly there followed the realization that she
could reverse the tide of opinion. She seized the mirrow-
stone. 'My Prince, Jieles's daughter, Minksa, witnessed
all that occurred in your chamber last night. A truth
reading will establish my innocence, and Taroith's as
well.'
    Minksa? What was she doing there? Yet Darion quickly
mastered surprise. 'I ask this court to truth question
Jieles's child, Minksa. She will corroborate, though it is
well known she bears me no affection.'
    Faisix stood, white-lipped, but not yet unnerved. 'I will
fetch her, your Grace.' Elegant in his rich robes of office,
he started for the dais steps.
    'Halberdiers!' Darion snapped. 'Do not allow the
Regent to leave this chamber.'
    Taroith's guardsmen leaped to obey. Steel flashed in an
arc as they lowered weapons and barred the Regent's
path.
    Faisix stopped. An expression of annoyance stiflened
his features, and a blaze of yellow light heralded the
awakening of his soulfocus. It peaked to blinding intensity

140                                                                     141

immediately before the crossed shafts of the halberds.
The Regent stepped smoothly forward and vanished by
sorcery.
    Darion's shout cut through blossoming confusion. 'He
will have gone for my Consort! Taroith, get to the West
Keep!'
    But his arrival would be too late; E!ienne already heard
steps on the stair, followed by the harsh rattle of the
latch. She turned in time to see the door swing open.

142

       8
Sphere of Influence

Faisix stepped over the threshold, his robes untouched by
the rain. 'Good morrow, my Lady.' Aisa and Denji
entered with him.
    Though the greeting was formally polite, Elienne could
not hide her fear.
    The Regent stopped short. All semblance of courtesy
left him, and Elienne saw once again the expression of
ruthless purpose she recalled from the ice plains.
    'She's aware of what has happened.' Faisix motioned to
the mutes. 'Take her quickly.'
    Aisa nodded and advanced, but Elienne had recovered
her wits. Affecting a startled expression of dismay, she
said, 'You aren't deaf at all.' Delay, she thought franti-
cally. If she could stall her enemies, even for a few
minutes, Taroith might reach her in time for rescue. 'I
should have guessed. You p:robably talk also.'
    Aisa laughed, showing the grisly stump that remained
of her tongue, Denji grinned as the Consort recoiled with
a gasp and retreated against the ledge beneath the
arrowslit.
    Eiienne noted the mute's reaction with satisfaction. Let
them believe she was afraid. Her step back placed her on
the far side of the rain puddle, by now sheened with oil
from the parquet. Elienne waited, the drum roll of the
storm loud in her ears, watching the mail-cowled faces of
her attackers. She did not draw the knife until Aisa had
lunged to seize her.
 Denji howled wordlessly in warning. The sound lifted

143

the hair on Elienne's neck, but her aim was steady as she
struck at the unarmored gap between Aisa's gauntlet and
forearm. The knife nicked steel and caught flesh. Aisa
checked on the slick parquet and crashed heavily to one
knee. She caught herself left-handed against the shutters
just as Elienne ducked beneath her guard.
    But Denji swung her spear across the gap. The oak
shaft struck Elienne in the ribs. She gasped and fell
sprawling, dimly aware that Aisa had regained her footing
behind. Delay, she thought desperately, and rolled
beneath the stuffed chair.
  Faisix shouted in agitation, 'Hurry!'
    Denji raised the chair, cast it tumbling away. Elienne
whipped the little knife at the hands that reached to snare
her. Running steps and voices sounded on the stair.
Beyond Denji's armored bulk, Elienne saw Faisix whirl
and slam the door. Light bloomed under his fingers as he
touched the lock. 'Just catch hold of her!'
    Aisa kicked Elienne's wrist. Pain numbed her fingers.
The knife flipped out of her grasp and skittered across the
floor. E!ienne dove after. A gauntleted fist closed on her
leg. She kicked with her free foot. As the hold loosened,
she strained to reach the knife. But Denji plucked the
weapon neatly away from her groping hand and grabbed
Ehenne's arm. Mailed fingers dug into her flesh.
     Taroith's voice carried clearly through the closed door.
 'I cannot, your Grace. Faisix has set a blocking ward.'
     'Darion!' Elienne thrashed frantically. Aisa caught her
 ankle, then circled her knees in a bear hug. Elienne
 twisted desperately. Her hair tumbled from loosened pins,
 obstructing her vision, and her cheek banged into a table
 leg.
     'Hold her!' Black and white cloth brushed Elienne's
 forehead. Faisix stood over her.

144

 'No!' Elienne flung against her captor's hold.
    Light flared, sulfurously yellow. Blinded by glare,
Elienne cried out. The floor seemed to upend beneath
her. All sense of solidity exploded violently out of exist-
ence, and darkness enfolded Elienne's consciousness, cold
and silent as Eternity.

The ward on the lock split asunder with a coarse scream
of sound. Taroith seized the latch with sweat-drenched
hands and flung wide the door. At his shoulder, Darion
squinted through the flurry of red sparks showered by the
fading spell. The chamber beyond lay deserted.
    'He's transferred by sorcery,' Taroith's voice was dead-
ened by the lash of rain against the oak slats of the
shutters. 'Inevitably, his destination will be Torkal. How
much does Elienne know of enchantment, and the laws of
self-infringement?'
    'I don't know.' Darion stepped past the Sorcerer and
swept the room with haunted eyes.
    'You must not despair, your Grace,' Taroith said
gently. 'Lady Elienne is resourceful and spirited. And she
has the mirrowstone.'
    Darion failed to answer. Across the room, by the
arrowslit, the parquet was marked with blood. 'Taroith.'
    The Sorcerer left the doorway and crossed the floor
with measured steps. Shadows leaped as his soulfocus
sprang alight overhead. He knelt and touched one scarlet
drop with a forefinger.
    'Aisa's,' Taroith pronounced at last. 'Your Lady is a
fighter. Ielond chose well, Darion. Trust his wisdom.'
    But Darion seemed not to hear. 'She was alone. Tar-
oith, what happened to the maidservants I sent to attend
her chambers? Were they waylaid? Did Faisix hold sway

145

even over the ones I trusted? Just how much of a
stranglehold does our Regent have over this court?'
Taroith rose slowly. 'We have no way of knowing.'
'leiond knew.' Darion suddenly bent and pulled some-
thing shiny from beneath the splintered strut of an oaken
side table. The Consort's betrothal ring gleamed in his
fingers, rimmed with blood. 'A fine example of negligence
I've made of that legacy!' Darion's fist closed fiercely over
the ring. 'I want a full-scale attack on Torkal.'
    'The Council won't deny you, your Grace,' said a new
voice from the doorway.
    Darion whirled, saw the Sorcerer Emrith cross the
threshold. Green robes dripped bright beads of rainwater
onto the floor. 'There is no longer any question of the
Regent's corrupt ambitions. Taroith has received acquit-
tal, along with apology from the Grand Justice.'
    The Prince twisted the ring in his hand. 'I doubt the
Grand Council knows the smallest fraction of the Regent's
treasonous activities.' His tone turned bleak as winter. 'If
my Consort is harmed, they will learn quickly.'
    Darion pushed open the shutters and gazed through the
arrowslit. Below, through ragged streamers of mist,
breakers crashed over rocks, jetting lacy geysers of spray.
'There's one who didn't waste time abandoning a sinking
ship.' Wind gusted, sheeting rain across the stone sill. The
view dissolved behind a blurred curtain of water. Darion
stirred irritably. 'Faisix's allies might grant me lip service,
but who can I trust to help me against him?'
     Taroith touched the royal shoulder in gruff sympathy.
 'You love her well, I think. Ielond knew what he was
 about.'
     'Ma'Diere? Darion pulled away. 'How can you stay so
 calm? We both know what her life is worth to Faisix.'

146

    'Faisix feared your Guardian,' said Taroith emphati-
cally. 'Remember that. And Elienne is Ielond's last
bequest. She will therefore be his finest weapon against
the adversary he spent his life to defeat.'
'I beg you, help me win her back,' said Darion.
Taroith returned a look of bemused patience. 'Was
there ever any question, my Prince? I would not do
otherwise, though it called for the ruin of Torkal.'
    Startled by such a passionate threat from a Master of
the League sworn to peace, Darion stared at the Sorcerer.
'She has won your heart also,' he accused.
    Taroith nodded and started across the room. 'And why
ever not, your Grace? The Lady Elienne was the choice
of a kindly and perceptive mind. Where in Ma'Diere's
creation do you suppose Ielond found her?'
    But the Sorcerer received only silence in reply. He
wondered, as the shadow of the stairwell obscured the
expression, what prompted Darion's silence.

Elienne recovered awareness slowly. Cold, wet rocks
grated against her knees. One of the guardswomen held
her wrists in a grip of steel behind her back. Mist and rain
blurred her vision and ran in chilly runnels down her
collar. Foam-webbed waves thundered against rock scant
yards away. She licked lips bitter with the taste of blown
salt. Not even her most fearful expectations had included
drowning.
    Faisix and Aisa stood a short distance off, deep in
conference. Elienne could not hear over the seethe of the
breakers, and Aisa's sign language was unintelligible. For
the second time in her life, she faced the despair of total
helplessness. The worst had happened, beyond hope of
change. Faisix surely intended to kill her. Elienne found
no comfort in fatalism. Again, as with the Khadrach, she

147

responded with the reckless insolence of one who has
nothing left to lose.
    When Faisix left his conversation with Aisa, Elienne
faced him with rugged anger. 'I swim quite well, Excel-
lency. You had better make sure of me with a rock, first.'
    Faisix's brows rose, and he gave way to startled laugh-
ter. 'Mistress, I am never that crude. My purpose in
stopping here was a practical one. Your Prince's urgency
allowed me no time to route us a transfer to Torkal Manor
with safety. Here we will not be pressured with
interruptions.'
    'My knees hurt.' Elienne tossed wet hair out of her
eyes. 'And the handling of your guardswomen is certainly
crude.'
    'Do you call Aisa's slashed wrist civil?' Faisix folded his
arms, amused, as though his ruined name meant nothing
and the spoiled velvet that clung soddenly about his
shoulders were entirely commonplace. 'Denji, bind the
Lady's hands and allow her to stand.'
    Elienne awarded the sarcasm the same disregard as the
leather thongs that bit into her reddened skin.
    'I regret the barbarity,' he said civilly, watching her first
stumbling step as she regained her feet. 'But really, I
don't want a visit from Taroith or the Prince just now,
and Ielond seems to have forgotten to put a catch on the
trinket he gave you.'
    'He knew your ways,' she said, though the cold made
her teeth chatter. 'I find you pretentious.'
    Faisix smiled with delight. 'Spare me your opinions.
Since your death would only arouse public sentiment in
Darion's favor, you will accept the hospitality of Torkal
Manor for a time. Unless you have had the extreme
misfortune to conceive, you have nothing to fear at my
hands.'

148

    With a terrible, undermining sense of dread, Elienne
acknowledged sound judgment. So long as Darion's diffi-
culties did not make him a public martyr, the established
laws of succession would condemn him soon enough.
Jieles would inherit. And Cinndel's child would die.
Elienne felt her brash courage dissolve. She would rather
have taken her chances with the sea than become a guest
in Torkal Manor. But already Faisix had lost interest in
verbal debate. A dazzling flare of yellow heralded the
second stage of the transfer. Denji caught Elienne's waist
from behind as rocks, ocean, and misted skies were torn
out of existence by a fiery explosion of sorcery.

She returned to her senses with agonizing slowness.
Disorientation blanked her mind, persistent as fog. For
long minutes she shivered, aware only of wet clothing and
the staccato spatter of wind-driven rain against glass. Her
limbs felt oddly weighted. She attempted to stretch and
found her hands were bound. She was lashed to a chair
with arms carved in the shape of demon's claws. The
room's only casement showed the drenched limbs of a
wind-tossed cedar, and the scrape of needles across glass
set Elienne's teeth on edge.
'You'll be given your liberty shortly, Lady,' said Faisix.
Elienne turned her head and saw a hearth flanked by
bookshelves. The Sorcerer stood by the mantel, dry and
comfortable in a gray doubtlet and soft calf boots. His fair
hair hung lank with damp.
    E!ienne battled to stabilize unfocused vision and a
maddening recurrence of vertigo. Nausea toyed with her
stomach. 'What have you done to me?' The words
sounded slurred, even through the roaring in her ears.
    'Nothing permanently harmful.' Faisix stepped for-
ward, footfalls silenced by richly patterned carpet. Fire-
light made his shadow flicker. 'Only a tiny dose of the

149

elixir Nairgen gave to Darion. Not enough to put you
out.'
    Elienne swallowed, a bitter taste on her tongue. 'Why.'?'
The question seemed silly, even as she uttered it, and the
carpet appeared to melt into the form of the man in the
flamelight.
    'I don't wish Darion to be privy to the nuances of my
hospitality.' Faisix's reply seemed distant as a faded
nightmare. 'Aisa has gone to fetch a file.'
    With great difficulty, Elienne shepherded straying
thoughts. Shortly she heard footsteps, and the steely
jingle of mail. Then cold hands caught the mirrowstone,
and chain snapped taut against her neck. Elienne tried to
pull away.
    'Hold still.' Faisix moved closer, but seemed oddly
reluctant to touch her.
    Why.'? wondered Elienne, but the drug fuddled her
reasoning. Aisa hefted the file, and her sinewed wrist
flexed as she brought the tool to bear against the slender
gold links. Sparks flew. Static crackled over the file's
edge. Aisa bellowed in surprise and flinched back; the
chain jerked in her hand, cutting Elienne's flesh painfully.
The file tumbled to the carpet. With a snarl of anger, Aisa
retrieved the tool and raised it for a second attempt.
    'Stop!' Faisix's outcry was uncharacteristically curt.
'Ielond has evidently warded the chain.' He paused and
the glance he directed toward Elienne chilled her blood.
'I regret the barbarity, Lady, but I fear I must restrict
your powers of speech and set a blocking ward about your
thoughts - at least until I find means to break the defenses
set about your necklace.'
    The Regent cupped his hands. A glow pale as marsh-
light haloed his fingertips. Alert enough to recognize the
threat of sorcery, Elienne shied back against the chair.

150

  'Aisa, restrain her,' said Faisix sharply.
    Elienne failed to duck the icy fingers that clamped her
head. She thrashed, but the mute's grip held.
    The light of Faisix's summoning wheeled hazily directly
before her. Had Elienne been able to free her hands, she
would have covered her face. The spell's ghostly outline
filled her with dread. Horribly, Elienne found herself
unable to blink or look away.
    'I have her now.' The Regent's satisfaction overlaid
Elienne's alarm. The spell that bound her swelled, bright-
ened, and acquired hard edges like a glass bubble.
Elienne's eyes ached, the reflexes of her pupils slowed by
the drug. Faisix's sorcery seeped into her mind like spilled
water and suddenly crystallized, imprisoning her will. In
panic, she tried to call out, but the sound emerged as a
whimper of despair.
    The light in Faisix's hands flicked out abruptly. 'My
dear, I suggest you improve your relations with the mutes.
They might consent, out of kindness, to teach you sign
language.'
    With ungentle haste, Aisa untied her hands and guided
her unsteady steps through the door. Faisix called after
them. 'Aisa, after you have seen Elienne to her chambers,
locate Heggen and send him to my study. I have a
summoning to perform.'

Elienne lay back on the silken coverlet of an elaborately
carved bed and waited for nausea to subside. Denji stood
guard beyond the door. Vainly Elienne strove to remem-
ber the route from the study to bedchamber. The corri-
dors had been dimly lit, and Aisa mercilessly impatient.
When Elienne had exchanged her dress for a dry one
found in the wardrobe, her arm had been imprinted with
marks left by the mute's harsh fingers. Despite Faisix's

151

pretense of mannered gentility, he had treated her with
less regard than an animal; manipulative as a chess
master, he seemed unconcerned that the game pieces in
his bid for power were human flesh and blood. E!ienne
wondered, through the lingering discomfort of the drug,
what motivated him. Greed alone did not seem an ade-
quate explanation for the Regent's obsessive desire to
disrupt the lawful succession of Pendaire.
    The drowsiness caused by the elixir wore off gradually.
Restless, Elienne studied the quarters that confined her.
The small, richly decorated chamber was consistent with
the air of established wealth she had observed throughout
Pendaire's royal court. Fabulously patterned carpets cov-
ered the floor, and gilt-trimmed walls were paneled with
rare wood, somber and darkly shadowed, yet tastefully
adorned with paintings. Above the polished onyx slab of
the mantel, candles burned in exquisitively crafted gry-
phon stands. Elienne admired the prismatic flash of the
flamelight in etched crystal wings, and gold talons and
eyes of jet crafted with lifelike cunning; no treasure in
Trathmere had been so fine.
    Though walking made her head swim, and her steps
were still unsteady, Elienne studied the contents of every
cabinet, table, and dresser. Yet she found nothing, not
even a manicure kit, that could be utilized as a weapon.
Discouraged, she settled herself at last in the cushioned
alcove by the casements.
    The rain had stopped. Through honeycombed panes of
amber glass, Elienne saw a vast expanse of pine forest,
bounded beneath the manor walls by the pewter shine of
a moat. Well-groomed rows of hedge, lawns, and flower
gardens graced the land within. At third-floor level, the
window of E!ienne's chamber overlooked the curved
towers of two keeps, but Torkal was more palace than

152

fortress, and Elienne saw neither craft village nor the
farmlands that would have surrounded a normal holding
in Trathmere. Faisix's manor was bordered, at least on
one side, by trackless wilds.
    As she knew nothing of local geography, E!ienne had
little hope of escape. Even if she managed to get free of
the walls, she would face the immediate difficulties of
provisions and shelter. The assumption did not follow
that a road existed beyond Torkal's gate; for all she knew
of Pendaire's Regent, he might arrange his travels to and
from court entirely by sorcery.
    Discouraged, Elienne sought the mirrowstone. Though
denied its powers of communication, Faisix had not yet
interfered with her visual link with the Prince.
    The gemstone revealed a rain-sleek courtyard choked
with men-at-arms and the hard, pinpoint blaze of more
than one Sorcerer's soulfocus. Wrapped in a cloak of
oiled wool, Darion frowned intently over what appeared
to be a supply list. Chestnut hair clung to his neck, curled
with moisture, and on the hand that held the parchment
Elienne saw the soft gleam of the ring torn from her own
finger during the transfer from the keep.
    Taroith appeared at the Prince's shoulder, dressed for
the saddle. 'Your Grace?'
    As Darion glanced up at the Sorcerer, Elienne was
shocked by the change in the Prince's face since morning;
he looked haggard.
    'I have confirmation for you,' said Taroith. 'Lady
Elienne was taken to Torkal by way of the shoals of East
Inlet. The reef was laid bare by tide at the time, and fog
hid the sorcery from the sentries.'
    Darions's mouth tightened with grim anger. 'You
traced her through Ielond's interface?'
Taroith nodded. 'The jewel was in Elienne's possession,

153

and still operable before Faisix raised protective wards
and closed our access to Torkal.'
    'She hasn't contacted me.' The anguish in the Prince's
voice made E!ienne wince. 'By Ma'Diere, if she's been
harmed, Faisix will come to rue it.'
    Taroith said nothing, but his lined features reflected
sympathy.
    Darion bunched the sodden parchment in his fist with
bitter anger and stepped back. 'To horse!' His shout
brought order to the jammed bailey. 'We ride for Torkal?
    Eiienne let the mirrowstone fall from shaking hands.
However brief their acquaintance, Pendaire's royal heir
plainly had come to value her with more than political
significance. Given time, Elienne realized, her feelings
for this Prince might grow beyond friendship. She
quenched the thought at once. Already the cruel promise
of the seeress's prophecy made her destiny an intolerable
burden. If Darion fell to the headsman's ax, she wanted
none of her emotions involved. And if by miracle he was
granted life, her own falsehood exposed, his anguish at
her loss would be lessened if she had never fostered his
love. Firmly Elienne hardened her heart. A man comely
as Darion would never lack for mistresses. And surely, if
she kept herself aloof, he would direct his affection
elsewhere.

Twilight fell early, hastened by a cloak of tattered clouds.
Through the mirrowstone, Elienne watched the steaming
torches carried by the Prince's outriders, while in her own
chamber the candles burned low and guttered above the
glass crests of the gryphons. She had no means to estimate
the distance that separated Torkal from the royal palace.
The men-at-arms traveled a muddy highway between
fenced pastures and well-kept fields. Post stations were

154

numerous, and efficiently staffed, which was fortunate,
for the fast pace set by the royal company demanded
frequent change of mounts.
    The crofters Eleinne glimpsed through the mirrow-
stone's narrow field of view were neat and adequately
dressed. The Prince's retinue was received, invariably,
with courteous deference, and even the horse boys
seemed well fed. Confronted by mile upon mile of peace-
ful farmland, Elienne saw Pendaire's great wealth was
probably the accumulated reflection of prosperity under
fourteen generations of sound rule.
    Faisix would end that. Elienne had seen how quickly
honest, hardworking people could sour under the corrupt
demands of the Khadrach. Why, she wondered again,
would any man wish to disrupt the succession of a Prince
as worthy as Darion?
    Her thought was disrupted by the scrape of the door
latch. Elienne dropped the mirrowstone, looked up, and
saw Minksa enter with a tray of food and fresh candles.
    Surprised, at first, by the child's presence at Torkal,
Elienne swiftly realized why Faisix might wish the girl
removed from the royal palace. If she had been sent into
Darion's chamber to spy, the Regent would not care to
have her closely questioned. Surely the summoning he
had mentioned as Eiienne was led off had referred to the
child.
    Minksa scuttled to the hearth and dumped her burden
on a low table with a dissonant clatter of fine porcelain.
She bestowed a wide, startled glance upon Elienne and
cringed as though expecting reprimand. The child was
desperately frightened. Elienne longed to express under-
standing; the tray was far too large for a child to handle
gracefully. Enraged by the sorcery that prevented her

155

from making even the simplest expression of sympathy,
Elienne gestured to the girl to continue her chores.
    Minksa gathered the candles from the tray with small,
grimy fingers and paused, balanced on crossed feet,
before the mantel. The shelf lay beyond her reach. The
girl looked nervously to either side, in search of a foot-
stool or chair.
    Elienne rose to help her. Minksa started and whirled,
poised for flight, her face a small, white oval in the flicker
of flamelight.
    I won't hurt you, Elienne thought. Slowly, carefully,
she extended her hand.
    Minksa shook her head. Tangled hair tumbled around
her thin shoulders as she stepped back. But when Elienne
walked to the far end of the mantel, the child held her
ground. After an anguished interval, she hesitantly
offered the candles.
    Elienne stooped to the child's level and smiled reassur-
ance. She had barely caught hold of the candles when
Minksa let go and retreated, well beyond reach of a kindly
touch. Elienne buried disappointment and rose. The girl
waited, tense as a cornered hare, while she pinched the
ti~ed wicks of the old candles and located the flint striker
to ignite the replacements. New flames wavered and
lenthened, spreading soft light over crystal and gemstone.
Elienne returned the striker to its hook and began a smile
of encouragement for Minksa. But the fresh illumination
revealed a detail she had missed earlier: the livid, con-
gested weals of a recent beating marked Minksa's wrists
and neck.
     Elienne gasped, her heart wrung with pity. But before
 she could extend any comfort, the girl whirled and fled
 like a blown leaf through the door, oversized brown skirts
 billowing around her thin, bare feet.

156

    Who had punished her? Elienne wondered. Could
Minksa have suffered because she had been seen leaving
Darion's chambers? Forgetful of caution in her concern
for the child, she ate the bread, chicken, and wine on the
tray without thought about the possibility of drugs.
    Her mistake overtook her as she pushed her chair back
after the meal. A violent wave of dizziness overturned her
sense of balance. Startled and furious over her careless-
ness, Elienne rose at once to force herself to vomit. But
she fell in the attempt. The hand she flung out to save
herself landed on the tray; porcelain skidded across the
tabletop with a crash. Plates and saucers flew like game
pins and shattered against the hearth tiles. Elienne tum-
bled after, accompanied by the clamor of silverware as
the tray upended and crashed to the floor.
    Prone on the heated stone before the hearth, Elienne
felt the room lift and heave about her, precarious as a
ship's deck. Booted feet wavered before her face. Elienne
tried to recall whose they were, but her memory dissolved
in the jaws of a poisonous black vortex. Sounds bounced
like echoes across her thoughts.
    'She's under.' The cold voice was a stranger's. 'Faisix
wishes her taken to his study as once.'
    Hard hands gripped, then lifted her. Elienne lost track
of reality. Jumbled impressions burst against her mind: a
man's shaven skull, framed by a cowl of night; a staircase
of marble the color of old blood; and the spinning
sensation of descent. Keys rattled and a heavy bar
clanged, echoing against stone walls. Elienne blinked,
dazzled by sudden light. Amid a gleaming forest of flasks
and braziers, she at last saw a face she recognized. A
smile curved hated lips.
 'Denji, kindly set the lady here.' Faisix's image whirled

157

in the kaleidoscope of her delirium. E!ienne fought rising
panic.
 'Hold her.'
    Black-gloved hands circled her wrists. The cowled man
towered above, black-eyed and still except for a rhythmic
twitch in his cheek. Elienne felt a frantic burst of fear.
Her own scream shattered the quiet.
    'Silence,' said a voice, and a baleful yellow flame arose
in the air. Light brightened painfully, and smashed into
Elienne's consciousness. Everything spun. Sucked down-
ward into darkness deeper than mortal awareness could
encompass, set adrift from all physical sensation, Elienne
tumbled over and over in a bleak, limitless spiral toward
the ultimate of Ma'Diere's secrets, the Eye of Eternity.
    Pursued by her own raw terror, Elienne tried to break
free. Cold tendrils curled around her. Elienne cast in
desperation for some landmark upon which to ground her
reason. Yet nothing met her search but the silent depths
of the infinite. The threat engendered by Faisix acquired
new meaning; for in the cold stillness surrounding her,
Eiienne recognized the steely presence of Ma'Diere's
Scythe. Bereft of the means to protect her unborn child,
she cried out, from the depths of coma, for mercy, and
movement answered.
    Blurred by fog, Elienne caught the fleeting glimpse of a
cloak hem bordered in silver and black. The impression
of cloth swirled at the limits of perception and vanished
in the mist, but not before Elienne had recognized the
pattern.
    'Gifted!' Elienne whirled and pursued the elusive clue.
'Ielond!'
    Mist resisted like water, dragged at her running feet.
Elienne forced herself forward. Before her, the fog

158

thinned reluctantly, and yielded a dim outline of a cloaked
figure walking with measured steps ahead.
  E!ienne shouted frantically, 'Ieiond, I beg you!'
    For an edged, despair-ridden moment, the appeal had
no effect. Then, slowly, the figure paused and turned to
wait. A silvery spill of hair trailed from the velvet hood,
bracketing shadowed features. Elienne drew uncomfort-
ably close before she could discern the face, familiar
though it was in memory.
    Ielond was frowning. 'Why have you followed, Lady?'
Though gravely stated, the question was not without
compassion. 'This is no place for the living, and your time
is not yet come.'
    'Gifted, I am sent against my will.' Elienne stopped
before the Sorcerer, and the yellow silk of Pendaire's
Royal Consort billowed and drifted about her on the
currents of her dream. 'Faisix and his henchman would
do me harm. I ask your help, for your Prince, and for my
unborn son.'
    Slowly Ielond shook his head. Eyes light and clear as
summer sky regarded her with deep sorrow. 'Mistress, no
action I take here can affect the living. By Ma'Diere's
Law, my work is finished. You must rely on your own
resources.'
    Despair struck, like madness. Elienne stepped back,
unable to express the enormity of her pain. 'Have mercy!'
The words tore. Not even the Khadrach had made her
beg.
    'Mistress,' said Ielond softly, and his gentleness soothed
shattered composure. 'Hear me. You are the culmination
of a five-thousand-year search. Do you believe I would
sacrifice myself and risk Darion's life as casually as a man
would wager gold on a horse race? Did you think I
jnanipulated Time itself, and yet had neither wisdom nor

159

thought to search the future for the consequence of my
action? You are anything but defenseless. Even now
Faisix is reminded of the fact.'
    Elienne shook her head, and tangled hair clung to her
tear-streaked cheeks. 'Gifted, I don't understand.'
    Ielond searched her face. Beyond his shoulder, the mist
rolled and tossed, formless as tidal surf. 'Faisix wishes to
remove the mirrowstone I left you; even as I speak, he
seeks to break the ward I set. But shortly he will discover
the chain's continuity is linked inextricably with his own
existence. Should he cut the chain, or kill you, his own
spirit would be drawn after mine across the Eye of
Eternity. He cannot change this without forfeiting all that
binds him to life.'
    'That won't stop him.' Elienne thought of the mutes
and shuddered. 'He would as readily take my child's life,
or see me crippled. It is Darion he wishes to strike down.
I am nothing but a pawn in his hands.'
    'Not a pawn. You underestimate yourself.' The cloak
swirled, midnight and silver against the murk, as Ielond
turned and started forward.
    Eiienne hurried to match his long stride, fear sup-
planted by sudden anger. 'How can I fight his sorceries,
Gifted?'
    Ielond stopped, and amusement claimed him, wholly.
'Mistress, are you daft, or merely forgetful? You all but
achieved my ruin on the ice fields, once.'
    Eiienne checked, white with shock. 'Sphere of influ-
ence,' she said softly, and recalled the explanation of
Sorcerer had once given for Faisix's arcane manifestation.
'When you resist me, even in thought, you match your
polarity to that of my enemies, augmenting their strength.
You provide them opening, since you are within my
defenses, and through your dissent I am made vulnerable.'

160

    'You see.' Ielond nodded and moved off. 'Faisix takes
a very great risk in meddling with you, especially when he
shapes his snares with enchantment.'
    'Wait!' Elienne moved quickly and stepped in front,
blocking Ielond's advance.
    He sidestepped, impatient. 'You delay me, Lady. My
part is finished.'
    But Elienne would not allow him to pass until she had
voiced her deepest fear. 'The Seeress's prophecy, Gifted.
Ma'Diere's Archmistress forecast I would fail your
Prince.'
    Ielond's features hardened to opacity. Even his eyes
took on the remote, impervious glitter of gemstone. 'Did
she, in truth?'
    Elienne swallowed. 'She said I would die truthful. And
that Halgarid's bloodline would inherit.'
    'Let me pass, Mistress. I once spared your life, but my
task is now complete.' Ielond gestured for her to move
aside, and the hood tumbled, loosing his white hair to the
breeze.
    'Gifted.' Elienne stood fast, held the Sorcerer's cold
gaze though it took all of her will.
    At last Ielond looked away. He pulled the hood back
over his head, and for a moment silver-banded sleeves
eclipsed his face. He spoke, finally, with extreme reluc-
tance. 'My Lady, no trial you have yet known will test
you so severely as one to come. Through your darkest
hour, maintain your courage. Remember I have looked
beyond and seen a beginning.'
    'The prophecy is true, then?' Elienne regarded the
Sorcerer with hope dying in her heart, and the appeal on
her features caught him like a knife's edge.
  'Forgive me, Lady. Tragedy linked each of the choices

161

I placed before you in Trathmere.' The Sorcerer turned
his back.
    'No!' Elienne's cry echoed, lost, into emptiness. 'No, I
beg you, spare me Cinndel's son!'
    But this time Ielond did not slacken his step, and mist
swiftly obliterated detail until he was reduced to a shad-
owy silhouette. 'Lady,' he cautioned over his shoulder,
'attend your own defense, at once, or all is indeed lost.'
    Elienne longed to follow, to demand outright an expla-
nation for the threat that marred her future. But a dull
ache began to pressure her forehead. Warned beyond the
barriers of unconsciousness by the sensation, Elienne
knew she must obey Ielond's directive.
    Mist swirled, thickened, and acquired the sickly consist-
ency of cobwebs. Elienne's step dragged. A sultry flash of
light blinded her inner vision. When sight returned, she
found her perception of her flesh, and even the brilliant
yellow silk of her dress, dimmed to the bleached white of
old bones. A shadow crossed her heart. Faisix sought
access to her mind through sorcery. Suddenly the pain
behind her eyes mounted to the focused agony of a knife
thrust. Elienne screamed.
    Anguished and outraged, she turned against the source,
roused awareness aligned like a weapon against the enemy
who invaded her thoughts. Mist eddied, shredded, and
Eiienne whirled haplessly with it, sucked through a vast
tornado of force. Then the shrill soprano of breaking glass
splintered against her ears, and her eyes opened upon
intense light.

162

      9
Duel of Masters

Glare shattered against dream-roused senses. Elienne
squinted. She lay on a tabletop, ringed by a net of forces
that shone with the blue-violet corona of a lightning flash.
The sorcery was not hostile. Though still numb from the
elixir, Elienne realized that her own resistance had admit-
ted this influx of energy. The harmonics that tingled
against her ears were familiar; Taroith's trained awareness
had detected the gap in Faisix's defenses. The lash of his
response as he exploited the break had fallen with imme-
diate and visible result upon those who threatened her.
    Thrown from his feet, the cowled man sprawled amid
smashed furnishings and the icy, frost-point glitter of
broken glassware. Above him, Faisix clung to the edge of
a cabinet, knuckles whitened as though his body were
savaged by galewind. Though awed by the intensity of
power permitted access through her dissent, Elienne
retained wits enough to roll onto her elbow and reach for
the mirrowstone.
    'Heggen!' Faisix shouted. 'Stop her!' His yellow eyes
narrowed, intent upon murder. 'I will break Taroith's
defenses.'
    The black-clothed man stirred. His thick fingers closed,
gashed by gritty slivers of glass, yet he seemed oblivious
to pain. Through the brilliance of the light, E!ienne
watched him rise and stumble toward her, cowl fallen
back to reveal a hairless, hideous face.
    Faisix shouted in a foreign tongue. The light flickered.
Elienne swore, dazed beyond immediate recognition of

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threat. Vivid as nightmare, yet strangely remote to her
drug-stunned senses, Heggen stretched blood-streaked
hands through the barrier to seize her.
    Elienne recoiled. The man was recklessly confident; he
thought to take her easily as a boy would pin a moth
against a lantern. Elienne exploded into sudden fury.
Denied speech to voice her contempt, she spat on Heg-
gen's raised palms. Instantly, the vehemence of her denial
admitted a tortured crackle of sound. Blinded by the
flaring brilliance, Elienne heard Heggen scream.
Faisix shouted curses, his cool fa~ade abandoned.
Elienne clutched the mirrowstone in feverish fingers.
Rage mounted, tangible as fire within her, and the polar-
ity generated by her resistance widened, unleashing the
powers of those who defended her. Destruction resulted.
A flask erupted into a fountainhead of shards. Heggen
yelled warning. A shelf careened off the far wall, spilling
a thunderous avalanche of books over Faisix's head. He
dove clear. Spilled liquid met hot oil and flame. Yellow
fumes toiled upward; sparks flew, acridly laced with
smoke.
    'Master!' Heggen's appeal was hoarse. 'Drop the wards
over Torkal.' A candelabrum whirled and toppled,
streaming tongues of fire. 'Would you destroy us? Release
the binding before we are stewed like fishes in a pot!'
    Elienne heard Faisix curse again. Then a coarse sound
like the tear of canvas ripped the air, and a starburst of
light slammed her eyes. Wind clawed her hair. Faintly
Elienne heard voices.
    'She's done it!' the triumphant words were Taroith's.
'The wards over Torkal are down!'
    A reply from the Prince reached Elienne's ears, distant
and ragged with hope. 'Ma'Diere guide you. Bring my
Lady back unharmed.'

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     E!ienne drew breath and found her speech freed.
 'Darion.t' The cry raised a gust of wind. Glassware tum-
 bled. Then the air before her split, cloven by sorcery.
 Within the rent appeared a tall figure clad in wet riding
 leather and gray wool cloak. Soulfocus light blazed down
 on sodden white hair and the familiar face of Taroith.
 Relief flooded Elienne's eyes with tears.  The wind died as though strangled.
     'My Lady!' Taroith's summons cut urgently through the
 soft sigh of the flames. 'Come to me, quickly.'
     Elienne pushed herself into motion. Her limbs
 responded with reluctance. Drug-blurred senses mis-
 judged the height of the tabletop, and she stumbled,
 betrayed yet again by shaky legs. She clung to the oaken
 furnishings, consciousness riddied by yawning gaps.
 Blackness worried at her balance.
'Hurry!' Urgently, Taroith flung out a hand to assist.
But a thin red bar of light shot between, barring Elienne
from the Sorcerer. Surly in his spoiled black doublet,
Faisix lifted his voice in challenge. 'Greetings, Master
Taroith. If you wish the Lady's company, you must win it
from me.'
    The red line blazed malevolently through the spectrum
of oranges to a peak of dazzling yellow. Faisix smiled,
then whipped his spell fluidly about Taroith's thin
shoulders.
    Taroith said, 'You are foolish to contest me.' He broke
the enchantment's continuity with a gesture. Light danced
and died.
    'Spoken like a true and loyal Master of the League,'
Faisix mocked. 'How you detest violence.' With the grace
of a panther, he stepped across the tangled wreckage of
his study. Glass crunched like gravel under his boots.
When he stopped, the braced stance he assumed stirred

165

Elienne with uneasiness. His confidence seemed unshak-
able as Eternity.
    'If you want the woman, fight for her.' Faisix's defer-
ence offered cruel invitation, as though Taroith's resist-
ance would shape some subtle victory. Elienne felt the
skin on her arms prickle. Unseen forces aligned about
her, a predator bunched to spring.
    'Strike first, then,' Taroith said softly. 'And remember
whose choice initiated this conflict.'
    Faisix performed a formal courtier's bow and, with an
arrogant lift of his chin, flung sweat-tangled hair from his
face. A sunburst blossomed overhead with the movement.
Elienne narrowed aching eyes. Never, in her presence,
had Faisix's soulfocus shone so brightly. The small room
blazed, ruddy with reflections.
    Even Taroith flung up an arm and shielded his face.
'Faisix? The shout was whetted with rebuke. 'Are you
possessed? We've set no precautionary wards!'
    'What care I if natural continuity is disrupted.'? I took
no oath of Mastery, nor am I subject to the restraints of
the League.'
    The focus brightened. Radiant heat raised a sinuous
twist of steam from Taroith's damp shoulders. The Sor-
cerer licked sweat from his lips. 'Faisix, desist, at least
until we have erected proper restrictions. Two others in
this room might suffer unjust consequences.'
    The Regent shrugged elegantly. 'Heggen can look after
himself. If the Lady's safety concerns you, weaken your
own defense and shield her.'
    With staccato snaps, the leaded panes of the casement
spawned marks like starbursts.
    Faisix lowered his head, pale hair beaded with light.
'Stand your guard, Taroith,' he said sweetly, and struck.
The focus arced through the air. Shadows pinwheeled

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 across floor, walls, and ceiling, and a flare of incandesc-
 ence dazzled Elienne's eyes. Power tore into her; she
 staggered back and smashed with bruising force into the
 table.
     'Ma'Diere, have you no scruples?' Taroith cried,
 shocked. Fuzzily she realized Faisix had directed the brunt
 of his assault against her, taking Taroith entirely by
 surprise.
     Savage with disgust, the League Sorcerer roused his
 soulfocus. Light sheeted, mirror-bright, and deflected the
 Regent's attack. A lesser flash sparked across the room as
 Heggen shielded himself from the backlash.
     Elienne clung to the table, helpless and disoriented.
 Sweat drenched her hair, face, and neck, and her body
 shook beyond voluntary control. Vaguely she noticed
 Taroith had provided some protection. Light still lanced
 her vision, but damped now to the sullen flare of marsh
 gas by the thin film of a ward.
    Ozone whetted the air with a prickling scent. Elienne
straightened, desperate to assess the action. The conflict
beyond the barrier flickered, distorted as though viewed
through a swift current. She saw Faisix hurl a raging mass
of force. Elienne gasped, fearful Taroith would not
escape.
    But the elderly figure in gray raised up a glimmering
net. The shield appeared delicate as opalescent glass. Yet
the terrible, raw blaze of Faisix's offense recoiled harm-
lessly aside. The ward surrounding Elienne opaqued,
mercurial silver, and shed the backwash of energy. Trans-
parency returned with a soft flicker of blue light as
Taroith's formidable control unbound the energy set
against him.
    The Sorcerers battled on more levels than mortal
awareness could encompass, but E!ienne understood

167

enough to know Faisix held strategic advantage through
his initial assult upon her. Burdened by her defenseless-
ness, Taroith could not let his protection lapse until the
Regent was totally subdued, lest the tactic against her be
repeated. Diverted attention prevented the Master from
assuming the offensive. Time after time, Elienne watched
him deflect the fury of Faisix's attack.
    The contest continued, lacerating her eyes and ears
with unnatural forces. Her skin wept clammy sweat, and
tension clenched her stomach. Heggen apparently shared
none of her discomfort. He stood at Faisix's shoulder
casually, an icon's secretive smile on his lips. Distaste-
fully, Elienne wondered where Faisix had acquired such a
companion. The man barely seemed human.
    'Faisix.' Taroith's sharp tone made Elienne start. 'One
last time, I ask that you abjure violence and heed the
voice of reason.'
    The Regent's expression turned expansive with delight.
'I'm touched by your concern, Master Sorcerer, but the
sentiment is wasted.' Slim, sure hands raised another
inferno, voracious as the fires of the damned.
    'I am left no alternative.' Taroith frowned. 'You compel
me to turn the effects of your own summoning back
against you.'
    Faisix gestured contemptuously. 'I will easily regain
mystery of what originated at my command.'
    The light swelled. Heat waves shimmered the air.
Elienne saw this attack would surpass those which had
gone before. Her grip tightened apprehensively on the
table edge. The towering wall of fire made Taroith's
stance seem marked by exhaustion and poignantly human
frailty.
 'Faisix, you misjudge me,' said the Sorcerer quietly.
 Yet the spell only blazed the brighter. Drafts stirred the

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 drapes, the tapestries swayed like ghosts against the wall.
 Faisix's laughter arose harsh as metal against a grindstone
 above the crackle of fire. The Regent folded his arms with
 studied nonchalance, licked by shifting orange reflections.
 'I am not moved at all. Your threats, I think, are designed
 to frighten children.'
     Suddenly, startlingly, Heggen stirred, dark skin
 blanched the color of old bone. 'Have a care, Master!' He
 raised an incautious hand to restrain the Regent. 'The
 Sorcerer's words are well founded. You are
 overmatched.'
     'Fool!' Scornfully Faisix ducked Heggen's hold. 'Would
 you ruin us both? I know what I am about.' And a swift,
 blurred motion loosed his attack.
    The ward this time failed to opaque. An explosion of
light ripped Elienne's eyes. Through flash-dimmed vision,
she saw Taroith respond with a neat, graceful gesture.
The surrounding space gained transcendent clarity, as
though he stood isolated in a sphere of focused perfection.
    Faisix's blaze struck with a cobra's speed. Taroith
intercepted with his soulfocus. Impact ignited a starred
pulse of blue-white light. The energy deflected, as though
from a mirror, yet even Elienne's limited perceptions
detected alterations in the reverse flow. Somehow Taroith
had translated the motivation of Faisix's intentions into
tangible existence. The result was Evil, Hatred, and
Greed, ruinously personified. Elienne shuddered in
horror. She beheld what seemed the very death of hope.
She tore her gaze away quickly, grateful not to be the
victim of the Sorcerer's riposte.
 Faisix's shout split into a scream.
 'Yield,' commanded Taroith, relentlessly impersonal.
 The Regent reeled backward. His breath caught in

169

tortured gasps, and trembling fingers clawed at the brass
latch of a cupboard. 'Heggen.'
    Though the appeal was no more than a ragged whisper,
Heggen moved in answer.
 'Yield,' said Taroith again.
    His soulfocus pulsed at the extreme edge of violet.
Energy backlashed, distilled into nightmare. Faisix
flinched, pinned grotesquely against the cabinet doors.
His hands scrabbled at the latch. 'Heggen!'
    Sweat gleamed on the cowled man's knuckles as he
caught the latch and wrenched the cupboard open. Knives
gleamed within, eerily ablaze with reflections from Tar-
oith's sorcery. Faisix seized the handle of the nearest.
    Taroith moved sharply forward, and his steps spun glass
fragments across the floor. 'Put up your blade. Physical
violence will gain you nothing.'
    A ghastly smile curved Faisix's lips. He whirled with
deadly grace and drove the dagger to the hilt in the heart
of his assistant. Heggen gasped in mortal surprise, and
crumpled. Blood splashed across the tiles. Too late,
Elienne covered her eyes. The image of the murder was
already clenched forever in her memory, along with the
rustle of Heggen's contortions as the life left his frame. A
stench thickened in her nostrils. Sickened by the taste of
bile, E!ienne choked and, looking up, saw Faisix trace
symbols upon the air with crimson hands. Smoke boiled
forth, backlit by the yellow glow of runes. Impressed by a
sense of wrongness, Elienne knew at once she witnessed
Black Sorcery.
    A hard glimmer of blue-white drew her eye. With an
expression seamed and grim, Taroith erected a protective
lattice of light. Concentration made him seem inhuman.
Colored highlights flickered over shoulders stiff as flint,

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as though he channeled the sum of his being into the
spells carved into existence by his mastery.
    Yet Faisix moved first. Elienne watched him stoop over
Heggen's corpse; the runes fanned a crown of broiling
smoke above his hair as he traced an arrow in wet blood
upon the floor, then uttered a guttural phrase. His cipher
pulsed and came to life. Fumes roiled ceilingward, and
the blood leaped forth and ran in a sizzling stream toward
Taroith's corner of the room. Its evil advance struck the
clean luminosity of the Master Sorcerer's defenses with a
hideous shriek of steam. Wind fanned the chamber in a
hot breath, extinguishing Taroith's sorceries like blown
candleflame; even the ward surrounding Elienne flicked
out with a brittle snap.
    Gray-black streamers of smoke caught acridly in her
throat and left her choking. Through tear-stung eyes, she
saw the blood settle, a scarlet puddle at Taroith's feet,
with edges geometrically frayed by runoff into cracks
between the tiles.
    Faisix stood, unsteady and breathing hard. 'Which of
us is helpless now, Master? I can unbind your most
powerful ward.'
 Taroith offered no reply.
    The Regent smiled with courtly diplomacy. 'I am not
unsporting.' He gestured with streaked hands at the pool
beside his opponent's boots. 'I have evened the odds
between us; quite generously granted you means to
triumph over me. Once, before the Grand Justice, you
denounced me for Black Sorcery and named me con-
demned by Ma'Diere's Law.' The smile became honeyed
with sarcasm. 'Join me in Damnation, and you might save
your Prince's Consort.'
    Expressionless with exhaustion, Taroith lowered his
head. Eyes dark as old ebony fixed, stricken, on the

171

stained floor, and sudden apprehension locked the breath
in Elienne's chest. Surely Taroith was wise enough to
resist such an end.
    Yet Faisix resumed his taunts, confidently anticipating
a victory. 'You hold the advantage, with all your League
training. If you dared apply the Black arts, you would
defeat me.'
    Taroith said nothing. The knuckles of his locked hands
whitened with stress. Heggen's blood inches from his
boots, the Sorcerer seemed tormented by indecision.
Elienne recalled a statement of Ielond's, uttered in
anguish on the ice plains; 'I'd suffer Damnation gladly,
Mistress, if I could spare Darion.t But my Prince forbade
me permission to work the darklore.'
    The royal Guardian's love for his ward had instead
driven him beyond the known limits of sorcery: he had
broken the barrier of Time to ensure his Prince's succes-
sion. Elienne bit her lip. The temptation to battle Faisix
with Black Sorcery was great; Ielond's prodigious sacri-
fices in Darion's behalf might easily make Damnation
seem inconsequential if the royal succussion might be
secured as a result.
    'Why the great delay?' the Regent goaded. 'Don't you
know? You have no choice.'
    He thinks to save himself, Elienne thought and, with a
horrid flash of perception, realized Taroith's use of Black
Sorcery might jeopardize the integrity so recently and
precariously restored him by the Grand Council's acquit-
tal. Should he fail now, all past actions could become
tainted by doubt; a lifetime of honorable service under-
mined at a stroke. Faced by such betrayal, Pendaire's
fickle court might well turn back to the familiar leadership
of Faisix.
  And still Taroith seemed torn by doubt. Spent as he

172

was, Elienne wondered whether he realized his present
danger. Necessity forced her to control the fear that
shackled her against action. Like a hunted animal, she
searched for some measure she could engage in her own
behalf, should Taroith's wisdom falter. Her attention
caught on the bright, deadly glitter of a glass shard.
Cautiously Elienne extended her foot and scuffed the
fragment within reach. That moment, Taroith looked up.
    White hair lay limp over the damp folds of his hood,
bracketing an expression of raw sorrow. 'Faisix, there is
always choice,' he said softly.
    The Regent kicked Heggen's hand out of his path and
stepped forward, triumphant. 'Ah, you're ignorant.
Didn't you know? The Lady Elienne is the sole key to
Darion's succession. Without her, he will certainly face
the headsman's ax.'
    Dread chilled Elienne to the marrow. Faisix intended to
expose the fact that Darion's seed was sterile. And if her
son by Cinndel was revealed to be other than the royal
blood of Haigarid, the vindictive rage of the court would
surely destroy them both. Elienne stooped and caught the
glass from the floor, her only recourse to end the conflict
before Faisix could speak and ruin her.
    'Ielond knew.' Faisix prepared to drive home his crown-
ing blow, sure as a cat toying with prey. 'The Prince
cannot possibly - '
    'No!' Elienne's shrill exclamation sliced through the
exchange like a sword blade. Trembling, she extended
her arm, the cruel edge of the glass laid against the
delicate skin of her wrist. She drew a ragged breath and
said, 'Taroith. Listen to me. If you use the darklore to
save either me or Darion, I will take my life. I'll not see
you damned for my sake.'

173

'Bleeding can be stanched,' said Faisix conver-
sationally.
    'But you would welcome my death, Excellency. Do you
think Taroith could subdue you in time enough to save
me?' Elienne glanced quickly back to the Sorcerer.
'Gifted, don't.'
    Taroith turned his face fully upon her, and with a
wrench, Elienne noticed the tears that traced his lined
cheeks. 'Lady, your wisdom is the blessing of Ma'Diere.
You already understand why I must abandon you here,
though by so doing, I leave you in great danger. Do not
despair, I shall not transgress natural law. I only hesitated
because I could think of no gentle means to explain my
withdrawal to you.'
    Elienne spoke quickly, barely able to maintain her
resolve. 'Leave with my blessing, Gifted.' She laid the
glass fragment aside with hands suddenly too unsteady to
grip it with safety.
     'Keep your courage up,' said Taroith. 'Neither Darion
 nor 1 shall rest until your freedom is won.'
     Unable to bear the sight of the Sorcerer's departure,
 Elienne squeezed her eyes shut. By force of will, she held
 herself from begging the Sorcerer to reconsider.
     As though sensing her weakness, Faisix smiled. 'You
 abandon her to a singularly unpleasant fate.'
     Taroith responded sharply, 'Beware, Defiler. The Sor-
 cerer's League will act in the Consort's defense. You'll be
 shown no mercy unless you release the Lady to my care
 flOW. '
     'She is significant only as long as Darion remains alive,'
 said Faisix.
     Through the words, Elienne heard a rustle like velvet
 rubbed across wool, and a soft breeze chilled her wet
 cheeks. She opened her eyes to find Taroith gone. Faisix

174

approached her, madness upon his smoke-grimed fea-
tures. 'Above anything else, you will come to regret your
part in Darion's life, Lady Consort.'

Though the wide casements were not barred, and no lock
secured the door, the bedchamber on the third floor of
Torkal Manor became Ellenhe's prison during the days
that followed. The hallway without never went
unguarded, and the only soul she saw, beside the mutes,
was the girl Minksa, who brought her meals, water, and
fresh candles. Elienne tried to win the child's confidence,
with little success. Sometimes Minksa lingered over her
tasks to listen to her companionable chatter, but the offer
of friendship seemed to increase the girl's apprehension.
Discouraged yet again one evening as the child bolted
from her chambers, Elienne sighed. She rose and pushed
the door closed, shutting out the view of the guardswoman
in the hallway beyond.
    Alone for the night, she settled herself on the chilly
cushions of the window seat and gazed out at the gardens
beneath a half-moon. The forest spread dark beneath
sooty streamers of cloud. For the thousandth time,
Elienne wondered what form of trauma had disturbed
Minksa. Such reserve was unnatural for a girl of her years.
As always when she was troubled, Elienne reached for
the mirrowstone that hung from the chain at her neck.
Even Faisix's barrier of Black Sorcery could not prevent
sight of the Prince through Ielond's interface, though
communication was still impossible.
    Within the stone, moonlight struck through a canopy of
foliage. Horses moved in thick shadow. Cloaked against
the cold, Darion hunched in his saddle, his face a pale
blur in the darkness. Daylight would have revealed angu-
lar hollows at cheek and temple, and eyes set deep in

175

circled sockets. The Prince paced when weariness forced
his men to make camp. Restlessness robbed him of all but
the lightest of sleep, and Elienne had observed him in the
throes of nightmare more than once. Had Taroith been
present, he might perhaps have reassured the Prince. But
the Sorcerer had not returned to Darion's side since the
conclusion of the duel with Faisix. Elienne tried to recall
how long ago that had been; hours ran together into days,
and since nothing other than weather differentiated one
from another she lost track. Had it been seven nights, or
eight, since the duel with Faisix?
    Elienne leaned her shoulder against the windowframe,
and closed her eyes. She could not guess how far the
Prince's retinue was from Torkal. And though Faisix had
left her entirely alone, she doubted he had forgotten her.
Often Elienne smelled the acrid fumes of Black Sorcery.
    Permitted no diversion, Elienne exhausted herself bat-
tling the despair that threatened hourly to overwhelm
her. Accustomed lifelong to activity, she fretted in con-
finement. Sleep tormented her with visions of freedom,
and her waking thoughts strayed too often into nightmare.
    Curled in the window seat over the mirrowstone,
Eiienne finally drowsed. Snared by an uneasy dream, she
beheld a meadow whitened like snowdrifts with the blos-
soms of star-flowers, but the rare and peaceful beauty of
the place was marred by the pathetic sounds of an infant's
cries. Elienne searched, but found no child.
    'Forgive me,' Ielond said from behind. She stopped and
turned, but saw no trace of him. The voice resumed,
implacably. 'Tragedy linked each of the choices I placed
before you in Trathrnere . . .'
 And close by, the infant continued to wail.

176

 'Mistress!' Someone shook her.
     Elienne woke with a start. Minksa gripped her elbow
 urgently.
     'Mistress, I'm frightened.' The girl's small hands were
 damp with sweat, and even by wan moonlight, Elienne
 saw her eyes were widened in terror.
     Though empty of confidence herself, Elienne gathered
 the child's trembling body close. 'I'm your friend. Can
 you tell me what has upset you7'
     For a long time, Minksa clung, speechless. Then a sob
 wrenched the thin shoulders in Ellenhe's arms, and she
 felt the child's fingers grope and lock among her skirts.
    Minksa drew an unsteady breath. 'Mistress, it's Faisix,'
she began, and twisted her face toward the door.
    Moonlight burnished her pale forehead like bone, and
the shadowed eyesockets beneath seemed momentarily
vacant as a skeleton's. Elienne shivered. Then her ears
caught the ring of footsteps in the hallway beyond.
  Minksa gasped. 'He comes here, Mistress.'
    Firmly Elienne gathered her ragged composure. 'Who
comes? Faisix?'
  Minksa nodded, tears silvering her cheeks.
    'My friends don't call me "Mistress,"' Elienne said
quickly, glad the wait had ended at last. 'Why don't you
hide behind the bedhangings? The Regent need not know
you came.'
    Minksa swallowed and tilted her small sprite's face up
at Elienne. 'Mistress, Lady he is not angry with me. You
are the one who has displeased him, though he will beat
me if he finds I have warned you.'
    'I won't tell him.' Elienne squeezed the girl's hand
reassuringly. 'Hide yourself quickly.'
    But Minksa failed to move. The steps grew closer,
paired by the dissonant jingle of mail and weaponry.

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 Eiienne gave Minksa a small push. 'Go child.'
    Yet, surprisingly, the girl resisted. 'Lady, he already
knows I am here.'
    Elienne tried to hide her uncertainty. 'Then we'll face
him together.' She blotted a tear from Minksa's cheek,
just as the door crashed back.
    Light sliced the chamber, darkened almost at once by
Faisix's slim height. He wore mail and a black surcoat
trimmed elegantly in gold, which E!ienne found oddly,
disquietingly familiar. At his back, a hand-held torch
flung heated reflections off Aisa's armored and weaponed
shoulders. Minksa shrank against E!ienne's knees as the
Regent and the mute stepped into the room. Denji
entered behind them both, fingering the haft of her battle-
ax. The Regent checked by the bed, startled to find the
gold-sewn coverlet smooth and unmussed.
    'I'm over here,' said Elienne coldy. 'Your hospitality
doesn't encourage sleep.'
    Faisix spun and faced the window seat, abandoned
utterly to fury. 'Woman, count on it. I'll make your
existence a living Damnation. You'll wish for death.'
    Pushed past her fear by a blaze of sudden anger,
Elienne tried to provoke him. 'How sporting of you! I see
Darion has not yet fallen prey to your schemes. Tell me,
does frustration always make you strike unarmed men
and women?'
    Faisix's jaw tightened. He took a sharp, thoughtless
step forward.
    'And children,' Elienne said scornfully. 'Ma'Diere
knows you've used this girl. Your methods, certainly, are
gutlessly crass.' If he could be angered enough to strike
her, she might once again disrupt his sphere of influence
and summon Taroith.

178

But her hope misfired. Faisix jerked his head at the
mutes. 'Bind her,' he said, 'and the girl too.'
    He accepted the torch from Aisa, and watched coldly
while the guardswomen dragged Minksa and Elienne
roughly from the window seat. 'I am lately returned from
a most irregular paradox. You might recall a time when
you were not such a staunch ally of the Prince. Once you
resisted Ielond's will and summoned me to the ice plains
of Ceroth. I think you recall the unpleasantness that
occurred there quite well.' He paused.
    Elienne's breath stuck in her throat. The paradox of
Ielond's Timesplice had only now caught up with her. The
meeting on the ice plain must have just occurred, for the
Regent.
    'I see you remember.' A fierce gleam lit Faisix's eyes,
and his voice thickened. 'I spoke with Ielond, yet Ielond
is dead. And you are with child, surely, by a man other
than Darion. Whatever tricks your Prince's Guardian has
played with the natural laws of progression, I assure you,
his efforts will come to nothing.'
    'You bluster like the wind,' said Elienne hotly. Her
heart labored against her breast, and her mouth went dry,
but she continued. 'Ielond has already defeated you.'
    Faisix's brows rose thoughtfully. 'Has he indeed? I shall
unravel his mysteries, Mistress, and discover the origins
of a certain chestnut-haired man who was once dear to
you. Then we shall see who suffers defeat. But such a
search will cost me time, and I intend to ruin Darion first.
Without him, your fate won't matter. And since you've
shown such touching concern for Minksa, I've decided the
child shall help.'
    Horror snapped the threads of Elienne's composure.
'No!' But Faisix simply smiled at her protest as the mutes
bundled her and Minksa toward the open door.

179

        10
The Path of Damnation

The study had been cleared of the worst wreckage from
Faisix's duel with Taroith, but broken glassware glittered
still in the recesses beneath furnishings, and the floor bore
the crisscrossed scars of scorch marks and ugly rust-
colored stains. Pushed by calloused hands into a wooden
chair, Elienne heard Faisix move to the cupboards against
the left wall. Beyond the mute's bulk, she glimpsed the
jars that held the reduced remains of Heggen's corpse.
Elienne was grateful Minksa's back was turned. The girl
was young for such a grisly sight.
    Faisix selected a flask from the shelf and spoke without
leaving his work. 'Aisa, please restrain the Lady in a
manner which leaves her left hand at liberty. I wish her
free to watch her Prince's demise in the mirrowstone.'
    Elienne barely felt the bite of the cords, concerned as
she was for Minksa; the girl offered no resistance as Denji
turned her over to Faisix. Like a hare trapped in the jaws
of a wolf, she seemed suspended in paralysis. When the
Regent caught her hand, she followed willingly, and cued
by her attitude of submissiveness, E!ienne realized the
girl was no stranger to the practices of sorcery.
    Faisix spoke to the mutes without looking up. 'You are
both excused. Set the bolt from the outside as you leave.'
    The raw clank of weaponry belied in Elienne's ears as
Aisa and Denji departed. Why should the Regent require
the door locked from without? Elienne licked parched
lips, avoiding thoughts of Darion, alone with his men-at-
arms, and bereft of Taroith's guidance. Gripped instead

180

by recall of the scorched and wretched corpses bloating
beneath Trathmere's walls, she experienced an echo of
Minksa's submissive despair. Defeat became a haven of
familiarity beside the horror of confronting yet another
incomprehensible barrage of sorcery. Her life, surely, had
ended with Cinndei's at the hands of the Khadrach; every
action since seemed pallid and futile as that of a ghost.
    'Stand here, child.' Faisix indicated a clear space in the
center of the room.
    Mutely obedient, Minksa followed with dull, uninter-
ested eyes as he delved into a nearby chest and returned,
both hands laden with candlestands. As he arrayed them
on the floor by the girl's feet, Elienne noticed the bases
were carved of black stone, each one a squat, leering
demon. The girl seemed indifferent to the ugliness around
her.
    Faisix lifted the flask from the table and anointed his
left hand. Bloody, dripping fingers traced a line from
candlestand to candlestand, enclosing Minksa within a red
triangle. The torches cast grotesque, hunched shadows
about him as he bent and scribed a wide pentagram, then
framed the configuration with runes.
    The child stood motionless while Faisix set bluish-white
candles into the demon stands and lit them, each with a
separate incantation. When he had finished, he stood
within the pentagram and spoke a word guttural with
consonants. The gory tracings upon the floor sizzled, then
burst into flame.
    That moment, Minksa cried out, like a sleeper wakened
from a nightmare. The sound twisted Elienne's heart.
Pendaire's Regent was a monster, to shape his snares with
a child. Better she lose Cinndel's son than suffer the rule
of such a man.

181

'Minksa? Elienne abouted. 'Recite Ma'Diere's Laws!
Do you know them?'
    The child seemed stunned, as though the rhythmic rise
and fall of Faisix's chant robbed her of hearing.
    Elienne drew breath to repeat the Laws herself, but
poisonous fumes from the candles choked her throat. A
spasm of coughing mangled the words beyond recogni-
tion. Half-smothered by the smoke, Elienne blinked
watering eyes and, in the sulfurous glare of flamelight,
saw Faisix raise his arm. The darkness of oblivion
appeared before him, framing a doorway in the air.
    'Come here, Minksa.' His voice was barely above a
whisper, yet the child heard. She raised her head and
took a slow, tranced step forward. For a moment, Elienne
saw her outline blue. Then Minksa crossed the threshold
into night.
    The blackness flickered, suddenly suffused with streaks
of dull red. The girl screamed once, high and thin like a
wounded rabbit. She swayed, and her legs buckled as her
senses left her. Faisix caught her body as it fell through
the gate he had fashioned. Her limbs dangled from his
arms as he laid her like a corpse at his feet.
    Flayed by emotion, Elienne found her free hand
clenched fiercely around the mirrowstone. The jewel was
drenched with sweat, and her palm ached where the gold
setting had gouged her skin.
    'The girl is not dead,' said Faisix conversationally. 'See
for yourself.' The Regent inclined his head toward the
triangle, and following his nod, Elienne saw a pale,
spectral shape move within. Faisix's sorcery had separated
spirit from flesh. Imprisoned by the red barriers of the
warding spell, Minksa's soul desperately sought escape,
to no avail. Elienne shivered, stirred to anger. As Faisix

182

 initiated his next invocation, Elienne sought the knotted
 cords that bound her right wrist behind her back.
     The torches streamed and flicked out. Only the ensor-
 celed candles remained alight, flames casting sickly,
 greenish halos in the dark. Sweat slicked Elienne's back,
 and the tendons ached around stressed joints. Strain as
 she might, the knots stayed just beyond reach. Beyond
 the perimeter of his pentagram, Faisix had scribed a
 second triangle, and above it, still another dark gateway.
 The name he called into the obsidian void was that of
 Darion's sister, Avelaine, who had died of a fall from a
 horse at age fifteen.
     With a leap of horrified intuition, Elienne perceived the
 Regent's intent. If Faisix merged Minksa's hapless flesh
 with the spirit of the Prince's dead sister, he would create
 for himself a formidable weapon. Half-crazed with con-
 cern for Darion, Elienne wrenched desperately against
 her bonds. But the knots held.
     Sparks flared through shifting billows of smoke. Elienne
 bit her lip to keep from crying out in frustration.
    The Regent bent over Minksa's possessed body and
applied the arts of shape-change. As though aware of his
meddling, the girl's spirit beat like a moth against the
sorcery that confined her. Elienne watched in growing
apprehension as the girl's fleshy contours altered under
Faisix's touch. The apparition that finally rose to its feet
before him bore little resemblance to the plain child
lathered by Jieles. Luridly underlit by guttering candle
flames, Elienne beheld a tall young woman with rich,
dark hair and a determined jawline. A jeweled pin
glittered at her throat, and her slim figure was expensively
clad in riding leather of masculine cut.
    'Brother, why have you called me back?' she demanded
in a clear, imperious voice.

183

    Hearing the words, Elienne realized that Faisix had
himself assumed the Prince's image. When the two were
seen together, the likeness to the royal features in the
woman's profile was unmistakable.
    'I have summoned you because I am in grave danger,
sister.'
    The Princess glanced aside, as though to examine the
hellish glow of the ciphers that ringed her round. But
Faisix recalled her straying attention. 'Avelaine! Will you
listen? My life is threatened.'
    Avelaine faced him with an imperious toss of her
coroneted head. Dark hair glanced like raven feathers in
the dim, smoky room. 'Darion you have changed much
since I saw you last.'
    'I haven't time to idle talk. I am pursued by a man
shape-changed to my likeness. Not even Taroith can tell
us apart.' Faisix added a gesture of theatrical vehemence.
'Bring him down for me, sister. I offer the chance to
avenge the death of one dear to us both.'
    Avelaine frowned. 'Who?. I think you lie, your Grace.
The brother I knew would never disturb the dead. Not
even for his own iife's sake.'
    'Ielond lost his life for the sake of the succession. Must
I be murdered as you were, or will you help?'
    Avelaine's eyes narrowed. 'Faisix? She said suddenly,
'Ma'Diere have mercy, was my death not enough?' and
took a sharp step back. The heel of her riding boots
knocked inadvertently into a candlestand, and, as though
wakened, the carved base came alive.
    E!ienne gasped. Though fumes scoured her throat, she
shouted frantically, 'Avelaine, it's a trap!'
    But the woman in the triangle seemed deaf to her
warning. The demon shape bloated like a soap bubble.
White and foul as a slug, it burst, releasing a writhing coil

184

 of vapor that rose and twined malevolently around the
 Princess's head. Avelaine gasped.
     'You are mine now,' Faisix said softly. 'This geas I lay
 upon you, Avelaine of Pendaire. You shall never rest
 until your brother lies dead at your hand.'
     The Princess stood, reasonless as a beast. Her hands
 accepted the sword Faisix offered with a dreamer's incom-
 prehension. No longer wearing Darion's face, the Regent
 drew a thin, ceremonial dagger from his belt.
    Faisix took the knife and nicked his palm with a swift
motion. Blood welled, black against pale skin. He mut-
tered an incantation, then raised his slashed hand and let
the wound drip like a libation over the ring. A thunderous
blast reft the air. Wind tossed the hair from Elienne's
face, and the candles streamed like specters gone mad.
The pentagram flared, red to violet, and crackled sparks,
seeming for a prolonged moment to enclose the blackest
pit of Hell.
    Within, Elienne saw movement: a glint of scales like
smoky quartz edging the arch of a serpentine tail. Then
the darkness parted and dispersed like smoke, and she
beheld the equine demon Faisix had once ridden over the
ice plains of Ceroth. Sparks shot from restless hooves,
and, yellow as lamps, its eyes gleamed with a man's
intelligence. Dazed by fumes, and battered beyond mortal
reason by the proximity of unnatural forces, Elienne was
slow to recognize she viewed the Regent himself, hide-
ously transformed.
    She wrenched at her bonds until pain made her dizzy.
Through blurred eyes, she saw Avelaine mount. The
sword flashed once in the flamelight, severing the five
candles at the apexes of the pentagram. Thin wax shafts
toppled, trailing ragged flags of smoke, and extinguished
with a sheared-off hiss against the floor. The connecting

185

lines flickered out. Elienne swallowed, tasted sweat. A
triad of candles burned at the angles of the ward that
confined Minksa's soul. All else lay shrouded in darkness.
    Elienne seized the mirrowstone, braced for disaster.
The stone's depths shone warmly, lit by an open-air
campfire. Darion sat on a gilt-trimmed saddlecloth, with
knees drawn up, and his head resting on crossed wrists.
Lumped like dark hillocks about him, the men-at-arms
slept under damp wool blankets, armored still, she saw,
by the light that pricked helms, weapons, and mailed
limbs.
 Faisix's apparition had not yet arrived.
    The mirrowstone slipped from nervous fingers. If she
was to help the Prince, she had little time to act; her only
chance lay in the glowing triangle across the room, where
Minksa's imprisoned spirit huddled in abject despair. If,
somehow, the child could be freed, Ma'Diere's Laws
might lend advantage enough for her to regain command
of her possessed flesh from Avelaine, and so disrupt
Faisix's geas of murder. The chance was slim, and danger-
ous; Elienne knew her own ignorance of sorcery might
precipitate disaster. Yet Ielond had not chosen her for
timidity.
    The cords could not be loosened; the chair, then, would
have to be included in her plans. Elienne grimly bit her
lip and shoved against the floor with her feet. With a
screech, the legs skated a foot across the tiles. Elienne
battled a queasy rush of vertigo. She lowered her head
quickly, to prevent herself from fainting outright.
    She would have to change tactics. Even if she managed
to retain her senses, the noise alone would surely attract
the mutes. Urgently, Elienne searched the shadowed
room for inspiration.
    Her eye fell on the rucked outline of a throw rug piled
beneath a book stand. Grasping the chair seat firmly, she

186

 yanked upward as she kicked, her intent to lift the chair
 clear of the floor. But the motion jarred her arms to the
 shoulders, and pain channeled like molten metal down
 her nerves. Against all effort of will, she cried out. Sweat
 dripped like tears down her temples and cheeks.
     Eiienne drew a shallow, ragged breath. The rug was
 beyond her means, but any cloth would do as well. She
 tugged at her skins and with shaking fingers tore the soft
 chemise from beneath. Then she tilted the chair and eased
 the fabric under its legs with her foot. This time the chair
 slid more smoothly, noise reduced to a muffled rumble,
 and with clumsy persistence, E!ienne propelled herself
 toward Minksa's confined spirit. The chair caught once,
 on an uneven square of tile, but Elienne pressed doggedly
 forward.
     The chair rocked to a halt before the heated line of the
 triangle. She picked out the thin glimmer of the figure
 within. The girl bent, tightly crouched, her face buried in
 the crossed shield of her arms.
    'Minksa? Elienne's voice seemed slurred, even to her
own ears. The spectral shape did not stir. Perhaps the
child could hear no spoken word, removed as she was
from her flesh. But E!ienne refused to abandon hope.
  'Minksa, are you listening?'
  The child stayed motionless.
    'Minksa, you must . . .' Elienne's voice cracked, and
new tears sprang hotly in her eyes, silvering the faint,
phosphorescent image of the imprisoned soul before her.
'Minksa, his Grace's life depends upon us now. I think we
can save him, if you will help.'
    Within the triangle, the child stirred. Elienne knew a
wild surge of hope. The small, translucent hands
unclasped, and Minksa raised a face imprinted with
misery. 'Lady, I cannot.'

187

     Cut to the quick by the need for haste, Elienne's
response was brisk to the point of brutality. 'You can try.'
  Anguished, Minksa shook her head.
    'Does our friendship mean nothing?' Elienne reached
fiercely for the candle at the nearest corner of the triangle,
as though to pinch off the greenish flame at the wick.
    'No! Lady, I beg you!' Minksa flung herself at the
barrier. 'You'll come to great harm if you touch that.'
    The enclosure flared red as Minksa struck its perimeter.
She fell back with a cry of pain, and knelt, weeping,
though no tears fell.
    Elienne tried to balance urgency with gentleness.
'Minksa, Darion could be killed if we don't act quickly.
Then all of Pendaire would suffer. Will you help?'
    Minksa sat back on her heels, an expression beyond her
years molding her thin face.
'Child, what in the Name of Ma'Diere troubles you?'
'Lady, I daren't help your Prince, for my life's sake.'
Minksa turned her face away. 'Darion of Pendaire would
condemn me to the headsman should I leave my Lord
Regent's protection.'
    Elienne felt sick. Was there no end to the intricacy of
Pendaire's court intrigue, that even children were
involved?
    'I am older than I seem,' said Minksa, startling Elienne
with realization she had voiced her thought. Bound by the
triangle, Minksa sprang suddenly to her feet, quietude
shattered. 'Lady, I was there when Faisix bound the
Prince to his'bane. My own sister died, as sacrifice, and I
as witness committed high treason against the crown.'
     Elienne forcibly restored herself to a semblance of
 calm. Minksa was close to panic. Logic alone would win
 the girl's complicity in the struggle to aid Darion. Braced
 with patience she never knew she possessed, Elienne

188

gently urged the child to elaborate her tale. 'Darion is a
just man, not a vindictive one,' she added. 'I can't believe
you acted entirely of your own free will. Do you trust
Faisix, who abuses you, more than me?'
    Minksa sat, uncertainty evident even in her gesture of
denial. In the oppressed, shadowed room, stale with ash
and spent smoke, Elienne waited for the girl to sort her
allegiance. The candles flickered and spat by her feet,
winnowing sparks like the fireflies released each year at
the summer festival in Trathmere.
    Elienne sighed, and decided impulsively to gamble.
'Minksa, listen well. There shall be an heir. I am with
child.'
'But Darion is cursed. I saw. He can father no children.'
Elienne drew a steady breath. With the caution of a
wolf stalking deer, she knotted lies with half-truths and
tried not to examine the enormity of her risk. 'That is
exactly what Faisix wants you to believe. What if you're
wrong? You must have been very young. The Grand
Justice cannot hold you, as a child, accountable for what
you saw. You say your sister was murdered, at Faisix's
hand, and that fear of reprisal bound you to secrecy. You
are innocent of treason, child, but if you fail to act now,
you will not be innocent long. The blood of your Prince
and his unborn heir will be upon your hands.'
    Minksa shook her head, agonized. 'Please. Would you
have me act against my own father?'
    Patience abandoned, Elienne struck with sharp and
remorseless honesty. 'Would a loving father ever
exchange his own daughter's life for a crown? Minksa, if
the child I bear is not the Prince's think why. His Grace
might choose not to claim his birthright through murder,
though his own life were forfeit. Don't you realize that

189

such a curse could be reversed in the same manner in
which it was cast?'
    Distressed by indecision, Minksa buried her face in her
hands. Her bowed shoulders quivered, reminding E!ienne
how cruelly young the girl was for the burden of loyalty
and betrayal thrust upon her. Yet lives depended upon
her choice. Though pierced to the core with pity, Elienne
dragged words past the wretched knot in her chest and
weighted the conviction of her cause with all she had left
to offer.
  'Minksa, I am going to put out the candle.'
    'Lady, no.' Hysteria threaded Minksa's tone. 'The
wards will defend against interference.'
     'I know.' Elienne tried to control the fear inspired by
 the warning, with poor success. Her resolve to disrupt the
 ward seemed the action of a fool too dim to comprehend
 defeat. The carved demon on the candlestand mocked her
 with an expression of poisonous despite. Should the
 Prince be condemned to the ax, the plight of a foreigner
 would rouse little comment at court.
     'I beg you, Lady,' said Minksa. 'You are my friend. I
 don't want you injured.'
     Yet Faisix's mad intent to inflict vengeance was no
 more tolerable. Elienne clenched her fingers into a fist.
 'Minksa, if you value that friendship, you will help me by
 setting your will against what confines you here.'
     She raised her arm, and caught Minksa's eyes with her
 own. 'Fight back, and Darion's supporters will act to
 defend us.'
  Minksa shrank back in terror. 'Lady, please!'
     'No.' Elienne cursed the quaver in her voice. 'If you
 choose, Taroith can reach through your desire and free
 you. I doubt very much whether Avelaine can continue to

190

rule your body without your consent. Act against Faisix,
if only for your dead sister's sake.'  'Lady, no!'
    But the protest had no effect. Driven by loss, by
betrayal, and by her own reckless anger, Elienne smashed
the candle from its stand. An aureole of scarlet sparks
rinsed the room of shadows. Her skin flamed agony.
Someone screamed. The sound seemed to rend the very
fabric of sanity, and darkness rushed through the gap.
Elienne felt as though her fingers handled magma. The
screams, she discovered, were her own. Time hesitated,
seconds stretched to span the Eye of Eternity. Then a
starburst of blue light shattered her vision.

A log settled, and an upsurge of flame tossed a flurry of
sparks adrift in the dark. Darion shifted position, weary
of the wait, and worn by the forest silence, which pressed
his ears until they ached. At sundown, Taroith had sent
word that the Regent's counterstroke was imminent, and
the trap to take him prisoner set in readiness. Yet the
night was better than half-spent, and nothing had marred
the stillness but wind. Darion avoided thoughts of
Elienne. He was never a patient man, and a fortnight of
concern had frayed his nerves until even the stamp of a
restless horse made him start. The flames snapped and
hissed at his back as he scanned the black, shadowed
forms on their tethers.
    A high, whistling snort cut the night, and maned necks
lifted, tautly arched. Something had alarmed the horses.
Darion caught the dew-soaked leather of his scabbard
with sweaty fingers and rose quickly. His booted foot
disturbed a bridle, and something struck a buckle with a
clink. One of the men stirred and sighed in his sleep. But
above the nearby sounds of the camp, Darion heard what

191

the animals' keener senses had detected ahead of him. A
horse approached, driven through the wood at a hard
gallop.
    Certain the animal would have a rider, Darion called
softly to his captain, 'Waken your men,' And steel glanced
blood red by the flamelight as he lifted his sword.
    Around him, the men rose and armed themselves. A
less experienced company might have protested that such
measures were excessive against what obviously was
nothing more than a single horseman - but where Black
Sorcery was involved, one foe could easily be the match
of twenty. Darion rode to the center of the shield wall
that ringed the camp. He would not meet Faisix in the
open, alone and vulnerable.
    The captain paused at the Prince's side. 'I should think
he has reached the League's ward circle by now.' He
folded his arms across his huge chest and scraped an itch
on his jaw with a gloved knuckle. Darion frowned. 'Not yet.'
    That moment, a horse screamed. The captain started
violently. Darion's hand froze on his sword hilt, as every
animal on the picket line erupted into frenzied panic. A
tree branch splintered, and dirt clods thrown up by shod
hooves rattled among the bracken.
    'Cut them loose!' shouted the Prince. 'Quickly. They'll
injure themselves.'
    A man put aside his pike and ran, dagger drawn. He
slashed the halter ropes. One after another, the freed
horses wheeled and plunged at a crazed gallop into the
brush. The snap and crash of sticks soon obscured all
sound of the approaching rider. Cold sweat threaded
Darion's temples. Faisix surely was aware of the net of
sorcery that the League had set about the camp. He

192

would come prepared, and probably in a form no right-
thinking man would sanction.
    Suddenly light flared. Shadows leaped, stark as spear-
shafts from the tree trunks, as with a gusty rush of sound
a Sorcerer's ward girdled the shield wall and camp it
defended within a sheet of blue-white illumination.
    'He's crossed the League's boundary!' shouted the
captain, exultant. 'We have him prisoner.'
    'Only if we can subdue him.' Grimly Darion squinted,
tried to see between silhouetted trees, convoluted and
black as blown ink against the dazzle of the ward. His
knuckles tightened on the swordgrip. The extraordinary
brilliance of the League's defense was itself a warning
that Faisix's sending was no trifle. By Taroith's estimate,
the man's ambitious cunning had developed beyond
reason into madness. ' The Regent has forgotten restraint,'
he had said, following his attempt to rescue Elienne. 'He
is a killer whose actions hold no thought of morality. Any
who intervene do so at great peril.'
    Yet whatever he had told his colleagues had moved the
entire League of Sorcerers to uncharacteristic aggression.
Consumed with concern for Elienne, the Prince resisted
the impulse to rub his aching eyes.
    The approaching hoofbeats stopped. The forest was
eerily still. Expectancy gripped the entire company. A
pikeman shifted his weight, outlined in light, and the man
next to him swore aloud.
    'Maintain your guard, soldier!' snapped the captain.
But a scream of rending foliage made his reprimand
unnecessary. The attack was upon them, from behind.
    Darion spun around, saw two men hurled bodily into
the air. The watery gleam of a scaled beast reared beyond,
equine, deadly, and straight out of legend. Hooves raked
the shield wall like hammers. A man screamed, horribly,

193

drowning the thump as his comrades struck earth, !imp as
rags.
 'Close ranks!'
    In dreamlike disbelief, Darion stepped forward, sword
held lifted in frozen hands, and eyes fixed upon the
apparition that reared above the heads of the men.
'Ma'Diere, he's raised the Demon of Hellsgap.'
    A pike struck a scaled shoulder and glanced, rattling,
aside. Its owner fell, but Darion had eyes only for the
rider. The familiar, light hand on the rein caught in his
memory like a barb.
    The captain caught his arm roughly and jerked him
back. 'Let the men handle it, your Grace!'
    Something struck a shield with a belling clamor, over-
laid by the brighter chime of swordplay. Darion whirled,
half-lit features stamped with denial. 'By Eternity's Law,
they cannot!' He tried to fling off the restraining hand.
'The rider of that fiend from Hell is my dead sister,
Avelaine!'
    Steadfast and experienced, the captain tightened his
grip. He spoke calmly over the clang of arms. 'Then leave
her to the men. What can you do, except throw your life
away, as Faisix intends?'
    Iron struck steel with a screech, countered by a choked-
off human cry. Darion flinched and tore free. 'I can stop
her killing.' And he saw the captain's face slacken with
fear as he turned to meet his nemesis.
    A ragged shout arose as another man went down. The
shield wall crumpled like a burst dam. The demon horse
surged through the gap, its rider's hair a spray of ebony
against the glare of the ward. Shod hooves chewed gouts
of soil from the earth, and slitted eyes glimmered, hooded
by horny sockets.
 The Prince braced himself, sword upraised. The stag

194

blazon on his surcoat leaped in the ward's light as his
chest heaved with each labored breath. Close up, he saw
memory had not tricked him. The face beneath that wind-
tossed net of hair was his royal sibling's, but the gaze she
fixed on him was inhuman as a cat's.  'Avelaine!'
    Darion's voice came hoarse from his throat. The demon
steed reared over him, fetlocks spurred like a fighting
cock's. He parried, jarred to the shoulder as steel cracked
against a taloned hoof. Air buffeted his ear, plowed up
by the other hoof, and the spur caught his sleeve like a
razor. Cloth fluttered, opened to expose the fine mesh of
mail beneath.
    Darion stepped back, recovered, and saw the thin, hard
edge of Avelaine's sword thrust at his throat. He twisted,
ducked, vision filled by the bullion tassels of the beast's
saddlecloth, and an armored boot driving at his face.
    'Sister!' The word was a gasp as he dodged. He slashed
at the horse's hamstring, but it sidled, serpent tail smash-
ing downward. He took the blow with his sword edge.
Steel quivered, and stung his palms, but the blade opened
a line of scarlet between closely lapped scales.
    Darion recoiled, his sword poised. The horse snorted,
breath like streaked smoke on the night air. Muscles
bunched under scaled hide, and both forelegs lifted to
deliver a second barrage. Darion back-stepped. He thrust
upward, hoping to catch the softer heel of the hoof, or
the exposed ridges of tendon above the spurred fetlock.
But Avelaine yanked the reins hard left, driving her steed
off balance, and into safety. She parried Darion's lunge
and riposted, her slim body utterly at home in the saddle
as the beast recovered equilibrium, sidestepping.
 Steel struck steel. Darion feinted and retreated to

195

recover himself. His heel mired in the folds of an aban-
doned blanket. He blocked a thrust at his neck and sprang
clear before his footing could be spoiled. Sweat burned
his eyes, transforming the reflections off scales, weapons,
and caparisons into starred points of light. Dazzled, he
blinked, and almost missed his parry. 'Avelaine?
    The plea caught between breaths. Dimly, he heard
shouting. The horse reared. One or the other forehoof
would smash him before he could impale it. The sword
dragged at his wrists. Yet he lifted the blade, and noticed
that he had somehow bloodied his knuckles. The demon
loomed over him, black as the shadow of Eternity. Its evil
head seemed to rake the sky, neck muscles rippling
against tasseled reins. Darion angled the sword's point for
the belly just behind the dark line of the girth, oblivious
to the flash of Avelaine's steel, which swung at him from
the side.
    A snap like a whipcrack sounded almost at his elbow.
The night split with a cruel flare of light. The horse
screamed and staggered back, its rider thrown into the
black tangle of its mane. Her sword scraped Darion's
mailed shoulder, scattering sparks.
    He stumbled, blinded. His own blade struck earth,
plowed up leaf mold. He freed it instinctively and looked
around, saw the blue-white blaze of a warding spell
circling the spot where he stood. And the shouting,
finally, resolved into words in his ears.
    'Your Grace, stand guard!' The voice was Taroith's.
'The circle will stay the demon. But the woman is flesh.
Her weapon will wound.'
    Sweat trickled coldly down Darion's temples. 'She is
flesh?' He shaped the words with disbelief, eyes pinned

196

on the girlish form that reined her horse around to renew
the attack. 'Ma'Diere's mercy, you expect me to kill her?'
    Her sword flashed in a feint at his chest. He parried
and stepped back. 'Taroith?
    The Sorcerer spoke again, somewhere to the side. 'Her
body has been borrowed from another soul and shape-
changed to your sister's likeness.'
    'Whose?' Darion deflected a vicious reposte, but did
not press his advantage in the opening that followed. The
hesitation cost him. Avelaine scored a light touch on his
shoulder. The stag on his chest showed bloodstains as he
loosed a pent-up breath. 'Damn you, who is she?'
    Taroith answered with weary patience. 'We don't yet
know.'
    And Emrith qualified with what might have been a
deliberate effort to throw him off stride. 'The body might
be Elienne's.'
    Darion flinched, and gained another slash in his sur-
coat. The cloth gaped, stag blazon neatly beheaded. 'No.
It can't be.' His voice lacked conviction. Such a combina-
tion would match Faisix's style.
 'Defend yourself, your Grace!'
    Yet more than Taroith's reprimand, something in the
knowing stare of the demon horse's eyes stung Darion to
muster his self-command. His fingers tightened on the
sword's blood-slicked grip, and his body moved, blocking
the blade that sought his death until his arm ached to the
elbow from the endless, jarring blows. He was tiring. His
feet dragged and slipped over torn earth. Mounted,
Avelaine's advantage of height easily countered his
greater reach. Her weapon licked down from above.
Darion deflected the stroke, knuckles lined blue with
reflections from the ward circle. He wondered whether
Faisix had augmented Avelaine's natural endurance with

197

sorcery; the skilled swordplay he parried certainly had
never been hers in life.
    Lights flickered suddenly at the corner of his vision,
bright and brief as fireworks. Taroith had engaged in
sorcery, but pressed by Avelaine's steel, Darion dared
not glance aside.
 'Your Grace!' the Sorcerer shouted.
    Darion barely noticed, intent upon the weapon that
flashed toward an opening in his guard.
    'It is Jieles's daughter, Minksa, possessed by your
sister's spirit.' Taroith ran forward. Something faint and
luminous trailed him.
    Darion twisted, caught the blade in a bind on his
crossguard. For a suspended moment he swayed, tried to
force his spent muscles to hold Avelaine's weapon locked
and harmless. Yet she jerked free with a ferocity that
wrenched every tendon in his wrist. Unbalanced, Darion
stumbled back. Avelaine's sword rose.  'My Prince!'
    Taroith's words held no meaning in his ears as he
parried, beat, and lunged offensively to drive her back,
allowing himself a brief space to recover. Her blade
hesitated, mid-swing.
    Darion realized, horrorstruck, that his stroke would go
home, unimpeded.
  '... Jieles's daughter!' Taroith cried, desperate.
    He dropped the sword, there being time for nothing
else. The grip fell, tumbling the weapon in the air. Steel
rattled across Avelaine's mailed calf and chimed against
her stirrup. Darion glanced up, seeking the return strike
that would take him disarmed, and saw Avelaine's fea-
tures run like wax. The weapon flew, spinning from her
hand, straight for his throat.
 The Prince threw himself flat, felt dirt carved up by the

blade spray his neck and shoulders. When next he looked
up, the girl on the demon mount had transformed. Gone
was Avelaine's effortless grace in the saddle. A child
clung in her place, white-faced with terror, her slippered
feet too short for the stirrup, and her hands inexperienced
on the rein.
    The black horse screamed, and tried to throw her. The
stamp of iron-shod hooves shook the ground where
Darion lay. The child cried out, piteously. The Prince
rolled and pushed himself to his feet.
    'Don't leave the warded circle, your Grace.' Taroith
flung himself between, blocking Darion's rush. His voice
gentled. 'The League will protect her.'
    And the woodland night exploded with the brilliant,
pinpoint blaze of a dozen soulfocuses. The demon form
plunged, bellowing, black mane softened to smoke against
the light. Scales winked, dimmed by misty fumes, and the
Sorcerers of the League converged inward, their circle
narrowing. Wind arose, and the fumes cleared. A man
stood with wrists shackled in bands of light. His head was
bent, as though with sorrow, and a small girl cowered at
his feet, trembling still with fear.
 One of the Sorcerers held out his hand. 'Minksa?'
    The girl rose, went to him, and buried her tearful face
in his embrace. At Darion's side, Taroith released a pent-
up breath, and the sharp blaze of the wards snapped out
like a pinched candle, leaving only the ruddy glow of the
campfire.
    'Torches!' The captain's order roused a flurry of activ-
ity, and voices. Somewhere in darkness, a wounded man
moaned. A healer arrived at the Prince's elbow, inquiring
after his hurts.
 Darion shook him off. Though his muscles quivered

198                                                                       199

with exhaustion, he reclaimed his fallen sword and fol-
lowed Taroith to the place where Faisix stood captive.
The circle of Sorcerers parted to admit him.
    'What have you done with the Lady Elienne?' he
demanded sharply.
    The fair-haired man at its center stirred reluctantly and
looked up, tears startlingly bright on a face that seemed
rinsed clean of madness. 'She is at Torkai,' said Faisix
softly, 'held under guard by the mutes.'

    11
Foreshadow

Through a haze of delirium, Elienne heard running foot-
steps, half-blurred by echoes. There followed a sudden
crash of splintering wood, and a draft buffeted her.
Nearby, someone blundered into something metallic.
    Elienne flinched. Though her vision blurred and spun
with dizziness, she focused enough to receive an impres-
sion of dribbled candles, laced still with the opalescent
glimmer of unspent spells. Beyond, an armored figure
plowed through a tangle of furnishings, the needle-gleam
of polished steel in one hand.
    'You've come for me,' said Elienne indistinctly, certain
she addressed the Khadrachi Inquisitor. 'Is it sundown?'
    She bit her lip, abruptly aware that her cheeks were
wet. The tears annoyed her. Cinndel disliked women who
cried.
    A thick shadow loomed above her, and fingers gripped
her shoulder. Elienne looked up, saw a woman with
closely cropped hair bending over her with a knife; not
the Inquisitor. Terror caught the breath in her throat.
  'Aisa!'
    The dagger moved and sawed at the cords that bound
her to the chair. A blinding rush of pain tore at her
senses. Eiienne heard a male voice call her name. Then
Aisa jerked her upright, and the world upended, tumbling
her sickeningly back into oblivion.

'... trying to delay us,' said Taroith in a tone spiked with
urgency. 'Faisix left the mutes with instructions concern-
ing your Consort, should he fail to return to Torkal.'

200                                                                       201

    Elienne struggled weakly, unable to move. Aisa's hands
gripped her roughly from behind. Her eyes burned, gritty
with ash. She blinked and attempted once more to sort
her surroundings. Suddenly a door banged open. Light
slashed across the murky haze of smoke-laden air.
  'Here!' shouted Darion. 'I've found her.'
    A clash of steel punctuated his discovery. Echoes
shimmered against Elienne's ears. Dimly she realized
Denji had engaged the Prince, and that he fought, ham-
pered in the narrow hallway, to win control of the
doorway.
    'Your Grace, put up your blade,' commanded Taroith.
He came into view beyond Darion, his lined face anxious
with worry. 'Your Lady will not be won back through
violence, I 'think.'
    And only then did Elienne identify the thin edge of
cold against her neck: Aisa pressed an unsheathed dagger
against her throat.
  The fighting ceased at once.
    Elienne swallowed, and felt an unpleasant sting. Blood
traced a hot line across her collarbone.
    Darion swore. 'Eternity witness, you'll pay for that.'
The Prince stood just beyond the doorway, sword rested
point downward against the floor. His face dripped sweat,
and his surcoat hung, slashed and stained, from shoulders
that trembled with fatigue. Suddenly he stiffened. 'Tar-
oith, Elienne is injured!' He stepped forward.
     Denji raised a mailed fist in warning. Aisa's grip
 tightened harshly. Elienne gasped. A flash of pain pricked
 her neck. The room turned under an onslaught of vertigo,
 and her vision dissolved into slivers of light.
   'She's going to pass out,' Darion said.
   The hands around her shifted.
  Then Taroith said something low and urgent. An object

202

struck metal with a high-pitched clink, against which
Darion's reply fell like a peal of anguish. 'Ma'Diere's
mercy, Taroith, they're going to kill her right in front of
me!'
  'Wait,' said Taroith. 'Aisa, listen to me.'
    Through ebbing consciousness, Elienne felt the mute
gesture denial.
    The Sorcerer addressed the guardswoman again, but
more gently. 'Did Faisix never tell you your tongue, and
your powers of speech, might be restored?'
    Elienne sensed stillness, and realized Aisa had stopped
breathing. Taroith had her attention. Yet the arm that
held the knife pressed like a rock against her chest.
    'The Sorcerer speaks truly,' said Darion. 'By
Ma'Diere's Law, any injury not natural at birth can be
reversed.' With desperate sincerity, he turned his sword
and offered it, point reversed, to Denji. 'Here is my oath,
as Halgarid's heir.'
    'I will bargain with you,' Taroith said. 'I offer healing
and freedom in exchange for the Prince's Consort,
unharmed. That's a fair trade, I think.'
    Aisa moved. Elienne knew a horrible, numbing sensa-
tion of falling, and darkness obliterated her mind.

Elienne drifted, lost in a fog of oblivion, until a gentle
voice spoke her name repeatedly and shepherded her
back to awareness. The mists that held her captive began
gradually to lift. Her wrist no longer ached. She lay
cradled in someone's arms, wrapped warmly in a cloak
that held the clean scent of leaves and woodsmoke. A
hand lightly smoothed the hair back from her face.
    'Your Grace,' Taroith said softly from a place very
close by. Satisfaction shaded the note of exhaustion in his

203

tone. 'Your Consort has suffered no lasting harm. And I
can tell you, beyond question, that she is with child.'
    Elienne opened her eyes, saw Darion's face bent over
her. His features relaxed into a smile, and his arms
tightened protectively, drawing her close against his chest.
The gesture dissolved the last of her confusion, and full
recognition burst through. She was free of Torkal; Cin-
ndel's son was safe. Tears started, sudden and bright,
down Elienne's cheeks.
  In a voice that shook she said, 'My Lord?'
    The Prince leaned down and kissed her. His lips tasted
of salt. Elienne clung to him, and for that moment
Trathmere and Cinndel were obscured by an almost
forgotten sense of peace. For the space of a second, her
heart lay open to the man who held her.
    Darion raised a face transformed by joy. 'Did you
hear?' he shouted. 'My Lady shall bless the Kingdom with
an heir!'
    A raucous cheer arose. Elienne realized they stood
ringed by the entire company of men-at-arms. Yet the
Prince allowed no chance for embarrassment. He shielded
her from public view with his own body and spoke quietly
into her ear. 'Let us go home, Lady of my heart.'
    His words twisted Elienne's thoughts and killed the
spontaneity of the moment. She had no home. Recogni-
tion of reality chilled the warmth within her. She could
not afford to allow the Prince's love for her to grow,
trapped as she was by her fate. Although Faisix was
imprisoned, the mutes had overheard her relate the
Seeress's prophecy of failure to Kennaird the night of the
betrothal banquet. Now, presumably, they had won their
speech and their freedom from Taroith, making that
knowledge a threat to her safety. The Prince would have
to be told. But Elienne could not bear to murder his

204

moment of triumph after so many had labored to win her
back. No harm would result if she mentioned the fact
another time, and when Taroith urged her to rest, she
made no effort to resist.

Elienne wakened disoriented, in a strange bed surrounded
by luxury. Puzzled, she raised herself sleepily on one
elbow and stared in horrified disbelief at gold-sewn bed
hangings, paneled walls, and a white silk coverlet embla-
zoned with the royal stag of Pendaire.
    'No,' she said softly. Anger blazed within her. 'Eternity
take it, what have they done to me?' She remembered
nothing beyond blankets and an open-air camp among the
men-at-arms.
    'Your Grace?' A beautifully groomed Lady-in-waiting
stepped into the room and accorded her the courtesy of a
Princess of the realm.
 'Where in Ma'Diere's Name am I?'
    The Lady smiled. 'You are in the suite reserved for
Pendaire's royal family, at the Prince's request. Neither
he nor Taroith thought it fitting for you to return to the
castle in the company of the men-at-arms. The Sorcerer
sent you back while you slept.'
    Elienne rolled over and glared mutinously through the
casement to a breathtaking view of the seawall, silvered
still with morning dew. She said to the scenery, 'Is Taroith
back yet?'
    'No, my Lady. He returned to Torkal to escort Faisix
to captivity.' The woman's features pinched into a frown.
'Is anything amiss?'
    Reminded of her manners, Elienne fingered the cover-
let and strove to contain her agitation. 'A small matter
has me concerned. I'm sorry. Would it be possible for me
to see Kennaird after I have dressed?'

205

    The Lady-in-waiting's expression thawed slightly. 'That
could be arranged, your Grace. But wouldn't you rather
eat first? Your maid has breakfast waiting.'
    Elienne sighed, resigned. Whether she liked it or not,
she was going to be fussed over. 'All right, I agree to
breakfast beforehand.' A rueful smile escaped her. 'But
must I be saddled so soon with titles? "E!ienne" is a lot
less clumsy.'
    'You are unaccustomed to court life?' said the Lady,
surprised. She cocked her pert head and suddenly her
poise broke into unrestrained warmth. 'I am Mirette.
Shall I call the maid for your wardrobe?'
    Elienne made a face and tossed off the covers. 'Yes,
but I don't think I'll ever get used to the formality of
having help with my dress.' She paused, caught by
impulse. 'Mirette, is there any way I can speak to the
Seeress of Ma'Diere's Order?'
    'She talks to no one.' Mirette bent and pulled a dressing
robe hurriedly from a chest. 'Not even the initiates of her
own Order. Following initiation, the Seeress delivers
nothing but prophecies, and those only if the realm is
threatened, or changed in some way, as with the royal
succession.'
    Elienne accepted the robe, her fingers damp with sweat.
'I cannot see her?'
    Mirette froze, china-blue eyes widened under perfectly
arched brows. 'Lady, the custom for breaking her vow of
silence is ritual suicide. What troubles you?'
    But Elienne was not willing to share her secrets with
strangers. She shrugged lightly. 'I was curious. Can you
forgive a foreigner's ignorance?'
    Mirette nodded, not entirely convinced. Her stare
lingered overly long upon E!ienne's face before she left to
call the maid.

    The breakfast that followed was tedious. E!ienne could
not warm to the companionable chatter of the Ladies
assigned to attend her as royal Consort. Their interest
was piqued by the foreigner chosen for their Prince;
though they did not pry openly, Elienne found their
friendly inquiries trying, preoccupied as she was with her
uneasiness concerning the Trinity of Fortune. If the
prophecy was correct, she was not out of danger. Yet with
Faisix imprisoned, she had no visible enemy to defend
against. The mutes' knowledge of the Seeress's words was
the only threat she could perceive, and over that she
fretted endlessly, while one after another, Pendaire's
nobility arrived to bestow felicitations upon her for her
coming child. Though not officially announced, word of
her pregnancy had somehow been noised abroad. Aware
inheritance of a throne rested upon the fragile life within
her womb, Elienne felt vulnerable. She wished her pri-
vacy had been maintained until after Darion's return, and
said as much to her women after a lengthy interval of
staring out the window.
    'Lady, you ask too much.' Taxed by her charge's moody
silences, Mirette rammed her embroidery needle irritably
into the surcoat she was stitching, and almost broke the
thread. 'Eternity.' She paused to untangle a snarl. 'In case
you've forgotten, Darion's twenty-fifth birthday passed a
week ago. The Grand Justice, by law, should have con-
demned him to the headsman then, except that Taroith
won an abeyance until you could be rescued, on the
chance you had conceived. That in itself was a precedent.
Count yourself fortunate.'
    Shaken, Elienne murmured apology. Yet her repent-
ance proved short-lived when, a moment later, Mirette
arose to announce still another visitor.
 Elienne turned from the window with an oath in

206                                                                                      207

questionable taste for a Princess, and added, 'Ma'Diere,
will they never let me alone?'
    Mirette's well-bred face looked strained as a small
figure in dark skirts rushed in from the antechamber, thin
brown hair combed back and unfamiliarly tied with
ribbons.
    Elienne's bad temper dissolved into welcome. 'Minksa!'
she exclaimed, delighted, just as the girl flung herself into
her arms.
    'Lady, the mutes didn't take your baby from you. I'm
so glad.' She tilted her face upward, radiant. 'And Taroith
promised I could ask a place in your service. Will you
have me?'
    'Are you certain you wouldn't rather keep the company
of girls your own age?'
    Minksa shook her head, and seeing again the shadows
of abuse in eyes which had known too much for a child,
Elienne knew the girl's decision was not lightly made.
The realization filled her with sudden warmth. 'Of course
I'll have you, Minksa.'
    That moment the antechamber door crashed open.
Minksa started, hands closed convulsively in Elienne's
skirts. Mirette jumped to her feet, exclaiming, just as
E!ienne looked up and saw Kennaird enter, his face
flushed above black robes of mourning.
    'Well, it's about time you got here.' Gently Elienne
disengaged Minksa's clinging fingers. 'Relax, child. Ken-
naird won't bite. You belong here now, remember?'
    The apprentice planted himself before her and said
quickly, 'My Lady, send your women away.'
    Though Elienne disliked the stiff formality of court
etiquette, his abrupt lack of courtesy rankled. At her side,
Minksa shifted with uneasiness. Elienne placed a sisterly

208

arm around the girl's shoulders. 'Whatever you have come
to say, I have confidence my ladies can support it.'
    Kennaird fidgeted and said crisply, 'I think not.' His
heavy blue eyes rested upon her, faintly annoyed. The
authoritative air he tried to assume only made him seem
foolish. 'The Seeress of Ma'Diere's Order is dead.'
    'How?' Elienne felt Mirette's sudden stare, and a
familiar, hollow quiver invaded her gut. No, she thought
desperately. Not so soon.
    'Apparently someone caused her to break her vow of
silence.' Flatly Kennaird elaborated. 'She took her life
with a ceremonial dagger reserved for that purpose alone.
The initiates of her Order found her shortly after noon.
Now will you send your women from the room?'
    Elienne nodded, uncomfortably aware of Mirette's
speculative interest. She knew there would be gossip
concerning her request to see the Seeress only that
morning, but that was unavoidable. Minksa's offer of
service had seen a rude beginning as well.
    Nettled by Kennaird's tactlessness, Elienne tried her
best to ease the girl's uneasiness. 'Go along with Mirette,
child. She will look after your needs in my place until I
am free.'
    The instant the door closed, Elienne rounded upon the
apprentice. 'Who could have caused such a thing?'
    Kennaird shrugged, disturbed. 'No one knows. Not
even the initiates.' He sounded strangely irresolute, like a
guilty child.
    Elienne st_ruggled to master her own fear. 'The mutes?
Do you suppose there's another Sorcerer in league with
them?'
    'No. Definitely not.' Kennaird stepped back awkwardly
and sat down on Mirette's embroidery. Fortunately the
needle had been left poked through the stuffed arm of the

209

chair. Oblivious, the apprentice continued. 'Emrith
checked. Aisa and Denji have not left Torka!.'
    Elienne felt the blood beat in her veins like the wings
of pigeons startled into flight. 'Then who? I told no one
of the prophecy other than you.'
    Kennaird sighed and pushed a fallen lock of hair
ineffectively over his bald spot. 'Not even the League
knows how it happened. Faisix has been in their custody
the entire time . . . The incident may not be connected
with the succession at all, but I thought you should be
warned.'
    But it was connected, Elienne was certain, and Ken-
naird's attempt to dismiss the matter only augmented her
concern. Though Ielond had recommended she trust him,
he seemed a poor ally. But until the return of the Prince,
a fortnight distant, Kennaird, Minksa, and Mirette were
the only allies she had.

Yet despite her foreboding, the interval before the royal
arrival passed without mishap, except that Minksa grew
careless the morning of Darion's return and cut her finger
on a breadknife. Elienne herself attended to salve and
bandages, that the child could watch for the royal cortege
from the battlements. Unsettled by the cheerful company
of her women, Elienne finally made excuses to Mirette
and donned a cloak to join the child's outdoor vigil. As
she buttoned the garment, she overheard whispers that
the Prince's absence appeared to have tried her sorely:
how thoughtless she was to expose herself needlessly to
chill during pregnancy.
    'Never mind the rain,' said Mirette, nettled still by her
mistress's rebellious insistence. 'Pray the air will improve
her temper.'
 Elienne sighed. The women believed her impetuosity

210

to be the inevitable result of new love. Actually, she
needed a chance to compose herself, that Darion's home-
coming not take her unprepared. She waited on the
battlements to allow space to contain her emotions before
she greeted Darion in the courtyard. At all costs, she
must not allow his love for her to continue. With the
exposure of Cinndel's child unavoidably to come, disaster
would result if sentiment prompted him to defend her
against the wrath of a betrayed court.
    Elienne left the keep stair and stepped out onto stone
sleek with puddles. A sharp wind dragged at her skirts.
Through a misty curtain of rain, she saw Minksa curled
expectantly against the wall that overlooked the main
gates. Her hood had fallen back, and loosened hair had
blown into tangles, threaded with sodden red ribbons.
    Elienne crossed the open space between. 'You don't
look much like a Consort's Lady, Missy.' She straightened
the girl's damp locks and tucked them back into her hood.
    Minksa lifted a face pink with excitement. 'That's too
fine a cloth for bad weather, your Grace.' She capped her
accusation with a mischievous grin.
    'I know.' Elienne glanced ruefully down, saw the deli-
cately embroidered fabric now wilted miserably against
her shoulders. 'This was the plainest cloak I could find in
the wardrobe.'
    Which was one thing she would change at once, she
decided, if Darion would allow her a seamstress. She had
always been accustomeed to activity in Trathmere, and
riding and hawking might become her only release from
the pressures of the intrigue that ringed her round.
Pregnant or not, she had no intention of sitting indoors
day after weary day.
    Lulled into reverie by the steady splash of the storm,
E!ienne nearly missed the first sight of the Prince's escort.

211

Minksa's exclamation roused her. Small, cold fingers
plucked insistently at her elbow, and following the girl's
gesture, Elienne caught a glimpse of banners muted by
mist before the cavalcade vanished behind a stand of
trees. The nervous rush that followed caught her totally
by surprise.
    Irritated, Elienne bit her lip. What possessed her, that
she felt suddenly overwhelmed? I don't love this Prince,
she insisted to herself. But she could not deny she cared,
and that she was honestly glad to see him.
    The horsemen reappeared closer and swept at a canter
around the final bend in the sea road before the castle
gates.
    'There's his Grace,' said Minksa, startling her once
again from thought. The townsfolk who had turned out in
greeting raised a rough cheer.
    Elienne leaned over the battlements to see better, and
a sudden gust streamed her cloak like a banner. Attracted
by bright, yellow-gold cloth against gray sky, Darion
looked up and immediately recognized who awaited him
in the rain. The weary line of his shoulders straightened
as he lifted a hand from the rein and swept off his helmet
in salute to his Consort.
    Elienne felt her stomach tighten with unwanted emo-
tion. She stepped back stiffly from the battlements. Bit-
terly Elienne remembered the uncontrolled moment of
warmth she had shown the Prince upon her rescue from
Torkal, and regretted that loss of restraint. As Elienne
made her way down the keep steps, Minksa's joyous
shouts of greeting were like a knife in her back.
    The courtyard was cold and exposed to the bite of the
sea wind. E!ienne stood amid an expanse of rain-pocked
cobbles as the ranks of horsemen clattered through the
gates. Darion was soaked, but resplendent, in enameled

212

armor chased with gold. He dismounted, smiling, and
threw his reins to the groom who ran at his stirrup.
    'My Lady!' His shout lifted easily over the crack of
hooves and the rattle of winches from the gatehouse.
    He crossed the yard at a half run, and E!ienne saw he
was stiff with fatigue from the saddle. He deserved
nothing less than warm welcome, hot spirits, and back
rub. A thick lump knotted her throat; desperately, she
forced her emotion back.
    'My Lady?' Darion reached her, arms outflung to
embrace her.
    Threatened by unwanted empathy, Elienne avoided his
eyes. She curtsied formally, and felt Darion's hands touch
her shoulders in a belated attempt to recover his
equilibrium.
    'My Lady, I am glad to see you are recovered from
your captivity.' His words sounded forced.
    Elienne raised herself, glad of the rain that hid the
wetness on her cheeks. 'Welcome back, your Grace. Your
presence has been greatly missed at court.' She sensed the
longing in his voice and knew she was not callous enough
to risk a prolonged encounter. 'Your Grace, I have a
request.'
    'You need only to ask.' Warmth crept back into his
voice.
    Elienne steeled herself against compassion. 'Could you
arrange a horse and a hawk for me? I am weary of the
indoors.'
    For a moment, Darion stood utterly still. Then he
raised a hand to rake wet locks back from his collar. 'Of
course,' he said at last, disappointment completely con-
trolled. 'I shall speak to the Stable Master at once, and
the Master Falconer.' He paused. 'You'll want proper
attire. I'll have the steward appoint you a tailor.'

213

    Elienne murmured polite thanks, and repeated her
curtsy. Darion took her hand, lightly kissed it, then
moved off without comment. She dared a look at his back
then, and at once saw the cost of her resolve to spare him
from entanglement. His anguish stopped the breath in her
throat. Her faqade shattered, Elienne fled back into the
castle.
    E!ienne returned to her chambers soaked and shaken.
Mirette and her women accosted her immediately with
scolding and hot towels. And that, suddenly, became
more than she could bear.
    'Leave me,' she said, driven beyond politeness. 'I want
to be alone.'
 The women were slow to respond.
    Elienne whirled sharply on Mirette. 'Did you hear? Get
them out.'
    The door closed with accusing control. But Elienne was
far beyond noticing nuances. She flung herself headlong
across the stag medallion on the bed and wept for the
man who had ridden himself to exhaustion for five weary
weeks in her behalf. Memory of his stony-faced kiss
returned to cut her. Had he shown anger or resentment
at her rejection, her cold response would have been easier
to justify. Instead, he had mastered his disappointment,
determined despite his own desires to grant her release
and leave her free to find happiness unencumbered by
guilt. 'I cannot promise I will love your Prince,' she had
said to Ieiond on the icefield. 'Husband he may be, but
only in name. My heart is not available for bargain.'
    Caught by a wave of misery, E!ienne failed to hear the
click of the door latch. Her women were not present to
warn the pageboy who entered of her presence. His
chatter died, mid-sentence. Startled, Eiienne raised

214

flooded eyes and with a horrid shock recognized the black
enameled armor he carried.
    'Mikon, is something wrong?' called a familiar voice
from the corridor, and unaware of her, Darion appeared,
framed by the lighted square of the doorway. Elienne
confronted him knowing she had no hope of concealing
the evidence of her tears.
    His features momentarily registered shock. Then he
looked suddenly away, all brisk efficiency, and lifted a
towel from the hands of the page who stood, stunned and
staring still with curiosity.
    'Leave us,' he said gently. 'I will attend to my own
needs this once, and I think if you ask the cooks nicely,
there are pastries waiting.'
    The boy deposited his burden with a noisy clatter and
departed in high spirits for the kitchens. Darion ruffled
his wet head with the towel, then rescued his swordbelt
from a precarious position against the wall and hung it
carefully on a chairback. He stood with hands rested on
the gold boss of his buckler and glanced across the bed
where she sat.
'Lady, do you still grieve for the one you have lost?'
Though allowed space to compose herself, Elienne
groped for a plausible response. Should Darion discover
the feelings she kept hidden, her posture of assumed
indifference could never be salvaged. Having no better
excuse than the one he already offered, Elienne made
herself speak. 'I miss him, your Grace.'
    Stitched leather buckled under Darion's fingers, and his
features assumed the rigid mask she recalled from the
mirrowstone's view of his confrontation with the heads-
man. Elienne looked away. She raged at her own thought-
lessness, for forgetting her place of refuge had been the

215

Prince's own apartments. His discomfort tore her the
worse for being her own fault.
    Darion answered, presently, in a voice that was too
steady. 'I should never have moved you in here. I'm
sorry.'
    'No. I'm sorry.' Elienne stared helplessly at the stag
medallion on the counterpane as Darion stepped back
through the doorway. She heard, through the open door,
a quietly phrased request that the old Queen Mother's
apartments be opened and aired. Mirette's voice queried
him once, sharply.
    'Never ask that again, madam,' said Darion softly, but
with unforgettable force. 'Concern yourself with your
mistress's well-being. She has need of a friend.'
    Eiienne heard his step on the stair. He did not return.
Presently Mirette entered. She had been weeping. After
a hostile glare at Elienne, she began to empty the
wardrobe.
    'You are to be moved to other apartments, my Lady,'
she said tartly, and Elienne perceived that the woman's
bitterness was rooted in sympathy for the Prince. In time,
she knew her strained relations with Darion would create
irreparable enmity in a person who had closer contact
with her than any other, a situation she could ill afford.
    Elienne made an attempt to avert the worst. 'Mirette,
can we talk about it?'
    Mirette banged down a chest lid and reached to fasten
the latch. Her hand shook. 'His Grace said you were not
to be faulted. I have no desire to know more.'
    Wounded more deeply than she cared to admit by the
rebuff, Elienne wondered briefly whether the bed of the
Khadrachi Inquisitor might have been the easier fate to
manage.

She saw little of Darion in the following weeks. Those
meetings which were unavoidable were always public, and
handled invariably with deferent reserve. Elienne found
even the briefest encounters abrasive. Time did not
smooth her tangled emotions, and Mirette's stiff silences
became a constant reminder that her adherence to soli-
tude was gracelessly cruel to a man who deserved better.
Elienne escaped to the stables as often as she could.
    The Horse Master had chosen her a pert chestnut mare,
spirited, but obedient to the rein. Though Elienne had
preferred more challenging mounts in Trathmere, she was
content during pregnancy with a quieter animal; and the
mare had good stamina and comfortable gaits. Accom-
panied by a groom and two men-at-arms in royal livery,
Eiienne spent long hours riding the hills above the harbor.
Her escort quickly learned that she desired silence. Out
of respect, they often hung back and allowed her to ride
ahead in solitude, for which Elienne was grateful.
    The Horse Master glowed with pride over the mare's
glossy new growth of muscle. 'The Lady'!l make a fine
Queen,' he boasted to her groom, unaware that she had
lingered in the stall to give the mare a carrot. 'Pushes the
best out o' that animal, yet never a mark of abuse. And
she's tough. Rides even with the morning sickness, did ye
know?'
    The groom knew. Elienne colored and laid her cheek
against the marc's silky neck. She had twice had to
dismount, only that day. But not even nausea was enough
to keep her indoors, under Mirette's accusing eyes. And
though Minksa remained a staunch friend, Elienne's
reticence toward the Prince distressed her. Where initially
the girl's confidence had begun to blossom under the first
love and understanding she had known in fourteen years
of life, now she lapsed often into odd periods of silence.

216                                                                                   217

It was a pity, Elienne reflected. She let herself out of the
stall and set the bolt securely. The child at present was
the only measurable good she had done anyone since her
arrival in Pendaire.
    The stable was strangely deserted for mid-morning.
Elienne paused in the aisle, alerted to the reason by the
clang of the gate and a rattle of hooves and harness in the
courtyard. A large cortege had just arrived. Though the
commotion probably heralded nothing more than the
arrival of a border patrol, she shook the straw impatiently
from the hem of her habit and hurried outside.
    The courtyard was jammed with riders. Cloaked against
the early autumn chill, they dismounted from animals
slick and steaming with sweat. Elienne identified the gold
and black surcoats of the royal guard, but, backlighted by
a cloud-streaked sky, the standard at the head of the
column bore the argent and blue blazon of the Sorcerers'
League. Taroith must have returned at last, from the
keep where Faisix was held in custody. In the midst of the
jumble, his tall, white-haired figure caught her eye.
  'Gifted!' Elienne started forward, pleased.
    Though her hail could not possibly have been heard
above the din, the Sorcerer glanced around. His smile of
welcome gave her a twinge of discomfort; inevitably he
would ask after the Prince.
    Taroith left his horse with a groom and made his way
through the press to where she stood. 'You look thin,' he
observed as he tugged the riding gloves from his fingers.
'Is the pregnancy giving you difficulty?'
    Elienne saw advantage in the excuse. 'A bit. Yet not
enough to keep me indoors. ~ She attempteft to cf/vert tile
Sorcerer's scrutiny with a change of subject. 'Gifted, I'm
glad you're back.'
 Taroith's gaze stayed on her face, and he made no

effort to answer. Uneasily, Elienne stared at the bustle of
men-at-arms and horses being led away. Whether or not
the Sorcerer guessed that she had estranged herself from
Darion, he would soon find out. She regretted her impul-
sive greeting and wished instead she had returned to her
chambers without calling attention to herself. The sun
burst through a break in the clouds, drenching the scene
in light. Bright amid the gray steel helms of the guards-
men, a fair-haired head caught her attention.
    Elienne felt gooseflesh ripple the skin on her neck and
arms. 'Faisix is with you?'
    Darion's antagonist stood, unrestrained, amid a group
of halberdiers. An unfamiliar Sorcerer stood with them.
Shocked that a traitor who had engaged Black Sorcery
against the crown should be permitted the liberty of escort
without bonds, Elienne glanced questioningly at Taroith.
'They aren't going to free him, are they?'
    The Sorcerer's eyes left her at last. 'No.' He gazed at
his hands. 'He will not be released. The League will plead
for his life, but he may yet face the headsman. It is a pity.'
    'A pity?' Elienne scuffed savagely at a tuft of moss
between the cobbles. 'You said yourself he was mad. A
killer. And the Seeress was murdered by someone who
wished to know her secrets.'
    Taroith touched her gently on the arm. 'There is no
way known to League mystery, or Black Sorcery either,
that Faisix could personally have been involved with
breaking the Seeress's vows of silence. His death would
achieve nothing. Alive, he has something left of dignity,
ancf a cfiance Oa recover- from/fis
    Though Elienne had seen enough of death to sympa-
thize, the Sorcerer's logic did nothing to relieve her inner
distress. Perhaps she was hopelessly prejudiced, but she

218                                                                   219

was unable to imagine that the man who had tormented
her could ever recover humanity enough to be trusted.
    'You don't believe me.' Taroith withdrew his hand and
sighed with weary regret. 'Lady, look at him. See for
yourself. Perhaps then you'll gain a measure of
understanding.'
    E!ienne did not wish to comply. The raw forces that
once had swept her from Ielond's arms during transfer
were too potent a memory for simple forgiveness, what-
ever sentiment the sight of the man who had wielded
them might arouse. Since she could not dismiss the issue
without appearing hard-hearted, reluctantly she looked
again.
    The square had cleared partially, allowing a clear view
of the prisoner. Though his tall frame and elegantly
handsome features were recognizably the same, the man
himself had changed profoundly since Elienne had seen
him last. From bared head to the plain, unassuming set of
his shoulders, the former Regent exhibited a poignant
humility that alienated all previous impressions. Even
from a distance, his expression of sorrow touched the
marrow of Elienne's soul. She swallowed, suddenly sub-
dued. As though purged by remorse and loss, Faisix
seemed reawakened to compassion. His attitude of defer-
ent gentleness made her heart cry out for reprieve, even
 against the recent scars of remembered terror.  'I don't understand,' she said softly.
     'That's not surprising.' Taroith steered her across the
 cobbles toward the palace door. 'You lack the back-
 ground. Faisix's father, the Earl of Torkal, was killed in a
 drunken quarrel with his steward. His son was ten at the
 time, and motherless. Ielond took him in, reared him as
 his own. The boy idolized him.'
  Taroith opened the heavy, studded panel door and

220

waited for Elienne to pass. 'As a child, Faisix had
tremendous aptitude for sorcery. Everyone assumed,
when he came of age, he would apply for League
training.'
    The Sorcerer fell silent. His booted step echoed hol-
lowly down the corridor. At his side, Elienne waited
patiently for him to resume. Taroith halted abruptly. Tall
lancet windows silhouetted his gaunt frame as he drew
breath, and his words fell as an incantation upon stillness.
    'The requirements for apprenticeship are unimaginably
stringent. It takes a bold heart and a dedicated, disci-
plined mind to undertake the examination for candidacy.
Only the strongest are permitted to try, for the slightest
irregularity of character is enough to constitute failure.
And failure, without exception, engenders emotional loss
greater than anything else a human soul can endure. The
effect can be crippling; some aspirants never recover.'
    'Then Faisix was found unsuitable?' said E!ienne. A
gust rattled loudly against the leaded glass casements. She
had to lean close to hear Taroith's reply.
    'lelond himself conducted the test. He was a fair judge,
though the adverse decision must have cost him great
pain. At first Faisix seemed to handle it well. He went on
to become a brilliant statesman and was granted the
Regency when Darion's parents perished in the fire.'
Taroith gazed out over wind-tossed gardens. 'No one
knows what turned him, whether he became jealous of
the Prince for sharing Ielonds's affections, or whether, all
along, resentment of his rejection from apprenticeship
festered in him. Whatever the cause, the League assumes
full responsibility. I will save him from execution, if I can.
The Prince supports me.'
    The statement came as a surprise, reminding Elienne
of the distance that separated her from Darion. Weeks

221

had passed since she had last reached for the mirrowstone,
and for days at a stretch she had avoided his company.
Caught suddenly by a chili of foreboding, she realized
how easily that isolation might augment the threat to her
child and Darion's succession. For though Faisix's repen-
tant attitude roused her to pity, she did not trust him.
    Despite Taroith's insistence, she was not convinced that
the Seeress's death was coincidence. The only justification
she had to balance her distrust lay in the third of the
Trinity of Fortune that was hers alone. Elienne laced her
fingers tightly together to keep them shaking openly.
Above anything else, she did not want to confide that
information. In the wrong hands, the knowledge could
ruin her.
    'Gifted,' she said at last. 'I think you are making a
grave mistake.'

      12
lelond' s Paradox

Taroith abandoned the window, his expression sharply
surprised. His dark eyes met hers with a directness that
turned Elienne's chills to sweat.  'Tell me why, Lady.'
    E!ienne fought an onset of discomfort. Ielond had
urged her to seek Taroith's guidance, yet intuition made
her suddenly doubt the advice. Repentant or not, Faisix
sought her destruction. Uncertain how to express her
mistrust, and pinned by the intensity of the Sorcerer's
attention, Elienne groped clumsily for a reply.
    A shout in the corridor spared her. With characteristi-
cally poor timing, Kennaird burst around a bend into
view, the hem of his mourning robe splattered heavily
with mud. 'Master Taroith!' He paused to catch his breath
and rubbed a nose pink with chill. 'Have they told you?
The Grand Council has appointed you Regent until
Darion's coronation.'
    'I was aware.' Taroith stepped back from the window
and resumed his interrupted course.
    Kennaird tagged along as though waiting for the Sor-
cerer to comment. When none was forthcoming, he said,
'Aren't you pleased? It's quite an honor.'
    The Sorcerer answered reluctantly. 'I have accepted as
a formality of Law.' He reached the doorway to his own
chambers and paused with his hand on the latch. 'I
informed the Council members that Darion will make the
decisions. I have enough to occupy me without adding
troublesome matters of state to the list.'

222                                                                                     223

    Elienne observed the apprentice's crestfallen expres-
sion with distaste. Kennaird seemd to relish gossip like an
old crone, an odd and embarrassing trait for one who had
reputably passed Ielond's examination for apprenticeship.
Briefly Elienne wondered what the dead Sorcerer had
seen in the man, unaware Taroith echoed her thought.
    But as Master of the Sorcerers' League, his concern
went deeper; surely as the stars turned, when mourning
for Ielond was past, Kennaird would appeal for continua-
tion of his training. Yet that responsibility was seven
months distant. Taroith put it from his mind.
    'Good day, my Lady, Kennaird. The journey has tired
me.' The Sorcerer bowed respectfully to Elienne and
retired to his chambers.
    Kennaird sighed and walked on. Headed in the same
direction, Elienne went with him, absorbed and silent.
    K~nnaird interrupted rudely with a question. 'What has
happened between you and the Prince?'
    Elienne stopped cold and regarded him through nar-
rowed eyes. 'Ask his Grace.'
    'I did.' Kennaird glared back, fingers knotted belliger-
ently in his belt. 'He refused to say.'
    Angered, Elienne produced a honeyed smile Jieles
would have recognized. 'Then I have nothing to add. I'm
on my way to the privy. Are you going to follow?'
    Kennaird's round face turned an unbecoming shade of
puce. 'You're the cause of a lot of talk.'
    'You're adding to it. I'm not interested.' While the
appentice was still flustered, Eiienne stepped past and left
him standing stupidly at the foot of a flight of stairs.
However highly Ielond had regarded his apprentice, she
was unable to respect the man. Kennaird had irritated her
ever since that first day he had scolded Minksa. With
sudden longing, Elienne realized how greatly she missed

224

the Princeis staunch logic. He alone had breached her
loneliness. Yet even his friendship might endanger his
succession, and the people of Pendaire needed his rule.

Fall wrapped the countryside in flame-colored splendor,
and a fortnight of brisk, golden days blessed Pendaire.
Darion gave Minksa a pony, and for a short while the girl
accompanied Elienne riding. But the mild weather broke
early that year. Thick frosts withered the late-blooming
roses in the gardens beyond her window. Bent brown
stalks rattled in the wind like ranks of aged spearmen,
until autumn rains beat them flat. Elienne began to feel
less ill in the mornings, and Mirette commented that her
riding habits were becoming snug about the waist.
    'You'll have to put the mare to pasture soon, I think,'
she said.
    E!ienne twisted her hair into a knot and pinned it ~vith
more force than necessary. 'I'll have the seamstress let
them out.' She jammed her cap on her head and rose
from the mirror.
    Mirette gathered skirts of rose silk trimmed with fur
and stepped out of her path. She had learned respect for
her mistress's temper. 'You shall not be able to ride much
longer, Lady, without risk to your child.' Her soft com-
plexion and rich clothes made her look more like the
Princess than Darion's Consort, who was dressed for bad
weather, and whose skin was roughened from exposure
to wind and sun.
    Elienne tossed her cloak over her shoulders and left the
room without answer. Once outdoors, she allowed her
oath of aggravation to mingle with the rain. Would
Mirette never understand her mare was the only thing left
which gave her pleasure? She dreaded the day she could

225

no longer ride; her mornings out were all that made her
isolation from Darion tolerable.
    She returned, chilled, and wet to the skin, having
ridden farther than usual. Even her escort had com-
plained. Elienne entered her apartment and flung off her
dripping cloak, braced to endure Mirette's annoyance.
Yet no scolding arose to disturb her.
    Elienne paused with her hand half-raised. Her women
were absent. Darion sat in one of the brocade armchairs
beside the fire, alone. Elienne tensed, wary lest she reveal
her vulnerability. His gaze fixed upon her, chilly as the
breakers on the north beach, and the velvet of his surcoat
rose and fell evenly, unmarred by quickened breath.
  He looked down at his hands. 'You asked to see me?'
    The wet bodice seemed suddenly tight around Elienne's
chest. Words became difficult. 'I was worried.'
    'About Faisix?' Darion rose and smoothly turned the
adjacent armchair toward the fire. 'You're cold. Won't
you sit?'
  Elienne stepped back. 'I'11 spoil the brocade.'
    Darion smiled with sudden, unexpected warmth. 'I
believe you're worth it. But if you get much thinner, I'll
have to reconsider. I thought the sickness had stopped?'
    'It has.' Trapped by a shiver of chill, she grinned back.
'You explain to Mirette.' She dragged her muddy skirts
across the carpet and settled herself before the hearth.
    Darion remained standing. 'You were worried?' Cau-
tiously he folded his arms and rested his weight against
the chairback.
    'Yes.' The fact that he was behind her, out of view, set
her somewhat at ease. 'Jieles told me the Grand Justice
meets tomorrow to determine Faisix's sentence. He
thought they would spare his life.'

'I would support such a decision,' said Darion. 'Do you
wish him dead?'
    A log fell, and sparks fluttered, brief and bright as
fireflies in the draft. Though Elienne wished to sound
objective, a tremor invaded her voice. 'Lord, I fear for
the safety of my child.'
    He had leaned close to her. Elienne felt the current of
his sigh tickle her neck. 'Above all others, I expected you
to understand the futility of executions.'
    Elienne closed her eyes, tried frantically to stem the
emotion that locked her throat. She wanted to tell him of
the Seeress's prophecy; that she would fail him, and
perhaps lose the son she had left Trathmere to save. Yet
the most she could do was shake her head.
    Darion left the chair. He crossed in front of her and sat
on the settle by her knee. The fire traced copper highlights
in his hair. 'My Lady, you have nothing to fear.'
    His sincerity made her afraid that the barrier of distance
she had raised between them would shatter under the
stress. But he only gathered her cold hands into his own
cailoused, warm ones i'n brotherly concern. 'Elienne, trust
me. Faisix will never leave the custody of the League. He
regrets his actions, greatly, and spends his time in medi-
tation. I have seen him, twice. He bears no malice toward
you, or the child you bear. You are secure here, I
promise. My word as Halgarid's heir.'
    Elienne shivered, unable to speak of the uneasiness she
had felt since the day of the Seeress's murder. 'Ielond
discovered the secrets of Time through meditation.'
    'Ielond had League training, and the accumulated
wisdom of a very long life.' Darion chafed her wrists.
'You're chilled. And you spend too much time alone,
which does you no good. If my company causes you
discomfort, try to confide in Mirette. She has a gentle

226                                                                                        227

heart and is trustworthy. I chose her for discretion, and
Ielond never intended you to be without friends.'
    He released her hands and rose. 'This is your home
now. I want you to be happy. Will you try?'
    Shamed, Eiienne summoned a smile. 'I've been rotten.'
She would plainly have to shoulder her doubts by herself,
and the Prince needed no added burden of concern. 'Can
you forget?'
    'About what?' Darion made a droll face and left her,
still grinning, in the seat by the fire.
    A few minutes later, Mirette appeared with dry cloth-
ing. She made no comment on the waterstained brocade.
'My Lady, there's hot tea waiting.'
    Elienne stirred, and noticed an unfamiliar glitter on her
finger. With a small gasp of surprise, she lifted her hand
and saw the topaz and gold of the Consort's betrothal ring
she had lost during transfer to Torkal. The band this time
fit perfectly; Darion must have left it on her finger, and
through her confusion, she had not noticed. She felt,
suddenly, as though she had been knifed. 'Ma'Diere, how
can I support this?' She raised a face stamped with feelings
she could not curb, and saw sympathy on Mirette's pretty
features.
    'I'm glad to see you don't hate him.' The statement was
one of observation rather than malice.
    'No.' E!ienne thrust her hand into the soggy sleeve of
her riding habit. 'No. I never hated him.' And she
permitted Mirette to fuss over her without stiffening in
distaste.

The following afternoon, the Grand Justice sentenced
Faisix, Earl of Torkai, to life imprisonment under warden-
ship of the Sorcerers' League. In response, Elienne
lengthened her rides into the hills above the castle. She

slept poorly at night. Within a fortnight, her exhaustion
had advanced to the point where Mirette sought Darion's
counsel. She met him seated at breakfast.
    His reply was immediate, and mercilessly direct. 'Have
Kennaird escort Elienne down to the cell for a visit.'
    Mirette flinched in anticipation of Elienne's response.
'She won't like it.'
    The Prince set his knife carefully aside. Morning sun-
light fell through the diamond panes of the casement,
spotlighting his hands as he laced them together and
leaned forward. 'Be easy on her. Elienne has good reason
to be nervous. The man tried to kill her, twice.'
    Mirette's elegant features paled. 'Your Grace, she
never told me.'
    Darion stared at his plate. 'I didn't expect she had.' He
said nothing more. Mirette curtsied, though he never
looked up, and silently left him.

'I won't go!' said Elienne explosively, when told why
Kennaird awaited her in the anteroom. Her knuckles
tightened against the comb with which she had been
straightening Minksa's hair. 'What possessed him, that he
thought l would wish to see Faisix?'
    'He acts under his Grace's orders.' Mirette braced
herself, expecting sharp language in reply. Even now she
did not regret her interference. The Lady Elienne was
lately consumed from within by restlessness that nothing
seemed to assauge. The Prince had been the only one
who could reason with her at all.
    Yet instead of her usual oaths, Elienne became sud-
denly still. Too still, Mirette thought.
    'I suppose you informed the Prince I haven't slept,' she
said softly. 'I wish you had spared him. If I go quietly,
will you promise the next time to keep your mouth shut?'

228                                                                         229

    Startled speechless by a reaction she could not possibly
have anticipated, Mirette nodded.
    Elienne handed her comb to Minksa. 'I'11 finish your
hair later, Missy.'
    Minksa dumped a fistful of ribbons on the dresser. 'I
want to come.'
    'No.' Elienne was adamant. 'Absolutely not. One of us
is too many.'

Though the corridor which led to Faisix's cell was nothing
like the dank stone passages of Trathmere's dungeon,
Elienne felt as though she had just been immersed in ice
water. No good would come of this visit. A chill of
foreboding preoccupied her as she followed Kennaird
down a carpeted stair into a chamber unnaturally lit by
harsh, blue-white light.
    Before her, etched out by the glare of an enchanter's
wards, was a steel-barred enclosure similiar to the one
that had imprisoned Taroith. The structure had no visible
door. A Sorcerer stood watch to one side.
    Elienne's eyes adjusted to the dazzling brilliance slowly.
After an interval, she made out the image of a figure
beyond.
    'I have brought the royal Consort to see Faisix, at his
Grace's request,' said Kennaird.
    The attendant Sorcerer dimmed the wards, allowing a
clear view of the prisoner. The former Regent sat
comfortably in a stuffed chiar, profile toward them. He
was thinner, Elienne noted. With his eyes in meditation,
she saw beyond distractions of character and finely pro-
portioned bone structure to an abiding harmony with life,
which momentarily defied thought. The effect terrified
her, as nothing had before. Elienne stepped clumsily
backward into Kennaird.

23O

He caught her in startled embarrassment, just as Faisix
stirred and raised opened eyes to his warden.
    'I see I have distinguished visitors.' His honey-colored
hair glanced in the light as he rose and bowed respectfully
to Eiienne. 'My Lady, I'm glad to see you are well.'
    Elienne shook off Kennaird's hands. 'It wasn't my idea
to come here.'
    'That's understandable.' The expression of peace on
Faisix's features remained imperturbed. He seated him-
self smoothly. 'They tell me you will give birth to a
healthy son five months from now.' His gaze touched the
green velvet that girdled her thickened waistline. 'I see
this is so, and wish you joy upon the occasion.'
    Unsettled by his reference to the child, Elienne wanted
to leave at once. Her reply came out edged with mistrust.
'I won't forget.'
    'Neither will I.' Faisix returned the hostility with frank
acceptance. 'I felt an apology would be worse than
useless, even insulting. I want no more injury between us.
And I think the Prince would understand if you go without
belaboring the point. I'm not proud of reminders, either.'
    Elienne could not bring herself to answer. Inexplicably
uneasy, she addressed the League Master who safe-
guarded the ceil. 'Gifted, I've seen enough.'
    The Sorcerer stepped forward to restore the potency of
the wards. Though he worked with unerring efficiency,
Elienne had a sudden, overwhelming premonition that all
was not well. She looked up, just before the sorcery flared
active, and saw that Faisix watched her still. His yellow
eyes scarred her like a brand. Sudden dizziness spun her
vision out of focus. In the blue-white deluge of light that
followed, she thought she saw Ielond against the desolate
emptiness of Ceroth. Memory of his words surfaced to

231

haunt her. 'We're going to change history, my Lady, and
send Faisix to his Damnation.'
    She wanted to cry out, to warn that the man in the cell
was evil and still capable of inflicting great harm. But no
words came. She swayed on her feet, caught by a firm
pair of hands.
    The face of the Master Sorcerer wavered above her.
'... strength of the wards,' he was saying. 'The effects of
close proximity have disoriented her. She'll recover
quickly enough. Just take her out.'
    Elienne felt herself transferred to Kennaird, who
guided her stumbling steps back the way they had come.
Once she was clear of the cell, the vertigo passed almost
at once. Elienne caught the railing of the stair, sweat cold
on her skin. 'I hope his Grace is satisfied,' she said tartly
to Kennaird. 'I won't repeat that experience.'
    The apprentice regarded her with sympathy. 'I doubt
he would ask again. Are you all right?'
    Elienne nodded, though her heart raced still. She
climbed the stair unassisted, preoccupied by the remem-
bered statement of Ielond's. Her fear was justified. But
not even the wisest masters in Pendaire perceived Faisix
as a threat, secure as they were in the powers of their
sorcery.

'Lady, the hook won't fasten.' The maid leaned to one
side, hands clutching the waistband of Eiienne's dress.
'Do you want me to call the seamstress, or shall I fetch
the blue skirt you wore yesterday?'
    Elienne touched her swollen middle with a resigned
sigh. 'The blue will be fine. I don't expect the Prince's
healers will let me ride much longer, anyway.'
 'I would think the weather would stop you,' said

Mirette from the window seat. 'The sentries on the north
gate came in complaining of frostbite.'
    E!ienne shrugged out of the dress that no longer fit. 'It
rained only yesterday.'
    'After it snowed.' Mirette set her sewing aside and flung
back the curtain. A cold draft spilled across the room
from the uncovered casement. 'It's turned bitter.'
    Yet not even the sight of fields leaden-gray under a
mantle of new ice prevented Elienne from making her
usual trip to the stable. The Horse Master greeted her
with a lighted pipe, a sure sign that he had not been
overseeing the saddling of her horse.
    'What's wrong?' Elienne knew a moment of apprehen-
sion. 'Is Abette lame?'
    The Horse Master puffed his reddened cheeks until his
whiskers bristled. 'She's at her hay, and well sound. But
she won't stay so if ye go out. Ice'll cut her legs. Best to
wait. There'll be a thaw.'
    Elienne returned to her chambers, disconsolate. The
healer had granted her no more than one more week of
liberty, and with a freeze as deep as the one currently
gripping Pendaire, a quick thaw was unlikely. She had
watched Mirette amuse herself with an endless succession
of sewing projects, aware such activities would do little to
maintain her spirits through the weary months to come.
    'You could always start on things for the baby,' Mirette
suggested, and wondered afterward why Elienne
requested books, her gaze fixed morosely on the ice-
glazed gardens beyond the casement.
    An oppressive silence lasted until Minksa burst in from
the anteroom in boisterous high spirits. 'Elienne!' Her
skirt knocked Mirette's thread basket and spools bounced
helter-skelter across the carpet.
 'Child, will your manners never improve?' Mirette rose,

232                                                                                         233

watching her feet. 'And that was no proper address for a
Lady who might become Queen of the Realm.'
    'I'm sorry.' Minksa curtsied precariously among the
spools and in the same motion bent to pick them up.
'Lady,' she said from her hands and knees on the rug.
'The Prince has come to see you.'
    Caught unprepared, Elienne left the window. She
directed a suspicious glare at Mirette. 'Was this your
doing?' But the Lady-in-waiting's startled expression was
genuine. Why, Elienne wondered, and sat hastily in the
chair farthest from the door.
    A moment later, Darion entered, arms loaded with
books and a small wooden chest inlaid with mother-of-
pearl. He spotted Elienne by the fire and smiled. 'I
thought I'd find you sulking.' With the controlled grace of
perfect fitness he crossed the room and deposited his
burden on the side table next to her. He sat down.
    Elienne shut her eyes, unwilling to respond for fear
loneliness would betray her.
 'Please,' she said softly. 'I don't want company.'
    Darion opened the box, which contained chess pieces.
'You play, don't you?'
    'I'm insufferably out of practice.' Elienne felt her palms
break into sweat. He had known what loss of her daily
ride had meant; his kindness besieged the integrity of her
decision to remain separate, and left no avenue for
graceful retreat. Tormented by desire to reach out and
use what he offered, Eiienne watched his hands as he laid
out the board. Yet even that proved a mistake.
    The beautiful, long fingers were toughened from
weather, and calloused like a mercenary's. Elienne caught
her breath. Even Cinndel's knuckles had not chapped
that severely on campaign against the Khadrach.
 Distressed, Elienne looked further, and saw wrists

grown sinewy from long hours in the tiltyard. She under-
stood, suddenly, what brought Darion to her chambers
with chessmen. Exercise had been his outlet, also.
Weather had deprived them both, and he had resolved to
confront the source of his pain, perhaps to overcome it if
he could.
    His determination cut her. And Ielond's diabolical
thoroughness had ensured she was a fanatical devotee of
chess. Conscious of failing strength, and resolved not to
let the Prince guess, she fought back. 'You must have
better things to occupy you.'
    Darion set the last piece in place with barely a pause.
'I'll take black, for having nothing better. The council
chamber offers little other than glorified scrapping among
old men. Your move.'
    Elienne bit her lip, momentarily defeated by his charm.
Intending to discourage him with dull strategy, she
reached for a pawn.
    Yet he caught her drift early in the game and managed
to maneuver his own king into peril first. He sat back in
his chair and watched her search in smothered dismay for
a move that would not place him in check without
sacrifice. There was none. The situation became suddenly
comic. Elienne tried to choke back a grin.
    'You must like stomachaches,' said Darion, red-faced
himself. A moment later, he doubled helplessly over the
board, scattering chess pieces like smallshot. His laughter
mingled with hers.
    The irrisistible rapport of shared amusement sobered
Elienne first. Events seemed to conspire against her,
displaying always the charm, the wit, and the high spirit
of the man whose destiny Ielond had joined with hers; the
Sorcerer had intended the attraction. Yet poisoned by the
uncertainty of her future, Elienne still held back. This

234                                                                                         235

discomfort was surely kinder than the grief she had known
upon Cinndel's death.
    Conscious of her silence, Darion caught his breath.
'We'll play again.' He ducked beneath the table to rescue
the fallen game pieces. His voice emerged, muffled. 'This
time, to the bitter death, with no bowing out.'
    With far more at stake than a chess game, Elienne
chose not to put his challenge to the test. She rose quickly,
while he was occupied and disadvantaged, and retreated
to the bay of casements which overlooked the sea. Leaden
combers battered the shoreline, carved into spray by black
rocks and the wracked debris of winter storms. A dirtied
wall of snow bounded the sand above the tidemark,
seaweed piled like war dead beneath.
    She heard the chair creak as he straightened. Wooden
counters clattered in a cascade onto maple inlay. A few
rolled onto the carpet.
    His booted step approached her. She stared rigidly at
the horizon's gray line, sensitized to the desolation she
inflicted on the man at her back. He had stopped with his
hands poised, but not touching her shoulders. His arms
lowered after a moment, with a soft rustle of velvet and
lawn. His ring clicked against his poniard as he hooked
his thumb in his belt.
 'Lady, will you forgive me?'
    'What is there to forgive?' said Eiienne, knowing the
painful barb of her own self-reproach would strike like a
whip of antagonism. The wintery landscape before her
shattered, viewed through a prism of tears.
    With her features open to anguish, she faced him.
'There is nothing between us to forgive, your Grace. But
I find no peace in your presence. How long, before you
learn mercy and leave me alone?'
 The scope of his response caught her like tide, left her

dizzied with pain. Unable to speak or see, she caught the
paneled wall for support. Nothing reached her except the
clink of the door latch that signaled Darion's departure.
Caught by an ugly, wrenching sob, Elienne laid her cheek
against the cold panes of the window, and watched the
beach blur and fade beyond a white cloud of condensa-
tion. She felt, inwardly, as though someone had put the
candles out.
'I hate you,' said Mirette suddenly, out of the dark.
E!ienne stirred and slowly leaned her back against the
wall. 'I'm sorry.' The apology seemed to flounder on the
stillness.
    'Sorry!' Mirette rose, furious, and confronted her with
loathing evident in every line of her pose. 'Ma'Diere's
infinite mercy, you abuse him! He gives you the best of
himself, and you fling it back in his face.'
    Cornered and raw with exposed nerves, Elienne franti-
cally sought escape. 'Stop. Mirette, you don't know. I
have a reason.'
    'No reason known to man would be enough to justify
what you just did.' The artfully painted lines around
Mirette's eyes blurred, and tears spilled over her lashes.
    Elienne watched the streaks glide down perfectly tinted
cheeks. Understanding imprisoned her like a trap: Mir-
ette's suffering was caused by frustrated love of the
Prince. The assault of yet another person's pain was more
than she could bear, with her own feelings vulnerable to
exposure. 'The Prince will find another woman. I won't
be jealous.'
    Mirette seemed not to hear. 'You're cold as Eternity.
If I were Consort to such a Prince, I'd count myself
blessed.' And that suddenly pushed the situation beyond
constraint.

236                                                                       237

Elienne knew white-hot anger. 'Go to him, then, if
that's where your sympathies lie!'
    Mirette gasped, pale beneath her rouge. She answered
with vicious honesty. 'I've tried. Once we were lovers.
But since Ielond sent you, his Grace has eyes for no
other. I curse that day. And I curse you for your cruelty.'
    Punished into a frame where only the absurd became
tolerable, Elienne laughed. Mirette's mouth opened in
shocked protest. She whirled and fled the room, leaving
Elienne alone, weeping, by the window.

The morning Kennaird chose to apply for continuation of
his training, sunlight through mullioned windows pat-
terned elongated yellow diamonds across the floor of
Taroith's study. The Sorcerer sat at his desk, chin rested
on laced fingers. A yellow tabby cleaned her paws by his
elbow, untroubled by the concern that furrowed her
master's brow. Though the spring equinox was nearly
come, the weather had not broken. Icicles still runged the
eaves. Yet from the yard below his window, Taroith
heard the crack of quarterstaffs interspersed with an
occasional thump or shout as a blow landed. Darion was
at practice, again, though the ground was still frozen iron-
hard.
    Taroith sighed. The cat looked up, then resumed her
washing. Through the long winter he had seen the rela-
tionship between Prince and Consort progress from stiff
to strained. Darion was left preoccupied and tempera-
mental; and Elienne had withdrawn inside herself until
even rice powder could not hide the imprint of the
unhappiness that left circles beneath her eyes. Though the
court gossiped openly, Taroith had not interfered. Now,
with the Consort's pregnancy near term, he questioned
the soundness of his judgment.

238

    Outside, a quarterstaff smacked padded leather. Some-
one applauded, and the Prince's voice called challenge to
another opponent. Listening, Taroith reflected grimly that
Darion would be the first heir to carry bruises at a
peacetime coronation. The thought spurred his concern.
In bringing Elienne to Pendaire, Ielond had initiated a
master plan to preserve Darion's succession. Everywhere,
Taroith had encountered evidence of the Guardian's
handiwork, not least in the instant and undeniable rapport
between Consort and Prince, which, broken, was starving
them both. Though he had implicit faith in Ielond's
judgment, he wondered increasingly what had gone amiss.
    The wall clock chimed the hour, and Taroith frowned.
Kennaird was late. The man's haphazard habits had
always been irritating. As Master of the League, he had
granted the apprentice an appointment strictly out of a
sense of duty.
    The fiat crack of quarterstaffs resumed beyond the
window. Between the interplay of blows, Taroith heard a
running step in the hall, followed by a sharp knock. The
door opened.
    Kennaird stepped in, red-faced and breathless. 'I'm
late. Master, will you accept my apology?' He pulled
nervously at the sleeve of his rust-colored jerkin.
    'I would hear your reason, first.' Taroith gestured to
the chair across from his desk. 'Sit. You're going to be
here for a while.'
    Kennaird's eyes widened until full rings of white
showed around the blue. 'You're going to - ' Taroith's
expression stopped him. He blinked and dumped himself
into the chair, startling the tabby from the desk top. 'I
forgot the time, Master.'
    Taroith leaned on his elbows and tried to be sympath-
etic. 'I can take nothing for granted, Kennaird. As

239

lelond's apprentice, you were Ielond's responsibility. If
you would become mine, I must gauge for myself precisely
how far your training has progressed. There is no better
way than to repeat the examination for candidacy. Do
you object?'
    'No.' Kennaird pushed knuckled hands beneath his
cuffs as though chilled. 'No, not at all. I just hadn't
expected another soul-search, even as a formality.'
    'This is no formality.' Taroith rose and gently nudged
the tabby away from his calf. 'The only difference, I hope,
will be the fact we require no drug to align your conscious-
ness. You'll be able to resolve your focus?'
    'Of course,' said Kennaird, affronted. 'I studied nine
years under Ielond.'
    Taroith withheld comment. After nearly a decade
under one of Pendaire's finest Masters, Kennaird showed
remarkably poor progress. Unsettled, the Sorcerer left
the desk and positioned himself behind Kennaird, his
back to the sunlit window. Had the apprentice simply
been slow, or had Ielond deliberately held him back?
Either way, Taroith knew he would shortly find out. He
placed his hands on Kennaird's shoulders. 'Resolve your
focus.'
    Obediently, Kennaird concentrated. A faint, greenish
glimmer presently illuminated the air above his head.
Taroith waited briefly for the force to brighten. When it
did not, he silently summoned his own focus and directed
its harsh white light through Kennaird's pallid glow. The
apprentice flinched under his touch.
    'Steady.' Taroith adjusted the balance of power. The
beam from his focus passed through Kennaird's like
lamplight filtered by lenses and caused a pattern projected
upon the floor. Though it was a geometric abstract, the
Master Sorcerer's trained perception could read from the

configuration the motives and the events that comprised
Kennaird's life since birth.
    The effect upon the apprentice was comparable to
having the mind's most secret recesses exposed and min-
utely searched. Taroith felt Kennaird warm under his
hands. He knew his subject would shortly suffer as
afteraffects a headache, and perhaps nausea, and worked
swiftly to forestall as much discomfort as possible.
    '... second time you've scored,' said Darion, voice
dimmed by concentration. 'I must be tiring. Can you
make one more bout?'
    Taroith did not hear the opponent's reply. Sensation
and sound left him. The design encompassed his entire
awareness, surrounded him as a sculptured prism of light.
Almost at once, he spotted imbalances in the symmetry.
Alarmed, he probed, and discovered more. lelond, what
have you done? he thought, embarrassed to look further.
Kennaird was not, and never had been, qualified for
League apprenticeship. Taroith faced the fact that Ielond
would not have overlooked so gross an error. He had
chosen to train Kennaird himself; there would be a
reason.
    Grimly the Sorcerer conjoined with the pattern; by
tracing Kennaird's instabilities through past events, he
hoped he would find his colleague's purpose. The scenes
he traversed impressed him with trivia: a petty squabble
over a toy that ended with a young brother's bloody nose;
a misdeait card; plates filched from the palace kitchens;
and later, a maid maneuvered into a tryst she had not
wanted. She had escaped with nothing worse than embar-
rassment, b~ut gossip inferred otherwise. Distastefully,
Taroith searched for reason amid a tortuous maze of
small-minded actions. Over the course of an entire life,
he found none.

240                                                                                         241

    He surfaced at last, preoccupied by dilemma, and
allowed his soulfocus to dissipate. Kennaird stirred. Tar-
oith lifted his hands, silenced by the scope of his
discovery.
    Ashen-faced and groggy, the apprentice pressed damp
palms to his temples. 'That was more unpleasant than I
recalled.'
    Taroith settled on the window seat. The courtyard
below lay empty, dull gray with frozen puddles under the
noon sun. As Master of the League, he could never
sanction Kennaird. Yet he was reluctant to refute the
man's apprenticeship publicly before he had spent more
thought on the subject. He had far too much regard for
Ielond's vision to discard anomaly as a mistake.
    'Well?' said Kennaird. Unsettled nerves and a savage
headache made him cross.
    The tabby leaped lightly to the windowsill. Taroith
stroked her absently and tried to smooth the gravity of
the situation without arousing suspicion. 'I've seen
enough to know how far you progressed under Ielond.
After Elienne's child is born, we'll discuss the matter
further in depth.'
    Kennaird's mouth gaped. He stared, resentment tight-
ening his hands on the chair until tendons quivered
beneath his cuffs. 'That's all? You perform soul-search
for half a morning, and have nothing more to say?'
    Taroith rose and unlatched the door with dispatch.
'We'll begin, I think, with the subject of courtesy.'
    Kennaird swallowed. 'I'm sorry. I had no right to
question.'
    'Ask the kitchen for broth,' said Taroith with an effort
at kindness. The apprentice would probably be
wretchedly ill most of the day. He offered his arm to
steady Kinnaird's first few steps.

242

    'Thank you.' The apprentice pushed sweat-drenched
hair from his brow. 'I'll be fine.' Yet his course as he
departed down the corridor was anything but straight.
    Taroith saw him out of sight and left at once for the
Library. There he requested to see Ielond's writ. 'The
original,' he insisted, 'not a copy.'
    The Archivist vanished into the stacks, grumbling, and
reappeared presently with a jeweled slip case. 'Were you
aware that his Grace had to consult this very document
for the name of his intended?'
    'No.' Taroith accepted the parchment, the seals rough
against dry fingers. 'Should I be?'
    He carried the document to a carrel and blew out the
wax candle in its glass stand. Taroith had not come to
consult the official words of state inked in Ielond's bold
hand. Enveloped in thick shadow, he focused his inner
awareness and flicked one thumb down the left margin,
much as he had that day Elienne had arrived in the Grand
Council Chamber. At his touch, a row of glyphs flashed
like starlight on the page. Thin as thread, and fainter than
their original appearance, the message was still ciphera-
ble. In the dim silence of the Library, Taroith reread the
lines Ielond had left for his eye alone.

Though you discover discrepancy, allow my choice to stand. I
have seen the course of my decisions. Have faith. Darion will
legally inherit.

    Slowly the message faded. Taroith ran cramped fingers
through his hair and sighed. He had encountered discrep-
ancies enough to undermine the stability of the entire
Kingdom. Elienne's ancestry was straight out of legend.
His Grace could father no children, as the Sorcerer had
seen the night he performed the healing for drug over-
dose. And now Kennaird proved hopelessly incompetent

                243

 for a post hf; had hC. ld for nin~ y~ttr~. Wh~r~, thou~ht
 Taroith, did faith end, and duty begin?
     That moment, the stuffy silence of the Library was
 shattered by the resounding peal of bells from the tower
 of the East Keep. Taroith started upright.
    'Damn it to Eternity!' The bells could signal only one
event: Elienne had gone into labor. Taroith rose and
banged his knee in the dark. She was early, by a full
week, according to the League astrologer's conception
chart.
    'Discrepancy!' Taroith muttered. He abandoned the
writ where it lay. 'I call it mayhem!'

Backsplice

Late in the afternoon, the endless tolling of the bells in
the east tower of the keep was joined by sweeter tones
from the belfry of Ma'Diere's Sanctuary. Although Ken-
naird knew the added peals signified the arrival of a new
heir to the Crown, he took no joy in the occasion. From
the lofty height of the window in Ielond's study, he gazed
sourly downward at the guard captain who strode across
the arch above the gate, arms clutched around a massive
bundle of pennants. The fellow paused beside a leaning
row of halberds, the owners of which industriously cleared
flag halyards stiflened with ice.
    Kennaird shivered. No fire had burned in the grate
since Ielond's death, yet he made no move to lay kindling.
Below, the first of a multitude of banners flapped slowly
skyward, gold and black, and sewn with the royal stag.
Cheers arose from the crowd in the bailey. Surrounded
by mounted lancers, a tabarded official waited with a
coffer; tradition granted largesse to the city's poor, that
all might celebrate the birth of Elienne's son.
    Kennaird retreated from the window before the coins
were distributed. Noise only added to his headache. But
the sound of the rejoicing populace disturbed him even
among the still, dust-layered rows of Ielond's books. The
crease between his sandy brows deepened into a frown of
displeasure. Once the library of his former Master had
provided a refuge from the dissatisfaction which had
galled him since childhood. But now the place aroused

244                                                                                       245

 nothing but emptiness and the torment of remembered
 happiness.
    Kennaird touched a familiar calf spine in sudden long-
ing. Something had gone wrong during his appointment
with Taroith that morning. He knew the Sorcerer's
oblique dismissal masked refusal. Ielond had misled him.
He would not be granted training to complete his
Mastership.
    Spurred by a bitter pang of loss, Kennaird swore and
hammered the shelf with his fist. The blow raised a dense
plume of dust in the air. He stumbled back, choking. The
carpet absorbed his enraged step.
    'Why did you lie to me?' he shouted, as though Ielond
could hear.
    Immutable silence answered. The gold-leafed titles of
ten thousand books taunted him with awareness of fulfill-
ment he would never own. The void left an ache. Ken-
naird clenched shaking hands and whispered. 'You
promised.'
    Yet, in truth, Ielond had not, memory reminded. 'I
offer you the chance to study,' the Sorcerer had said to the
boy who knelt at his feet. He had never mentioned
Mastership, though for years Kennaird had served
apprenticeship under the assumption League investiture
would be his. The Master had never seen fit to correct
him, even when he voiced his ambition openly.
    'That's as good as a lie.' Silence swallowed the state-
ment. Agonized by his misery, Kennaird sank onto the
battered wooden stool by the desk, as he often had when
Ielond was alive. The brown quill pen still stood in the
ebony stand, though mice had gnawed the feather end.
The Sorcerer had used that same nib to inscribe the writ
which granted Darion his Consort. Ielond had spent his
life to ensure his ward's inheritance. Kennaird cradled his

chin on folded arms, resentful. 'Did you leave no legacy
for me, Master?' he said to the tenantless chair.
    That moment, he discovered the box. It lay as though
waiting for him, the shine of black lacquered enamel out
of place amid dust-filmed surroundings. The top bore, in
white, the same glyph Ielond had used to verify the writ.
    Infused by a thrill of excitement, Kennaird straight-
ened. Often as he had visited, he knew the layout of the
desk by heart. The box had never been there before.
Driven by curiosity and a giddy rush of hope, he reached
out. As his hand touched the edge of the box, he felt the
familiar, cold prickle of sorcery.
    I am your legacy, the box informed through mind-
speech. Unsurprised and trembling with renewed expec-
tation, Kennaird tilted back the lid. Nestled within scarlet
velvet lay a ring of gold, cunningly wrought in the shape
of a scaled creature out of myth.
    'I am knowledge,' whispered the ring to his innermost
soul.
    Kennaird hesitated. The glitter of the metal absorbed
his conscious awareness like the magnetic pull of a com-
pass. The beast shape seemed almost alive, so perfectly
was it crafted. Carefully he lifted the box. Tiny, slitted
eyes glared from beneath a spiked crest, and the inter-
locked loop of tail and taloned limbs was extraordinary
accurate. A current of uneasiness welled beneath his
excitement. Never in memory had Ielond wrought any
spell with a demon's form.
    I am the completion of your training, the ring replied,
as though in answer.
    The words bounced like echoes in Kennaird's mind.
Headache forgotten, he laid the box flat on the desktop,
but did not withdraw his hand. 'Explain,' he said softly.
 I am the key to Mastership, yours by right. I was left in

246                                                                                       247

this place by Timesplice for you to accept or reject, as your
will dictates.
 'But the demon,' Kennaird whispered.
    The ring cut him short. Power can be used for good, or
ill. The user chooses. A body of knowledge that contains
the secret of Time would be poorly guarded were it left in
a form an enemy might identify.
    Kennaird licked his lips and tasted sweat. Although
Faisix was imprisoned, dissidents remained who would
rather Jieles inherited in Darion's stead, a Master Sor-
cerer among them. And in the hand of one such as
Emrith, the key to the arts of Timesplice could even now
disrupt the succession Ielond had died to preserve. Ken-
naird studied the ring's sinuous contours, as though his
eyes could somehow unravel logic and reveal a hidden
flaw beneath the ring's smooth answer. Its reason had not
entirely eased his distrust. He shifted position, conscious
he wanted to close the box and ponder the matter further,
yet reluctant to release his hold upon hope. The encounter
with Taroith had introduced the joyless, bitter vista his
life would become were his training suspended. Uncer-
tainty opened like a wound in his mind.
    Kennaird lifted his hand. The box's shiny finish lay
marred by a film of fingerprints as he paced nervously to
the window once again. The bailey was crammed with
townsfolk. Above, thin, high clouds smeared the sky's
edge, harbinger of thaw and spring rains, yet a band of
street children burrowed like rabbits through the mob,
towing baskets of paper lanterns to light the square by
night. Carpenters labored over construction of a platform
for musicians. There would be dancing, Kennaird remem-
bered, but the celebration of the populace seemed tran-
sient and shallow beside the realities which hedged him.

Without training, he was nobody and nothing. The igno-
miny galled.
    Kennaird's fist tightened against the graveyard cold of
the sill. He knew, then, with the simple pleasures of
ordinary men spread like a tableau before him, that he
lacked the humility to endure such a life. Having tasted
the wide, solitary spaces of a Sorcerer's power, he could
never again be content with common toil and marriage as
his lot. The ring won him, in guilt, like a street whore's
promise: desire assauged without threat of rejection. But
the price no longer mattered.
    Kennaird returned to the desk, determined despite the
hollowness in the pit of his stomach. He grasped the box
with roughness born of self-loathing. Weakness, not
strength, founded his decision. He knew, and accepted
the fact. Yet having chosen his course, it angered him to
discover he was not master enough to silence the whimper
of his conscience.
    I am your legacy, the gold soothed as he reopened the
lid. With a trembling hand he scooped the ring from the
blood-dark velvet. The demon curled like ice in his palm,
bright with the sparkle of highlights. He thrust it on his
finger.
    The ring slid into place smoothly as water. Kennaird
experienced a sharp, thornlike sting as sorcery entered his
mind. An arctic tingle coursed through his body. The
sensation did not surprise him; he had anticipated the ring
would establish linkage of one form or another.
    He lifted a hand now remarkably steady, and noticed
blood welling from a cut knuckle. Yellow gold glinted,
heated as flame against scarlet. Odd, Kennaird thought;
the metal must have had a sharp edge. He would file it
later. Deep in his mind, he felt the wound should have
disturbed him. But the idea was discarded as the ring's

248                                                                      249

influence unfolded him, filling the empty, insecure places
with newborn strength and confidence.
    An instruction surfaced. Obediently Kennaird leaned
down and opened the lowermost drawer of Ielond's desk.
Within lay notes penned in the Master's own hand.
Kennaird lifted them out, excited and startled by recog-
nition. These were the same documents that had vanished
from Ielond's desk the afternoon Elienne had been pre-
sented before the Grand Council.
'But I searched that drawer,' he murmured to himself.
The ring offered no explanation. Kennaird laid the
notes fiat on the desktop. Uppermost lay the page that
listed the times and dates of greatest vulnerability Ielond
had gleaned from Elienne's birth chart. One was circled
in red. Kennaird bent closer and saw the marked entry
was for that very night, eight hours past sundown.
    'Of course,' he said softly. With Elienne weakened by
the ardor of childbirth, and the new heir only hours old,
Ielond would certainly want someone to guard against
harm. Exhilarated by a renewed sense of purpose, Ken-
naird touched the ring on his hand. Why, he wondered,
had the form disturbed him, earlier? The Demon of
Hellsgap seemed a right and natural choice of image for
an object of power. Legend named it warden of mysteries
Ma'Diere had decreed forbidden to Man, and the Secret
of Time had certainly never been sanctioned by the
League.

Warm under the dry weight of fresh blankets, Elienne lay
with her newborn son cradled against her breast. She
wished ardently for quiet. But Law decreed the birth an
affair of state, since the event was linked with the succes-
sion of a Crown Prince. Beside the usual healer and
midwife, numerous officials and no less than two League

250

Sorcerers crowded her chambers. Elienne closed her eyes.
Though Taroith had been present to ease the worst of the
pain, the hours of labor had taxed her strength. She felt
emptied, exhausted beyond thought. Only concern kept
her awake.
    The tiny bundle of life in her arms was perilously
vulnerable. On his own, outside the protection of her
womb, the infant became a helpless target for any faction
anxious to disrupt Darion's inheritance. Elienne saw
threat in the child's separateness. Fearful as never before
that the Seeress's prophecy would wrench this precious
new life from her, she resented the presence of every
stranger Pendaire's unmerciful tradition forced upon her.
    Taroith patted her shoulder in fatherly sympathy.
'Patience, my Lady. They'll leave shortly. The docu-
ments, I believe, have just been signed.'
    Elienne looked up, saw Darion return to her bedside.
His white and gold tabard glittered by candlelight, and his
hands held a flat square of parchment weighted with
colorful wafers of wax. 'Lady Consort, I'm proud.' His
smile was only slightly shadowed. 'This is official acknowl-
edgment of my right to the crown of Pendaire.' He knelt
at her bedside and lightly kissed her hand. In a tone
pitched for her ears alone, he added, 'You have spared
me execution and murder. What will you do for encore?'
    Elienne smiled wanly amid a fortress of pillows.
'Nothing, I hope. May you rule long and well.' She meant
it, earnestly.
    Darion raised his hand, palm upward. An unfamiliar
seal ring weighted his finger. Elienne glimpsed the stag
blazon of Pendaire as he cupped the infant's miniature
feet.
 'I see he has the proper number of toes.' Hilarity

251

threatened the gravity of the royal expression. 'That's a
good start, for a Prince. Have you thought about a name?'
    'The mother needs rest,' Taroith interrupted. Beyond
him, the room began slowly to empty. 'The healer has
sent for a wet nurse so she can sleep undisturbed.'
    E!ienne half rose in protest, the child clutched protec-
tively in her arms. 'I require no wet nurse.' Even that
small move left her head spinning. She settled back,
unnerved by her helplessness.
    The midwife leaned over the bed and fluffed the
pillows, her beefy features kindly with understanding.
'Rest, your Grace. The arrangements need not be per-
manent. Your son will be astir before you, being fine an'
healthy. All the better you weren't wakened, at least
through the first night.'
    'No.' Elienne returned the solicitous concern on the
features of everyone present with acid mistrust. 'The baby
stays with me.'
    A knock sounded softly, and the door opened. 'The
nurse has arrived,' Mirette informed from the hall.
    'Send her away!' The words came out uglier than
E!ienne intended, but weariness and insecurity stripped
her of tact. She dared not permit the child to leave her
presence.
  'My Lady,' Taroith began.
 'I won't hear itf' She met the Sorcerer's startled glance
with the wariness of a cornered vixen. 'I prefer to be
awakened. Let the crib be brought here.'
    Although she had directed her statement to Taroith,
Darion was first to notice the buried distress in her voice.
Disturbed, suddenly, by what seemed stubborn, irrational
hysteria in the woman Ieland had chosen for sensitivity
and courage, he listened more carefully. If Eiienne was
overwrought, there would be cause.

252

    'Come now,' said the midwife. She laid aside her towels
and extended her arms toward the infant. "Tis a natural
thing to feel a little set back after a birth. Time and sleep
will restore your spirits.'
    Elienne regarded the pink scrubbed hands like vipers.
'Get away. Don't touch him. I told you, he stays here.'
Her voice turned brittle with anger. 'If you want to help,
fetch the crib from the nursery.'
    'Enough!' Darion stepped between midwife and Con-
sort with the caution of a man ending a fight between
mastiffs. 'Leave us, please. I wish to speak with my Lady
in private.'
    Taroith's brows rose questioningly. 'In private,' Darion
repeated quietly.
    The chamber cleared slowly of maids and attendants.
As though reluctant to give ground, the midwife was last
to leave. Taroith held the paneled door open for her wide
girth. Then he winked at Darion and closed the latch with
firm finality.
    Alone with her child, Elienne regarded the Prince who
stood before her, hands clasped neutrally at his belt. She
said, 'You won't change my mind.'
    'I won't try, Mistress, if you tell me what troubles you.'
The medallion on his chest flashed as he drew breath. 'I
don't believe your behavior was founded on whim.'
    'No.' Elienne felt familiar tension return. Phrased with
direct compassion, Darion's sensitivity invariably left her
defenseless against emotion. Too spent to battle, she
stared down at the coverlet, trapped yet again by the
intertwined monogram of Darion's initial and her own
embroidered onto the sheet. She spoke quickly, before
control left her entirely. 'But I would rather not speak of
it.' With the succession all but completed, the Seeress's
prophecy was her own affair.

253

    'Are you still worried about Faisix?' The Prince waited,
motionless, for her answer. After lengthy silence, he said,
without rancour, 'Lady, Faisix has been in trance, medi-
rating, for the past four days. I doubt he knows your child
exists, yet.'
    Elienne shivered. She met the Prince's hazel eyes with
open alarm. 'He knows. Will you listen? I have a reason.
Please, my Lord, don't allow them to take my child from
me, even for a night.'
    Darion hooked a stool with his foot and sat down by
the bed. 'All right.' He lifted a lock of her hair from the
bedstead and smoothed its mahogany length upon the
pillow. 'You honestly feel the baby may be endangered?'
    Elienne swallowed. 'Yes, Lord. Ielond would not guar-
antee his life.' Her body ached. She desperately wanted
to sleep. But before rest, she needed to stay clear-headed
enough to establish her son protection from harm. His
tiny, warm weight against her body was her last most
precious link with Trathmere and her lost husband.
    'I think we should name him Cinndel,' said Darion
without warning.
    Elienne started, and caught him watching the child with
an expression of awed tenderness. 'What?'
    He !aid his forearm on the mattress and leaned on it. 'I
said, I thought he should be named Cinndel.'
    'No.' Emotion rendered the word nearly inaudible,
E!ienne tried, and failed to curb her amazement. 'No,'
she repeated more clearly. She shifted the baby closer to
the Prince, but he was too young yet to be interested in
the bright glitter of the seal ring. Mellowed by the
generosity of Darion's offer, Elienne qualified through a
haze of drowsiness. 'This child would have died, except
through the intercession of your Guardian. I wish to call
him leiond, if you'll permit.'

254

    'Permit?' Darion withdrew his hand and for a long
moment pressed spread fingers across his face. Chestnut
hair fringed his knuckles, and the soft glow of candlelight
touched his profile bronze. He spoke without moving. 'I'd
be honored to call my heir by that name.' His tone
became fractionally unsteady. 'Are you certain?'
    Moved by his reaction, Elienne touched the velvet-
clothed wrist draped still over his knee. 'I decided months
ago. I'm glad you're pleased.'
    'Overcome is more accurate.' He lowered his arm,
unveiling a wounding smile. Elienne's breath caught. She
had no will left to trample the response that welled up
within her. Her grip tightened against the warmth of his
sleeve.
    Darion covered her fingers with his own. He lifted her
hand from his arm and folded it neatly over the child's
blanketed body. 'Lady, you shall have your crib. The
maid of your choice will attend you. I'll have a pallet
brought.'
    'Minksa,' said Elienne promptly. The room seemed to
roll like a ship beleaguered by storm swells. Only stub-
born will held her eyes open.
    Darion rose to his feet, a tall glittering presence seen
through vision fuzzed by exhaustion. His voice resumed
like a litany, above her. 'Further, I will post my two most
trustworthy guardsmen at the door of your chambers.
They shall have orders to admit no one without consent.'
    Elienne roused herself with an effort. 'Kennaird,' she
murmured.
 Darion bent close. 'What?'
    'Send Kennaird. I need to speak with him.' Much as
E!ienne disliked the apprentice, he alone shared knowl-
edge of the Seeress's prophecy. And Darion was unlikely
to humor her very long without demanding the reason for

255

her insecurity. The child's safety could only be left to one
Ielond himself had trusted.
    'Very well, Lady.' The Prince saluted, as though to a
commander of armies. He struggled with a solemn expres-
sion. 'Kennaird will be summoned for audience with the
Queen-to-be. I will personally oversee all arrangements,
and not leave you, or Ielond, until the guardsmen have
arrived. Now, will you rest?'
    'Like the dead,' Elienne promised. Weakened past
restraint, she summoned a wan smile. 'My Lord, about
the chess game... someday I'll explain.'
    Darion watched his Lady's eyes fall closed. He stood
for a long while over her still, slight form, while the child
of a dead stranger blinked and slept at last in the bright
drift of her hair. The sacrifices the two of them had made
for his future left him indebted beyond human coin. He
yearned for Elienne's happiness until its absence made
him ache. Yet even when he coaxed a smile from her,
grief and mistrust seemed always to rob the moment of
pleasure. Perhaps the baby woud restore her trust in life,
he thought. The sharp trip of the latch started his reverie.
    Taroith entered. 'She's asleep, I see.' He paused and
raked a gnarled hand through his beard. 'Are you going
to reveal the terms of the truce?'
    Darion laughed quietly. 'A crib at her bedside, Mink-
sa's presence, and two guardsmen.'
    The Sorcerer grunted. 'You humor her. Your Grace,
never spoil the one you marry. You'll rue it, sorely.' He
was smiling.
    Darion shrugged, impossibly high-spirited. 'She has
achieved my succession. Let her have her way, for
tonight.' And he called for servants, his pageboy, and a
scribe, that he could fulfill his bond to the lady who had
at least granted him reprieve from the headsman.

256

Eiienne woke in the night to the wind-driven batter of
rain against the casements. Ielond lay quiet in his crib.
Drowsily, she recalled that Minksa had wakened her
earlier, and she had fed her child. There had been lights,
then, and stillness. A solitary candle still burned on the
table by the bed. E!ienne dozed, her thoughts of Darion's
forthcoming coronation. Ma'Diere's Order would bless
Ieiond as Prince and heir of the realm at the same time
... Lu!led by the fury of the storm, for once she
permitted herself the luxury of contemplating a future
removed from dread.
    Voices beyond the door drew her back. Half-roused,
Elienne saw Kennaird enter her chambers. Water glis-
tened in his thin hair, scattering droplets onto the carpet

    Elienne stirred and spoke in a voice thickened with
sleep. 'Kennaird? You came very late.'
    The apprentice crossed the floor without a reply. After
a brief survey of the room, he unhooked his wet cloak
and slung it over a chair by the hearth. 'You're alone?'
He sounded brisk rather than surprised.
    Elienne raised herself on one elbow. Minksa slept on a
pallet behind the decorative screen of the wardrobe. But
the girl was no threat to her privacy. Elienne chose not to
waken her. 'I wished no women about until I had seen
you concerning protection for Ielond.'
 The name caused Kennaird to check sharply.
    'I surprised you.' Softened by fatigue, Elienne smiled.
'I'r~, sorry. The boy is named after the Sorcerer. I hope
you don't mind.'
    'No.' Kennaird's lips curled. Half-lit by the candle, hi~
expression seemed strangely amused, as he resumed his
interrupted course and paused at her bedside.
  Elienne settled back against the pillows, more tired

257

than she cared to admit. She looked up at Kennaird with
relief. Shortly she could enlist help from a nurse without
danger to Ielond. 'Kennaird, I'm worried about the
Seeress's prophecy. No one else knows the child may still
be threatened. You are the only one I dared trust to
ensure his safety.'
    The apprentice gripped the bedstead above her.
Shadows bent his familiar features into a mask's hard
angles, and eyes pale as winter searched her face, as
though something about her annoyed him.
    Chilled awake by the intensity of his silence, E!ienne
knew faint alarm. 'You will help, won't you?' She pushed
back the coverlet as though to rise.
    Kennaird !aid a hand on her shoulder. 'I'11 look after
the child.' He pressed her firmly back against the pillows.
    His autocratic touch sparked annoyance. Elienne
resisted, and felt his fingers tighten, gouging her nightrobe
unpleasantly into her skin. 'Kennaird? Fully roused, she
twisted angrily, and caught sight of a bright glitter of gold;
the Demon of Hellsgap lay coiled like a garrote beneath
his knuckle.
    Terror flooded her, sharp and immediate as a knife.
She drew breath to scream, found bedclothes rammed
tight against her mouth. The cry emerged muffled. Ken-
naird shook her. She lashed out, felt her wrist caught and
imprisoned in a cruel grip. Elienne wrenched in panic.
Her assailant braced against her. His leg bumped the side
table. The candle tottered, tossing pinwheels of shadows.
    Driven by fear, Elienne flung against his hold again.
Kennaird raised his knee and pinned her long hair against
the mattress. The bedclothes shifted in his hands, ruth-
lessly suffocating her. Elienne struggled. Harsh fingers
twisted the cloth to gag her. She tried to kick free of the
blankets, without success. The sheet tightened like a rope

258

across her mouth, salty with the taste of her own sweat.
She heaved, desperate. Kennaird's hold slipped. Knuckles
banged painfully against her ear.
 Air sobbed in Elienne's throat. 'Guards/'
    A hard palm silenced her. Elienne thrashed. Kennaird
forcefully thrust the gag back over her face. Her elbow
cracked the headboard. But the pain of impact went
unnoticed as the apprentice yanked the sheets into a knot.
His face loomed over her, stippled with sweat, and
unhumanly intent. Distantly, Elienne heard the rattle of
the door latch.
 'Eternity, it's locked!' someone shouted.
    A heavy object crashed against the door from without,
but the stout oaken panels held. Kennaird finished with
the gag. He released her with an expression of contempt
and started around the bed. Beyond stood the crib where
Ielond lay sleeping.
    Elienne flung herself after Kennaird. He would kill her
child. Linen snapped taut under the force of her rush.
Cloth abraded her chin and ripped away. Elienne caught
Kennaird's elbow and clung. Too weak to stop him, she
could only slow him down. A fist battered her shoulder.
The doors shuddered under a second blow.
    'No!' Elienne kicked at his kneecap, missed, but saw a
white figure move in the shadows across the room.
'Minksa! Unbar the doors!'
    The girl ran like a deer. Kennaird saw her and swore.
He raised his arm and smashed Elienne brutally aside.
She staggered. He struck her again, and she fell.
    The door burst open. Guardsmen entered, running,
just as Kennaird reached for the child.
  'No!' Elienne made a frantic effort to rise. 'Stop him!'
    Gauntleted hands seized Kennaird, jerked him back.
He tore free, whirled, and attacked the guards, though he

259

was unarmed. Through a wave of weakness, Elienne
heard the slick ring of a sword drawn from a scabbard.
Steel flashed, yellowed by candlelight. But crazed as a
beast, Kennaird rushed the guardsmen with suicidal fury.
    The blade took him in the chest. Startled by the impact,
the guardsman cried out in stark surprise and dropped his
weapon. Kennaird toppled with a gasp. The steel cross-
guard thudded into the carpet. Driven home by the weight
of his own body, the blade emerged, bloodied, through
the back of his jerkin. But Elienne saw nothing beyond
the flash of gold that tumbled from his outflung hand. The
object spun, flickering in the darkness, and came to rest a
scant yard from her face.
    Elienne stirred. Blood rang in her ears, as though she
might faint. She clung to consciousness. Like a living
presence of evil, the ring lay just beyond reach, unnoticed
by the guardsmen. Fear caught like ice in her throat.
    'Ma'Diere, he was mad!' said a shocked voice, threaded
by a wail as the baby began to cry. 'He killed himself, I'll
swear by Eternity.'
    'Send for Taroith, at once.' A booted step approached
the crib. 'The child is untouched. Girl, see to your
mistress. Is she hurt?'
    Elienne felt a trembling touch on her shoulder. Minksa
bent over her, dark hair tangled against the white lace
collar of her shift. 'Lady?' She sounded as though she was
weeping. 'Lady, are you all right?'
    Elienne's senses blurred and dimmed. Shadows pressed
her vision, dense as water, and Ielond's lusty cries thinned
with distance. 'My baby,' she whispered.
    Minksa moved in response. Elienne shivered in the grip
of pain. Sound tumbled against her ears, blended voices
uttering words she could not understand. Pushed to the
extreme edge of awareness, she forced her eyes open,

determined to remain conscious at least until Minksa
returned with the child.
    But the girl had paused with her task incomplete.
Elienne saw her bend and reach for a gleam of gold in the
shadows.
    'No.' Too quiet to be heard, her warning went unre-
garded. Minksa's small fingers closed over Kennaird's
ring.
    As though the touch opened contact, Elienne felt the
cold sting of sorcery lance her mind. She gasped. Vertigo
claimed her and the room violently upended, tumbling
her downward into the night. The alien chill followed.
    Her last, desperate protest was barely audible, under-
mined by ebbing strength. No.t
    Sorcery straddled the thought. You will remember
nothing of my presence, said Faisix's voice within her.
    Willfully, Elienne struggled. She punished fading
thoughts back, forced recollection. She saw Minksa's
hand reach down and pick up . . . what? She searched,
frantically, aware the missing object jeopardized her
existence. Yet her efforts yielded nothing but a void that
rose up and enfolded her in darkness...

Only half-clothed, Darion entered his Consort's chambers
at a full run. His steward trailed him with a harried
expression, arms clutched about a shirt and a pair of
boots. The Prince skirted the bloody cloak-draped bundle
on the carpet, eyes drawn unerringly to where Taroith
bent over the supine body of his lady.
    'Elienne,' he said, and knelt. Nearby, Ielond wailed
loudly in the gingerly grasp of a guardsman.
    Taroith lifted his hands from her brow and looked up.
'She's suffered no more than a bruise on the head. But
she'll not waken until morning.'

260                                                                       261

Darion touched the pale curve of her cheek. 'You made
her sleep, then. Is that wise?'
    'Do you wish her to see the aftermath of this?' Taroith
gestured pointedly at the naked sword that lay, dulled
and sticky, beside the covered form on the rug. 'She is
exhausted beyond her strength, and terrified.' The Sor-
cerer noticed the Prince's face and gentled his voice at
once. 'Ma'Diere, I know, your Grace. Your Guardian
chose her for strength, but an attack on a child is a horror
she will never forget. Let her rest, at least until she has
recovered enough to master her emotions.'
    'Then let me get her to bed.' Darion lifted Elienne's
slight body into his arms. Long, dark hair tumbled warmly
over his skin as he cradled her against his chest. Relaxed
in sleep, her head rolled against his shoulder. The brief
peace Taroith's healing had granted lay imprinted on the
soft curves of her features.
    The sight wrenched Darion from within. He wanted
that contentment for her, always, but Pendaire had
rewarded her generosity of spirit with nothing but viol-
ence, distrust, and cruelty.
    Taroith stood by as Darion laid E!ienne on the bed.
The sheets were a twisted ruin. Annoyed, Darion snapped
at the steward who hovered, still, at his elbow. 'Can you
do anything about this mess?'
    The man bowed and dropped a boot. 'Your Grace,
your garment - '
    Darion swore and, cued by the steward's gaze, glanced
downward. He tightened the laces of his hose with
unabashed dispatch and accepted the shirt without com-
plaint. 'Sheets,' he said, voice muffled by cloth. 'And
fetch Mirette.' His head emerged, disheveled, from the
white lawn collar. Impatiently he jabbed an arm into a

262

sleeve, while the servant stared. 'Well? Don't stand there
while I dress, man. Go at once?
    The steward departed, still clutching footwear. As he
scuttled into the hall, Darion set Elienne's rumpled night-
robe straight and smoothed her hair across the pillows
with gentle hands. Taroith relieved the guardsman of
Ieiond. The baby's crying trailed into silence.
    'They told me the child was untouched.' Darion sat
with Elienne's head rested against his thigh. He settled a
blanket over her shoulders to keep off the chill until
Mirette arrived.
    Taroith laid the infant by her side. 'The boy was
awakened by the noise. He frets now because he is
hungry.' As Darion made to rise, he touched the Prince's
wrist. 'I've already sent for the midwife. Leave Ielond's
difficulties to her.'
    Darion lifted an anguished face from the still form of
his Consort. 'Ma'Diere! She trusted Kennaird. We all
did. And Faisix is confined under ward. How in Eternity
can this have happened?'
    'I don't know.' Taroith stood, gray robes clenched
around bowed shoulders. He paced the floor. 'I soul-
searched the man only this morning. He showed no such
motivation then. If he acted under influence of possession,
I could find no trace, though I reached here only minutes
after he died.' The Sorcerer paused with his hand on the
table by the bed. The candle illuminated troubled fea-
tures. 'Control could have originated from an object. If
so, it is no longer on Kennaird's person. I shall search the
room, of course. And the League will summon Faisix
back from the trance for truthsearch, though I know of
no method he could have initiated to bring about this
assault.'
 'We should have had him executed,' said Darion

263

 abruptly. His dark brows bunched into a flown. Somehow
 Elienne had known this attack might happen. Repeatedly
 she had asked his protection. With a stab of guilt, the
 Prince remembered that he had granted her guardsmen
 as an indulgence of a whim. And her son had almost been
 murdered. The ugly fact sparked rage he could not curb.
 'Eternity! Is there no limit to the intrigue in my court?
 Who would kill a baby? Jieles?'
     'Your Grace!' Taroith left the table, aged features set
 like granite. He gripped the royal shoulders forcefully
 with both hands. 'Ielond taught you better than that!'
     Darion flung off the Sorcerer's grasp and rose. 'Ielond
 taught me compassion.' He shoved the reddening sword-
 grip with his toe, his eyes intense with anger. 'Show me
 the compassion in this, Master. If it was Jieles, I shall
 condemn him to the block.'
     Taroith bent his head and said nothing. Brittle silence
 stretched between Prince and Sorcerer, while the guards-
 man fidgeted uncomfortably to one side. After a time,
 Darion stirred and raked fingers through his disordered
 hair, ill temper gone from him.
     'I'm sorry.' He rubbed his hand across his sleeves as
 though chilled. 'I think precautions are necessary, at least
 until we discover what caused Kennaird's defection. Let
 Elienne be moved to my own apartments. I want guards-
 men in the chamber with her at all times.'
    'That's a wise decision, your Grace,' said Taroith. 'I'll
grant you the services of a League Sorcerer as well, after
ú Faisix has been interrogated.'
     A soft knock at the door heralded the arrival of Mirette.
 At the Prince's request, she sent for additional servants
 and a litter to remove Elienne and the royal heir to the
 family rooms. Darion rewarded her stoic patience with a
 tired smile. 'I might be engaged through the morning with

Taroith. If my Lady wakens, before I return, please tell
her I shall do my utmost for her safety, and the child's.'
    Mirette's pretty features tightened, as though with
disapproval. She said nothing.
    'What's wrong?' Darion laid a hand protectively against
Elienne's cheek. 'Can't you tell her I care?'
    'Lord, I'll tell her,' said a girl's voice from the far side
of the chamber.
    Darion turned, startled, and saw Minksa seated in the
shadows. 'Have you been there the whole time, Missy?'
    Minksa nodded and crossed the room, reddened eyes
large in her white face. She had been crying.
    The events of the night must have been gruesome for a
child her age; and Jieles, Darion remembered, was her
father. At once he regretted his angered threats of
execution. He tried to amend the damage. 'Look after
your mistress, child. Stay close to her. You're possibly the
only friend she has.'

264                                                                       265

        14
The Demon of Hellsgap

Rain hammered the slate roof of Pendaire's royal palace
long after dawn soaked gray, chilly light through a thick
mantle of fog. Though Mirette bundled the drapes back
from the casement only at Elienne's insistence, she tried
to be kind. 'There's been a thaw. The weather will be
good for riding by the time your strength returns.'
    E!ienne blinked as her eyes adjusted. Sore abdominal
muscles blunted her desire to ride, and the deep maternal
bond she had experienced since Ielond's birth overruled
the restless impatience with the indoors she had known
during pregnancy. She glanced sleepily at the crib by the
bedside. Ielond kicked contentedly among the sheets. The
sight of his tiny red face reawakened memory of Ken-
naird, and violence. Elienne sat up, alarmed. She lay in a
changed room. Two men-at-arms stood guard at her
bedside, burly, weathered features out of place amid the
ornate delicacy of the furnishings.
    'Mirette.' Elienne looked more carefully, and recog-
nized the small chamber that normally housed Darion's
squire. 'Did the Prince...?'
    The Lady-in-waiting left the window. 'Beyond all else,
his Grace wished you safe.' She settled into a chair and
arranged her skirts with stiff ceremony, as though she
expected argument.
    But Elienne's concern for her child overshadowed any
emotional pressures imposed by Darion. Though relations
with Mirette had been ruinously strained since the morn-
ing of Darion's chess game, she tried to reassure. 'Mis-
tress, I'm not displeased.'

266

    Mirette picked a wisp of lint from her sleeve and said
nothing. E!ienne read exhaustion in the smudges beneath
her eyes. 'Were you up all night on my behalf?'
    'Not quite.' Mirette's tone was courteously neutral.
'The midwife saw to the baby.'
    'And you saw to me,' Elienne smiled. 'Why don't you
retire? Your staff can summon the midwife, if I need her,
and Minksa will be back with breakfast shortly.'
    Mirette rose and curtsied with flawless formality.
Peach-colored silk rustled as she straightened. 'Ancinne
is in the anteroom if you need her. The Prince wished you
to know he will visit when his official affairs permit.'
  Elienne smiled. 'I'll manage.'
    She watched Mirette's departure with relief. The Lady-
in-waiting's strict adherence to duty rasped her nerves
unbearably. The woman adopted ceremonial politeness
like armor. 'By Ma'Diere's everlasting backside, someone
should teach her to swear,' Elienne said aloud.
    One of the guardsmen gasped in unprofessional sur-
prise. He muffled a shout of laughter behind his sleeve,
while the other, with more control, bit his lip and purpled
slowly beneath his crested helm.
    Elienne sank back against the pillows, conscious of
tangled hair and puffy eyes. Inevitably, Ancinne would
send after a maid to straighten her appearance, if the
Prince was to visit. Eiienne hoped the woman's innate
laziness would delay the interruption. She wanted a
chance to think, undisturbed by servants or Minksa's
friendly chatter. Something unsettled her about the
attempt upon Ielond's life the night before. But when she
searched her memory, the feeling eluded her grasp like
water.
    Restlessly, Elienne rolled onto her side. Swollen breasts
brought a twinge of discomfort. Annoyed that she had

267

 neglected to ask Mirette when the child had last been fed,
 she sighed. Ielond seemed quiet. His tiny hand thrashed
 the air with contented abandon.
    E!ienne closed her eyes. Reluctant to expose herself
before the guardsmen without another woman present,
she decided to wait at least until the baby became fretful.
Uneasiness returned to nag her. Irritated, she sorted again
through her recollection of the past evening's events.
    A loud rattle of porcelain disturbed her thoughts.
Minksa entered with a breakfast tray, Ancinne's stout
bulk on her heels.
  'Missy, have a care, you'll spill something.'
    'I didn't.' The girl set the tray on the table by the bed
with a precarious crash and thrust her hand in her apron
pocket. She turned an excited face to Elienne. 'Lady, the
cooks are making tarts with icing for the banquet
tomorrow.'
    Ancinne fussed with the pillows while Minksa removed
the covers from a bewildering array of dishes.
Elienne sat up, dismayed. 'I can't eat half that amount.'
'You'll have more appetite than you think, Lady.
You've a child to feed.' Ancinne frowned at Minksa.
'Missy, don't serve royalty with your hand in your pocket,
ever.'
  Minksa set a pitcher down with a bump.
    Elienne winked at her. 'I'm not royalty until the wed-
ding,' she said to Ancinne, certain the girl's clumsiness
was no more that high spirits. She started to ask the Lady-
in-waiting to judge Minksa less harshly, but Ielond chose
that moment to cry. Little as he was, his yell defeated
conversation.
    E!ienne smiled. 'He'll become a tyrant, I know it.' And
since Minksa was closest, she nodded in response to the
girl's request to fetch the child.

268

    Minksa turned with the slow step of a dreamer. She
leaned over the crib, right hand eclipsed by her body as
she removed it from her apron. Instead of reaching
downward, she raised interlocked fists over the chiid's
small form. Elienne saw gold flash on her finger.
    Memory surfaced, deadly as poisoned steel, of the
demon ring recovered from the floor. Her scream obliter-
ated thought. She flung herself from the bed as Minksa's
arms descended like a club.
    The table rocked under Elienne's hand, scattering
plates. 'No!' Her shout mingled with a guardsman's curse.
Too late, she reached her feet.
    The bright clash of porcelain masked the impact of
Minksa's blow. Ieiond's cries silenced. Blood flecked the
blankets, then flooded in a sudden bright stain across the
mattress.
  'Oh, eternity, no!'
    Minksa lifted a tear-streaked face and laughed as the
guardsmen's grip closed over her reddened wrists.

The wards over Faisix's cell flickered as Taroith stepped
through the bars. He paused and rubbed a hand over his
face, outlined in light, as the defenses brightened at his
back. Of the Sorcerers who had originally accompanied
him to question Faisix, six remained within.
    Darion straightened stiffly. His back ached from long
hours spent leaning against cold stone. 'Did you find
anything?'
    'Nothing.' Taroith lowered his arm and sighed. 'You
haven't been here the whole night, I hope. What time is
it, your Grace? Mid-morning?'
    'Almost.' Darion worked a sore shoulder, still clad in
the thin shirt forced upon him by the Steward. At some
point he had acquired boots, but his hair was an

269

 uncombed tangle in the shadow of the stairway. 'Tell me.
 Something isn't right, or you wouldn't have taken so
 long.'
    Taroith buried his fingers in his sleeves and fixed eyes
distant with reflection upon the Prince. 'We couldn't rouse
him.'
    'What?' Darion's exclamation echoed against granite
walls, and he suddenly noticed the chill.
    'I said we couldn't summon Faisix back to conscious-
ness.' The Sorcerer started briskly for the stair. Gray
robes rippled over the stone. 'We entered his mind and
searched. There was neither knowledge nor evidence of
instigation in the attempt upon the baby's life. The only
passion we could resolve at all was an intense desire to
follow in Ielond's footsteps. That much we expected.
Perhaps I gave it too little significance.'
    'But you couldn't recall him.' Darion took the stairs
effortlessly, two at a time, and caught up.
    'No.' Taroith rounded the landing. 'They're still trying.
His will seems beyond reach.'
    The Prince waited for the Sorcerer to quality. When
Taroith added nothing, he said. 'That's not possible!'
    'But it's happened.' The Sorcerer stopped and caught
the Prince's hazel eyes with a glance keen as a raptor's.
'How did Ielond bring Elienne to Pendaire, your Grace?'
    Darion stood with his back to the brass railing. The
wall sconce flickered, tracing long, crawling shadows over
his cheekbones. 'Reveal to no one what l've told you,'
lelond had instructed the night of his death. '1 shall alter
time in Pendaire only once, to send you a bride. Let fate
achieve the rest.'
    'Answer, your Grace, or I shall ask E!ienne.' Taroith
started slowly upward, his step suddenly tired. 'For if
lelond left a riddle, I think Faisix has unraveled the key
to it.'

270

    Above, a door crashed open. The wall sconce streamed
in the draft, and someone descended the stair in reckless
haste. 'Your Grace!'
    A disheveled servant skidded to a stop on the upper
landing. 'Your Grace, come at once. There's been
violence.'
    Darion pushed away from the railing and raced up the
steps, Taroith at his side. He caught the servant as he
passed, compelling the man to follow at the same pace.
'What's happened?'
    'Minksa, my Lord.' The man gasped, breathless from
his run. 'She's attacked your son.'
    'Possession,' Taroith said with curt self-reproach.
'There must have been an object, last night.' And he
swore with acid feeling.
    Darion said nothing. He released his grip on the servant
and placed all his attention into speed. 'Let fate achieve
the rest,' Ielond had told him. Bitterly, the Prince won-
dered whether Cinndel's child was an intentional sacrifice.
He pounded the length of a hallway, haunted by E!ienne's
expression of gratitude spoken only hours before. 'This
child would have died except through the intercession of
your Guardian.'
    Taroith's focus crackled to life overhead. Caught in a
net of light, Darion wrenched open the latch. Sounds of
furious struggle and a woman's screams battered his ears
as he dashed into the suite. The door to Elienne's room
lay ajar. The Prince slammed through without breaking
stride.
    Minksa thrashed in the grip of the guardsmen, pale
arms streaked scarlet. Small as she was, two grown men
had difficulty restraining her. Loosened hair whipped her
face as she flung against their hold, screaming piteously
for her father. Darion passed with barely a pause. The

271

 crib lay puddled with blood, empty. Elienne knelt on the
 floor nearby, a sodden bundle cradled against her breast.
 Ancinne clutched the bedstead above her, ghost-white.
    The Prince brushed the woman aside and stooped
beside his Consort, his worst fears confirmed by a glimpse
of what she held. Firmly he caught her wrists, felt the
slippery warmth of Ielond's blood. Horror checked his
breath. 'Elienne.'
  She did not look up.
    'Elienne!' He shook her gently, and dark hair tumbled
like ribbons down her back. 'Elienne, give the boy to
Taroith. If there's hope, Ielond must have care at once.'
    She raised a blank, stunned face. Eyes darkened with
shock locked upon the Prince. Lacerated b_y her expres-
sion, he spoke again.
  'Give the boy to Taroith.'
    Elienne stirred like a dreamer. Taroith bent quickly
and lifted the infant from her loosened arms. Darion
caught her bloodstained shoulders and buried her head
against his chest. Elienne quivered in his embrace. He
covered the shell of her ear with his hand. 'Taroith, make
her sleep.'
    Shadows wheeled as the Sorcerer lowered his soulfocus.
The light touched Elienne briefly; Darion felt her trem-
bling slow and stop. She buckled against him, conscious-
ness blanketed by the Sorcerer's contact. Darion lifted
her, and discovered tears on his cheeks.
 'The child is dead,' said Taroith beside him.
    'I guessed as much.' Darion swallowed with difficulty.
He lowered Elienne's body gently to the bed. 'You!' he
said to the maid. 'Look after your mistress!'
    The room seemed suddenly crowded. Darion left the
bedside and saw three League Sorcerers, Emrith among
them. The courtier he had passed in the corridor gaped in

272

the doorway. The Prince leaped and slammed the oaken
panel shut. When he returned, Taroith had !aid the corpse
of Elienne's child in the crib. He covered it with a sheet
and straightened, blotting bloodied fingers on his robe.
    Emrith raised his voice over Minksa's cries. 'I've sent
for the Duke of Liend.'
 'I forbid him entrance,' Darion said curtly.
    'Would you deny the girl the comfort of her own father?
Emrith's brows rose over cool green eyes. 'She's obviously
lost her wits.'
    Taroith stepped briskly between. 'I called for trained
Masters, not relatives. His Grace's judgment is sound.
Jieles has no business here.' The Sorcerer shifted his
attention to Darion. 'An object definitely controls Mink-
sa's possession. Allow no one near enough to touch her. I
want no risk of transfer.' To Emrith he added, 'You
weren't summoned here. Since you seem to have volun-
teered your services, you will bring an ingot of iron to this
chamber from the smithy by transfer.'
    For a League Master, the request was no difficulty, but
the task would occupy Emrith wholly for a lengthy span
of time. Sobered by Taroith's adroit diplomacy in the heat
of crisis, Darion strove to bridle his own tangle of rage
and grief. If trusted hands could be influenced to murder,
no one in Pendaire was safe.
    Taroith approached Minksa, who struggled still in the
grip of her captors. 'Hold her firmly,' the Sorcerer
instructed as his League colleagues positioned themselves
at the guardsmen's shoulders. 'She may turn suicidal.'
    Taroith poised his soulfocus over the girl's tangled
head. The metal helms of her wardens mirrored the harsh
light, and reflections burnished sweat-sheened features.
    Minksa flung herself against their restraint. 'Mercy! Let
me go to my father!'

273

    Her plea ripped Darion's heart. She was so very young.
Taroith lowered his focus slowly toward the girl. Sparks
jumped. With a crackle like breaking ice, a halo of scarlet
ringed Minksa's body. She cried out and twisted against
the mailed hands that prisoned her. One blood-slick wrist
slipped and almost tore free.
    Instantly Taroith withdrew his focus. 'Hold her.' The
sultry glow faded slowly to an after-image. He nodded to
his colleagues. To the guardsmen his instructions were
terse and verbal. 'She is defended by Black Sorcery. We
have no choice but to immobilize her through indirect
contact. You'll experience some numbness. Keep steady.
The sensation will cause you no harm.'
    Grimly silent, the two Sorcerers placed their hands
upon the armored shoulders of the men-at-arms. The
bunched mass of their shadows splintered into triplicate
as they summoned their focuses beside Taroith's. Out-
lined in glare, one guard glanced uneasily upward.
    'Mind the girl!' Taroith warned. 'Any threat to you
originates with the force she harbors.'
    Minksa wrenched desperately, thin cheeks awash with
tears. Light flared above her, dazzling Darion's view. He
squinted, through aching eyes saw the guardsmen stiffen
into posed statues. The violence of Minksa's struggles
gradually damped under the combined influence of the
Sorcerers. The Prince had observed his Guardian enough
to understand something of their method - by channeling
their powers through the touch of the men-at-arms, they
could breach Minksa's awareness without rousing the
ward inherent in the will that possessed her. But progress
was torturously slow.
    Minksa's cries gradually subsided. Porcelain clinked,
solitary harpnotes against the stillness, as Ancinne cleared
the fragments of the breakfast dishes from the floor at

Elienne's bedside. She worked with feverish concentra-
tion, as though she could somehow negate the finality of
death by cleaning up the traces. Beyond her fat bulk,
Emrith knelt in trance, arms wrapped in an aura of light.
The translucent outline of an ingot drifted above his
spread fingers, and sweat beaded his forehead.
    Minksa hung motionless as a wax figure in the hold of
the guards. Taroith walked forward and examined the
streaked, bloody fist clenched like stone in the gauntlet of
the elder man-at-arms. 'I thought so,' he murmured,
beckoning Darion nearer.
    The Prince entered the flood of brilliance cast by the
focuses of three League Masters. He shielded his eyes.
Rigid as glass, Minksa remained frozen in a pose of
savagery. Her expression dismembered thought. Darion
wrenched his gaze away.
    'Look here,' said Taroith at his side. 'But take care not
to touch.'
    The Prince bent close. The guardsmen seemed lifelessly
immobile as their captive; even their breathing was sus-
pended. Stunned by the scope of energy needed to subdue
a mere girl, Darion took a moment to notice the glint of
metal on Minksa's finger. Gummed with clotted blood, a
gold ring nestled between her whitened knuckles.
    The Prince recognized the form with an ugly shock.
'The Demon of Hellsgap? Faisix did this?'
    Taroith rubbed his neck with glazed knuckles. 'Appear-
ances may be deceptive, but yes, I believe so. Though I
cannot begin to guess how he accomplished the feat from
a warded cell.'
    'He'll pay with his life.' Darion's words were clipped by
rage.
    Taroith made no attempt to dissuade him. Instead he
drew the Prince aside. 'I'm going to require help. When

274                                                                                       275

Emrith completes his transfer, ask him to summon all but
two of the Masters from Faisix's cell. They're needed
here.'
    The Sorcerer returned to Minksa. Darion waited fret-
fully for Emrith to rouse from trance. Rain snaked watery
streaks across a view flat gray with fog. Caught in a
dreamlike sense of isolation, the Prince crossed the carpet
to Eiienne's bedside. He sat, and tried not to think of the
still form beneath the stained sheet in the crib. Beside
him, his Lady lay peacefully asleep, long hair caught in
her lashes. Darion smoothed the strands aside, dreading
the moment she would awake and remember.
    'We should never have interfered with you,' he
murmured.
    Ancinne lifted a tray load of shards from the rug. 'Your
Grace?'
 'Nothing.' Darion stood restlessly.
    Across the chamber, Emrith stirred and opened his
eyes. He hefted a thick bar of iron, blinked once, and
directed an interested glance at Minksa and the guards-
men. Darion rose and delivered Taroith's instructions
promptly, anxious to see the Master gone from the room.
    Emrith stood. He offered the ingot, black hair shadow-
less as night against the glare of his soulfocus. 'My
condolences upon the death of your heir, your Grace.'
    'Do you equate murder with death?' Darion's hand
closed forcibly over metal still warm from transfer. 'Save
your pity for those tragedies without malice.'
    The Sorcerer bowed and moved silently to the door.
He let himself out without looking back.
    Though Darion knew he had spoken rashly, concern
for Elienne left no space for regret. With her loved one's
baby murdered by the only friend she possessed in Pen-
daire, mistrust might well drive her to solitary despair.

He vowed he would prevent that, though he forfeit his
own peace. Whether Elienne hated him permanently for
interference, he would not abandon her to grief.
    A crackle of sound and a blast of wind ripped the air at
his back. Darion left the doorway and saw the League
Sorcerers Emrith had summoned arrive by direct transfer
from Faisix's cell. Three moved at once to Taroith's aid.
    The fourth, a vigorous old man with a scarred cheek,
strode over and lifted the iron from the Prince's numbed
grasp. 'Your Grace, you have my deepest sympathy.
Should you or your Consort require anything, please
don't hesitate to ask.'
    The Prince twisted the seal ring on his finger, eyes
shadowed by a fallen wing of hair. 'Spare the girl, Master
Duaire. She was a tool ruthlessly used.'
    'Your Grace, we shall try.' Duaire hesitated, as though
he might add more. But after an uncomfortable interval,
he quietly joined his colleagues, his face a mask of
determination.
    Darion settled wearily into a chair. Sounds of voices
and footsteps filtered through the suite. A guard captain
shouted for order. The Prince cringed inwardly. Already
a crowd of courtiers had gathered beyond his door,
curious and hungry for details. Let the steward handle
them, he thought viciously, in no mood to confront the
inquisitive pity of the household. Their loss was only
symbolic.
    Sorcery brightened the far side of the chamber. Darion
glanced around, dazzled by a raw pulse of power. The
League Sorcerers stood in a circle, stark as silhouettes
against the glare. The Prince shielded his eyes, saw the
crimson arc of the ring's ward snap back into existence.
Minksa cried out, netted by a blaze of energy. The fist

276                                                                        277

containing the ring was obscured by the stellar incandesc-
ence of League forces.
    Presently the effect relented. Darion beheld the image
of the Demon of Hellsgap outlined in fire above Minksa's
head. The girl hung limp as death in the grasp of the
guards.
    Taroith suddenly stepped aside from the Sorcerers who
tinged her still body. His robed form gleamed orange as
metal under a smith's hammer in the sultry glare of the
demon-form.
    'Khavillein,' he called boldly, naming the creature in
the Loremaster's tongue. 'Who has sanctioned your pres-
ence here?'
    The demon-form writhed, sinuous amid smudged bil-
lows of smoke. It spoke like the scrape of stones. 'Faisix,
Torka!'s master.'
   Darion felt           perspiration chill between his
shoulderblades.
    'Khavillein,' said Taroith again, his voice a peal of
command. 'By natural law, that is impossible.'
    Laughter filled the chamber and echoed cruel and
impersonal against the walls. Darion felt his flesh prickle.
    Taroith moved. Sudden light snapped from his hand.
Wind fanned his robe. The demon-form dissolved onto a
roil of scarlet. Its laughter changed pitch, and the inflec-
tions that answered were familiar.
    'Ielond spliced Time to grant Prince Darion his succes-
sion,' said Faisix in the same crisp tones that he had once
used to address Pendaire's Grand Council. 'I could do no
less to achieve his ruin. But unlike my predecessor, I
utilized means to accomplish simultaneous existence in
the same locus. This extension of my will is the result.'
Torpid as grease, the smoke coiled in the air, dimly
reassuming the serpentine outline of the demon. The

278

voice resumed, triumphant. 'Your Royal Grace, your heir
is dead. Mourn him. Avenge him. You shall sire no
other.'
  Darion tensed in his chair. Rage entered him like fire.
    Taroith turned suddenly from the image of Faisix's
summoning and shouted, 'Your Grace, stand clear!'
Darion slammed his chair back and strode forward.
Taroith intercepted, caught the royal wrists in a grip
like shackes. 'Your Grace!' Sweat slicked his white hair.
'Your Grace, if you loved your Guardian, stay clear!
What you see is a projection.'
    With more calm, Taroith elaborated. 'This evil can be
immobilized if iron is thrust through its center. But when
that is done, all existing connections must end. Faisix's
flesh will perish. The properties of the iron shall prison
his spirit, since that metal conducts no resonance of Black
Sorcery. Do you, as mortal sovereign, dare sentence a
man's soul to eternal confinement?'
    The Prince covered his face with his hands and stood
motionless for an extended interval, shadow pooled like
ink about his feet in the steady blaze of the wards. He
answered at last in the gritty tones of exhaustion. 'Yes.'
He unveiled an expression like etched stone. 'Let it be
done.'
    Abruptly Taroith released his hold. 'Your Grace, let
the responsibility be mine alone.' And before Darion
could reply, he caught the iron bar from Duaire.
    Taroith's soulfocus flared into view, curtaining him in a
white corona. The iron brightened, molten silver in his
hands, and lengthened into a rod a slender yard in length.
The Sorcerer raised the object like a weapon, whirled,
and thrust it upward through the hazy coils of the monster
that drifted above Minksa's bent head.

279

    Light exploded upon contact. The bar heated to incan-
descence, bright and sudden as lightning. Taroith released
it as though burnt. The metal tumbled, end over end, the
chime of impact as it struck floor overlaid by a scream
from Minksa.
  'Elienne!' the cry reflected restored intelligence.
    Minksa called out again, her tone roughened by horror-
ridden recognition. 'Elienne! Elienne!'
    The guardsmen released her. Anguished by memory,
Minksa raised marked fingers to rake her face. Duaire
stooped and caught her before she could inflict injury. His
own focus flashed, flat as a mirror overhead. The girl fell
limp in his arms.
    She lay like a shot animal against his maroon robe.
Duaire straightened, his features heavy with sorrow.
'Ma'Diere's infinite mercy, what are we going to do with
her?'
    He glanced at the Prince. But Darion seemed mesmer-
ized by the rod, which had come to rest at his feet, a cool
blue-gray against the soft pastels of the carpet. The demon
ring was imbedded deeply in the smooth sheen of the
metal's surface.
    Taroith answered, finally, blistered fingers poised
against his forearms. 'By law, she must be confined. But
for her sanity's sake, not alone. Will you stay with her?'
    Duaire strode at once for the door. But his departure
was hampered by the arrival of yet another League
Sorcerer.
    The newcomer crossed the chamber and stopped before
Taroith. 'Master, Faisix has gone into a coma.'
    'I expected as much.' Taroith bent and gingerly
retrieved the iron rod. 'He'll not recover.'
    With a short gasp of dismay, his colleague removed the
object from his wounded grasp. Taroith murmured brief

thanks and addressed the Prince. 'Your Grace, the Grand
Council must be called into session. As Regent, I can
officiate, if you wish to be absent.'
    Darion stirred as though roused from deep sleep. 'Your
hands . . .'
    '... are no impediment, your Grace.' Taroith's fea-
tures softened. 'I'd hardly be worthy of League status if I
could not mend damage to my own person.'
    A guardsman's boot scraped uneasily against the floor.
Darion fingered the creased cloth of his shirt and looked
up, finally, hazel eyes darkly troubled. 'I won't leave my
Consort, at least until she wakens.'
    'That won't happen before nightfall,' said Taroith. 'But
the Council has no need of your presence. Stay by her if
you wish.'
    Darion crossed woodenly to the bed where Elienne lay.
Oblivious to Ancinne's protests, he tossed off the blan-
kets, lifted his Consort's slight body in his arms, and
started for the door to his own chamber with the Lady-in-
waiting at his heels. He lifted the latch. Ancinne tried to
follow and found herself rudely excused. Darion crossed
the threshold alone and kicked the oaken panel shut with
untempered violence.

Rain pattered steadily against the casements of the royal
apartment when Elienne returned to awareness. Eyes
closed, in utter stillness, she listened between the soft
drip of water from the eaves for the thin cry of an infant.
No sound answered. No sound ever would. Ielond was
dead. His absence left a hollow of silence in which thought
drowned, without echo. Someone's arms tightened gently
around her, though she had made no move to indicate
that she was awake.
 She wished no words of consolation. But the other did

280                                                                                     281

not speak. Buoyed by the steady, undemanding haven of
the embracing arms, Eiienne recorded the firm warmth of
the Prince's body sheltering her. His shirt smelled faintly
of cloves; her head was pillowed in the hollow beneath
his chin. His hands locked across her back, an anchor
against the currents of grief. The shirt was unlaced at his
neck; he still wore his hose.
    For a very long while, he simply held her close, while
the candle by his elbow burned slowly lower in its stand.
Through dull, half-opened eyes, she recognized the bed-
chamber and remembered that the counterpane that
covered her was emblazoned with the stag of Pendaire's
royal house. The night surrounded her like Eternity,
endlessly empty and cold.
    When E!ienne spoke, finally, her tone was dead against
the sibilant splash of the rain. 'She said I would die
truthful.'
    Darion stirred, placed his wrist across the back of her
neck, and cupped her face in his hand. A lengthy interval
elapsed before he responded at all. 'Who said?'
    The candle guttered, all but spent. Elienne lay motion-
less without replying. He did not press her and for a long
while the rain trickled, unregarded down the blackened
glass of the casements. Words came much later, with
great reluctance. 'The Seeress.'
    Darions's fingers moved. He caught her strongly and
lifted her until her head rested against his shoulder. His
face bent next to hers, eyes fathomless as pools in the
dying wisp of flamelight. 'The Trinity of Fortune? Are
you telling me you knew of this in advance, even since the
betrothal banquet?'
 Numbed, Eiienne nodded.
    'Ma'Diere's infinite mercy,' Darion said softly. The
whisper of the wind claimed the silence his words left

upon the air. Elienne caught the clean scent of thawed'
earth, and noticed that the casement had been left cracked
open. Darion's fingers soothed her hair. She waited,
between the strokes of his hands, for the kick of a child
against her breast.
    The Prince's touch stilled. 'How did you keep your
sanity?'
    The candle flickered out, the wick a red pinprick against
dark. Elienne felt a calloused palm brush over her eyes,
walling away the sight, along with any associations
dredged back by a chance gleam of scarlet. She turned
her face into his neck, felt the prickle of chestnut hair.
After prolonged quiet, her voice emerged, muffled. 'In
Trathmere, the boy would have miscarried, consequence
of my own misconduct.'
    There was more. Patiently, Darion held her, and
waited.

282                                                                      283

        15
The Trinity of Fortune

Seconds passed, unregarded, into minutes or hours; sus-
pended in grief, time had no meaning. When Elienne
spoke at last, her voice emerged beaten and flat with
exhaustion. 'I left my !and without hope. Had I stayed, I
would have lived as a conquerer's concubine.'
    Darion stroked her back, his hands warm through the
fabric of her nightrobe. Tortured by memory of Ielond's
tiny face, Elienne continued, her old pain a shield against
acceptance of the immediate past.
    'My husband's son would have been raised an overlord,
claimed as get of a Khadrach Inquisitor. He would have
matured a cruel man, accursed by his own people, for the
Khadrach know neither kindness nor mercy.'
    Elienne lifted her face to the Prince in raw appeal.
'Perhaps he is better dead.' A deep shiver ran through her,
and her breath caught.
    Darion shifted his embrace, clasped her tightly against
him. She yielded, helpless before the agony of loss. Tears
flooded, hot as blood, and splashed his dry collar. The
Prince offered no word of consolation; only the steady
comfort of his presence, as though he knew that every
sensation, even the impersonal touch of the coverlet
against her skin, created a reaction of pain. He held her
in total silence.
    The weeping that convulsed her eased and gradually
calmed. Darion stroked dampened hair back from her
temples, felt the slick tracks of tears that ran unabated

284

down her cheeks. 'Ielond was wrong to bring you,' he
said finally. 'Your grief would be less, born in hatred.'
    Elienne stirred in protest and covered his mouth with
unsteady fingers. 'No, Lord. In Trathmere, there would
be none to comfort me in this hour of despair,' and in
forced, broken phrases, she described the Khadrach
hordes that had invaded her land with armies and taken
her husband's life. 'Ielond spared me immeasurable suf-
fering,' she whispered when she had finished. 'I would not
have survived that first night with the Inquisitor.'
    Scraped raw with sympathy, Darion leaned close and
kissed her. His lips caressed her with agonized tenderness.
Trembling, Elienne responded, the salty taste of tears
bitter on her tongue. After a space he lifted his head and
cradled her face against his own. 'I love you.'
    Elienne lay quiescent in his arms, the wind beyond the
casement a lament in her ears. Cinndel seemed faded and
distant as a childhood fancy. 'Through your darkest hour,
maintain your courage,' Ielond had said. 'Remember I
have looked beyond and seen a beginning.' But the future
stretched before her like a vista without hope - she could
no longer deny that she loved Darion; and now, unavoid-
ably, his life once again might be threatened. 'My Lord,
what of your succession?'
    'Mistress, your sacrifice was not made in vain. The
headsman cannot touch me now.'
    'But there can be no lawful coronation until you have
offspring,' Elienne interrupted. Her voice broke, torn
short by a knot of pain for her lost child, and for the curse
that prevented conception of another.
    'I don't know,' he admitted. Betrayed by her nearness,
Darion's intended detachment came out transparently
strained. 'This is a precedent. The Grand Council will
have to rule one way or another.'

285

    Elienne laced both hands in his hair and drew him into
mother kiss. He quivered under her fingers. 'My Lord,'
she said in his ear. 'By my life, I swear, I will see you get
another heir.'
    His grip changed, and he drew her strongly against him.
Elienne clung to him and buried the sliver of ice in her
heart. Her promise to Darion was made in the knowledge
that her life with him might be sacrificed. She lay quietly
with him, and he who had not rested through two long
nights at last slept with her twined in his arms. Slowly
dawn silvered the black panes of the casement. The rain
eased and stopped, and spring sunrise spilled rosy light
beyond the darkened towers of the palace. In utter
stillness, Elienne listened reflexively between the song of
robins for the thin cry of an infant. No sound answered.
No sound ever would. Ielond was dead.

The Grand Council of Pendaire seemed eternally in
session. The murder of Darion's heir brought about
intensive study of the ancient Laws of succession, and
debate ensued concerning the legality of the impending
royal marriage and coronation, since by tradition the
ceremonies were held together. Though worn by exhaus-
tion and grief, Elienne dealt with the irritability of an
uncertain court with a sturdy self-reliance that bordered
at times upon belligerence. She maintained quarters in
the Prince's apartments and shared the wide bed with his
Grace through two sleepless nights. He stayed available
to her; painfully aware her women provided no comfort,
he deferred the hour when court responsibilities would
call him from her side.
    The morning following the baby's funeral, Mirette
brought the accustomed attire of mourning from the
wardrobe and met with blistering rebuke.

286

    'Put that back.' Elienne sat stiffly upon the edge of the
bed, hair coiled in elfiocks around the delicate lines of her
collarbone.
 Mirette hesitated fractionally too long.
    'I won't wear black, Mistress,' said the Consort with
such unrestrained vehemence that Darion left the atten-
tions of his valet and set his hands lightly on her shoulders.
Elienne started and glanced up at his face in sudden,
anguished appeal. 'I don't need to be reminded. Your
Grace, the boy is beneath the soil. Let me put him behind
me as swiftly as possible.'
    Darion gathered her close and spoke quietly to Mirette.
'Please bring my Consort something else to wear.'
    The Lady-in-waiting curtsied with rigid courtesy and
walked back to the wardrobe. Cued by the fixed set of her
back, Darion resolved to seek an elderly woman who
would not be discomforted by Elienne's difficult
temperament.
    Mirette returned with a white and gold dress gathered
at the waist with a girdle of topaz and pearl. Eiienne
pulled free of Darion's embrace and accepted the gown
without comment. He lingered while she donned it,
impressed by her fierce determination to shed her loss
and act for the future. In all his life, he had never known
a woman with her resilience of character. 'Elienne?'
    She paused with one wrist halfway down a sleeve, dark
eyes swollen and heavily circled.
    Darion restrained an impulse to sweep her into his arms
again. 'I must leave you for the council chamber. Taroith
reports further absence on my part might not be wise.'
    'I'm going with you.' Elienne read protest on his
features and forestailed him. 'Don't argue. I know. They
will toss lelond's death about like drunks playing mum-
blety-peg. I'll weather it.' She hesitated, the shadow of an

287

uncertain smile upon her lips. 'Do you suppose they can
deny your right to marry before the wan and aggrieved
presence of your betrothed?'
    Darion caught his breath in wide surprise. After a
moment he lifted his head and laughed aloud. 'Eternity!'
he said the moment he could manage speech. 'Ielond
knew what he was about.' The Prince raked disordered
hair back with his fingers. 'Poor Jieles. He's going to be
sorely disappointed.'
 Elienne stared. 'I don't pity him.'
    'No?' Darion responded to the discreet touch of his
valet and lowered his head to receive the ornate collar of
state. 'Then dress, you crafty shrew. We don't want to
keep him waiting.'
    Yet despite the unprecedented and steadfast presence
of the Consort at the Prince's side, the Grand Council
managed to extend debate over a fortnight. The stress
began to wear heavily upon the Prince. Attuned to his
emotional state as she once was to Cinndel's, Elienne
began cautiously to extend what release she could. Nights
alone in the royal suite became a haven of shared solace
for both of them. Darion demanded nothing. Conscious
her body required space for readjustment following child-
birth, he settled, apparently content with the comfort of
her presence. Yet lying awake in the darkness with his
arms loosened in sleep across her breast, Elienne won-
dered whether he guessed her hesitation was rooted also
in uncertainty.
    The Seeress's prophecy troubled her still, though the
Trinity of Fortune might have resolved completely with
Ielond's death. Now no stranger's child by her could
possibly claim the heirship. But the statement for the
realm had yet to be determined. Either Jieles or one of

his sons would have to be crowned for Halgarid's blood-
line to inherit fifteenth in succession. E!ienne's fingers
tightened over the Prince's wrist. Though Darion was
spared execution, the Grand Council might well deny him
kingship until he had sired a new heir. How many years,
she wondered, could he rule childless without dispute or
conspiracy arising to supplant him?
    The Prince sighed beside her, disturbed by restless
dreams. Elienne traced the tense muscles of his shoulder,
anxious to know whether she dared allow her love for him
free rein. But bound to the Grand Council's decision, like
him, she could do little but wait.
    Outdoors, the days warmed under the first breath of
spring. Elienne resumed riding in the early hours of
morning, with the Prince mounted at her side. The
exercise helped ease the tension generated from long
hours in the council chamber, and through Darion's
company, she saw the hills and forests of Pendaire in a
new light. Landmarks inspired him to recite ballads from
the early years of the realm, and gradually she absorbed
knowledge of the local history. Set against the rich and
varied past of an ancient kingdom, Faisix's curse of
childlessness imposed upon the Prince awakened fresh
depths of anger. For the first time, Elienne fully under-
stood Ielond's motivation to break the barrier of Time in
Darion's behalf. And though she would regret lifelong the
loss of Cinndel's child, she accepted why the Sorcerer
might have sanctioned the sacrifice in view of the greater
good. The boy would not have survived in Trathmere.
And in truth, the Sorcerer had not lied. '1 cannot promise
such choice will be without peril, but the Prince is a just
man, and your son would become heir to Pendaire's
throne.' Ielond had never guaranteed the child would
inherit.

288                                                                                        289

    'You're very quiet,' said Darion at her side. He ducked
his head as his mount carried him under a low-slung
branch.
    E!ienne watched him straighten in reserved silence,
unwilling to voice her thoughts.
    The Prince laced long fingers through his horse's mane.
'You're brooding again. May I ask why?'
    But Elienne neatly sidestepped the issue. 'Do you
suppose we could visit Minksa this afternoon?'
    Darion checked, dark brows hooked sharply into a
frown. 'Why? Mistress, the girl is tormented with guilt.
Duaire has all he can handle just preserving her sanity.'
    The mare tossed her head as Elienne pulled her up
short. She met the Prince's displeasure with a raised chin.
'I was her only friend. What happened was not her fault.'
Elienne felt her voice begin to shake, and cursed her loss
of control. 'I want to forgive her.' And maddeningly,
emotion threatened her control.
    Darion reached across and touched her cheek. 'My
tough Lady, I admire your courage. But the event is too
recent for you both. If you break down and weep in
Minksa's presence, you'll cause her no end of harm. Give
yourself time. Everything doesn't heal in a day.'
  Elienne's expression turned mutinous.
    'All fight.' Darion sighed and returned his hand to the
rein. 'I'll ask Duaire. But you'll abide by his judgment,
won't you?'
    'I'll beat you to the cedars,' said Eiienne with total
incongruity. With an impish grin, she kicked her horse
into a gallop. A mud clod thrown up by the marc's hooves
struck the Prince and left a rich splatter on his impeccable
white lawn sleeve.
    'Bitch,' he murmured fondly, and tossed his own animal
its head.

290

Yet when Darion and his Consort returned from their
ride, the subject of Minksa was never reopened. Taroith
awaited them at the stables. Early sunlight burnished his
hair to silver as he crossed the courtyard, his step urgent.
Darion halted his horse, and Elienne saw the pleasure
fade from his face.
    'Your Grace, I bring news,' said Taroith at once. 'The
Earl of Torkal's body has perished.'
    The Prince gave the Sorcerer a dark, unreadable glance
and vaulted lightly from the saddle. A groom took his
horse. He caught the marc's reins while his Consort
dismounted, concern evident in his movements. 'There's
more, or you wouldn't have met me.'
    Taroith raised his voice over the crack of hooves as a
second groom led Elienne's mare to the stable. 'There is
more. The Select met separately concerning Faisix's
death. They also drafted a final decision on your
succession.'
    Darion's response was clipped as he took his Consort's
arm. 'Has the Grand Council yet endorsed anything?'
    Elienne looked from his tautly controlled features to
Taroith, but the Sorcerer's expression was equally stiff.
The birdsong and the bright, cloud-flecked sky seemed
suddenly false as illusion around her, and happiness
became a lost dream.
  Abruptly, Darion started across the bailey.
    Taroith matched his long stride and said cautiously,
'Your Grace, the Council is presently in session, for the
purpose of the vote.'
    The muscles of Darion's jaw tightened. He steered
Eiienne clear of a puddle and mounted the marble stair
before the entrance without voicing the obvious: The
Council might have waited for his return before present-
ing the Select's writ for approval. Instead, he said, 'What
are the terms?'

291

     Taroith's sigh was buried by the boom of the door panel
 as it swung under Darion's hand. 'That you marry your
 Consort at the week's end and head the Grand Council
 with a Regent's powers, coronation and kingship subject
 to the birth of a living heir. I think the writ will pass, this
 time.'
     E!ienne clung to Darion's arm as he stopped just past
 the threshold. 'Will Jieles retain the heirship in the
 interim?'
     The door swung shut at Taroith's back, and his face fell
 into shadow. 'Lady, that much could not be argued. The
 Duke of Liend is of Halgarid's line.'
     Yet the pause that followed only fueled Elienne's
 apprehension.
    'If the Grand Council is voting, I would prefer to be
present,' said Darion suddenly. He turned down the
corridor, oblivious to his mud-stained shirt and the chest-
nut hair still disordered from the morning's gallop in the
hills.
    Elienne hurried to keep pace with him, heart pounding
beneath the heavy wool of her riding habit. If Darion's
life became the only obstacle between Jieles and the
crown, the Prince's safety would never be secure. The
Duke of Liend had once sanctioned his own daughter's
murder for the sake of power. Elienne felt sweat spring
coldly along her spine.
    Darion approached the entrance to the Grand Council
chamber and snapped a command, which the door stew-
ard leaped to obey. The servant performed his bow of
obeisance to an empty hallway as the Prince and his
Consort passed quickly within, Taroith behind them.
    The moment she entered the wide oval chamber,
E!ienne knew the vote was already in progress. The
galleries above were largely empty, observers having been

denied entrance to the session. The vacant seats lent a
sense of desolation, as though the people of Pendaire had
no voice at all in the succession of their Prince. E!ienne
quelled rising alarm as Darion led her across the wide
expanse of mosaic and up the stair to the central dais.
    Taroith quickly assumed the seat appointed for the
Regent. The Prince located a chair for his Consort, but
Elienne refused it. Like Darion, she preferred to remain
on her feet. Already the Chancellor of the Realm tallied
the black and white chits deposited in the ballot box by
the councilmen.
    At length the Chancellor rose. He spoke softly to the
Herald, who finally mounted the dais and stood before
the stone rostrum. Sound died in the wide, tiered chamber
as he drew breath to announce the result.
    'Your Grace, Excellency, august Lords of the Grand
Council, the vote is four hundred thirty-six to fifty-two in
favor of the writ, now made official by Law.' He repeated
the terms Taroith had recited earlier: Darion and his
Consort would be married upon the date appointed, the
Prince's authority to be limited to Regent until the birth
of a new heir.
    Buffeted by courtiers who suddenly crowded the dais
to congratulate the Prince, Elienne barely noticed as
Darion's arms circled her.
    'They expect me to embrace my bride,' he said in her
ear.
    She returned Darion's kiss with unresponsive lips,
feeling the tension that gripped his spare body. He
released her to a thunderous roar of applause.
    Elienne looked around and saw Jieles regarding her
with exaggerated deference and hostile eyes. 'My most
sincere felicitations, Lady.' He bent his fiery head and
reached to kiss her hand.

292                                                                                            293

     He knows he will inherit, Elienne thought, disturbed
 by his blatantly aggressive overtones. She withdrew from
 the Duke's touch with an absent nod and spoke quickly
 to Darion. 'Your Grace, please excuse me. I must see
 Taroith.' And before the Prince could react~ $h› $]jpp~
 from his grasp and weaved through the press of bodies
 toward the Regent's seat. But Taroith had already gone.
     Quickly Eiienne searched the surrounding courtiers.
 The slightest delay would weaken her. The only possible
 way Darion could gain the throne of Penclaire was for her
 to renounce her place in his life.
     A knot of officials drifted toward the dais steps. In their
 midst, Elienne glimpsed a gray robe banded in black silk.

Taroith paused, cloak draped over his arm, and waited
for her to make her way to his side.
    Elienne ignored the frowning man whose conversation
she had interrupted. 'Gifted, may I see you at once, in
private?'
    The Sorcerer's brows rose. Sharp brown eyes studied
her, and the courtier commented unpleasantly about the
intransigence of women in matters of state.
    Taroith responded shortly. 'My Lord, I find your opin-
ion bereft of any grace, even intelligence. Will you excuse
me?' And he escorted Eiienne promptly from the dais.
    'You would hardly approach me for something unim-
portant,' he said as they passed beyond earshot. 'Don't
mind that ignorant fool.'
    Yet just such an ignorant fool had power to influence
Darion's future; Elienne was not placated. She walked
across the brightly tJJed rnosa~c floor, reminded of a
morning nearly ten months past when she had crossed the
council chamber with the same Sorcerer, her purpose to
warn him of Faisix's plot against the Prince. She wondered

 whether Taroith would prove sympathetic as he had
 during that first encounter.
     The Sorcerer touched her arm gently, urging her for-
 ward. 'We'll go to my personal study. You'll be comfort-
         a ~rc, and no one will trouble us. 'Hie soul
 focus brightened overhead to light the way.
     Elienne moved woodenly at his side. If Taroith proved
 unsympathetic to her plan, all she hoped to gain for
 Darion might be lost. She was grateful, suddenly, that she
 had not had time to change after her ride. The plain green
 wool of the habit became a symbol of unpretentious
 origins, before she had been ranked a Princess. Her
 resolve was strengthened by the belief she would be
belonged ~o the people of Penclaire.
    After uncounted turns and two flights of steps, Taroith
guided her through a plain door. The room beyond was
small, cozily furnished, and striped by wide bands of
sunlight from a row of dormer windows. Elienne perched
uneasily in the armchair opposite the desk while the
Sorcerer laid aside his cloak and kindled the stacked logs
in the grate with his focus. A small tabby cat slept curled
on the scarlet cushions of the window seat. Elienne envied
its peace. Taroith seated himself and waited expectantly.
Chills chased her skin into gooseflesh; yet having gone
this far, she would not flinch from completing what she
had come to initiate.
    'Gifted.' She swallowed and started anew. 'Gifted, in
view of the Grand Council's decision, I've a confession to
make.' She met the Sorcerer's steady brown eyes with
rugged determination. 'I beg you to listen without judg-
ment, and to stand with me in finishing the work Ielond
began. If Darion is ever to claim his full birthright, VII
need your help.'

294                                                                                         295

     Taroith leaned forward on crossed arms, hair coiled
 like sea foam around his black-banded collar. 'Mistress,
 set your mind at ease. Much of what you've come here to
 relate may not surprise me. I am aware Ielond had a
 master plan; Darion's affliction is known to me.'
     Elienne gazed down at the scuffed leather toes of her
 riding boots, relieved to know the Sorcerer at least would
 not expose Darion's heirship as fraud. Bracelets clinked
 on her wrists as she forced her interlocked fingers to relax.
 In a steadier voice she said, 'Then you knew my child was
 not legitimate, and that Darion's seed was cursed to
 sterility by Black Sorcery?'
    Taroith straightened in his chair. 'Cursed.t Ma'Diere!
That ritual requires the death of a virgin girl! How was
such an evil thing accomplished?'
    'Faisix murdered Minksa's sister. The Prince was sev-
enteen at the time, yet he forbade his Guardian to work
the counterspell. Ielond broke the barrier of Time in an
effort to save him.' She described her departure from
Trathmere by Timesplice, and Ielond's certainty that her
dead husband's child could not be detected by Pendaire's
Sorcerers for a full three days following conception.
Taroith did not interrupt. Her words came with difficulty
as she related how the Seeress's prophecy obstructed any
chance of conceiving another man's child to become
Darion's heir. She finished flatly. 'Our marriage will
produce no children. But I know a way to ensure the
Prince's succession, and satisfy the prophecy, so that
Halgarid's line will inherit after him.'
    The tabby stretched in the window, pink tongue curled
into a yawn. When she leaped lightly onto Taroith's lap,
he stroked her fur with an absent hand, his expression
thoughtful. 'You have come to ask my help?'
 E!ienne mustered the last of her courage. 'Gifted, I ask

your cooperation. I cannot marry Darion, if he is ever to
inherit lawfully. Discredit me as Consort. Betroth the
Prince to Minksa, and get her pregnant by another man.'
Fiercely resolved, she raised hardened eyes to the Sorcer-
er's face. 'Her child will be of Halgarid's blood, thereby
satisfying the Trinity of Fortune.'
    Elienne leaned back in her chair, drained by stress and
poised on a knife edge of hope and loss. She had said
everything necessary. The Sorcerer had only to approve,
and Darion's future could be assured.
    Taroith lifted the cat and released her on the rug. His
cragged features showed little of his thoughts as he laced
his hands together on the desk top. 'What of yourself?'
    Elienne answered briskly, 'I am nothing in this world.
Spare your Prince, Gifted. He is the future of Pendaire.'
    The Sorcerer bent his head and watched the tabby stalk
across the carpet, tail held haughtily aloft. Beyond the
windows, a quarterstaff cracked flatly as a hackbut against
silence. Taroith swore. The Prince was at practice again.
    'Mistress,' he said at last, 'your offer is the gift of an
honest and unselfish heart. Yet I advise against such a
course of action.'
    'What else can I do?' She felt concerned. 'Gifted, for
Darion's sake... I have no other choice.'
    'There is always choice, Lady.' Taroith raised his voice
over the din of weaponry from the courtyard. 'Accept
your Prince as husband. Unless my awareness of you errs
badly, you love him as you once did the father of your
deceased child.'
    'But the prophecy!' Elienne protested. To her annoy-
ance, Taroith smiled. The thought that he might be
patronizing her sparked anger. 'Black Eternity, Gifted,
does Darion's life mean nothing to you? Do you want
Jieles to rule?'

296                                                                         297

    The Sorcerer rose. Gray velvet rustled as he rounded
the desk and caught her tense shoulders with firm fingers.
'Elienne, you base your assumption on ]?awed facts. The
Trinity of Fortune is incomplete without all of its parts.
Did you think to ask Darion for his third?'
    E!ienne shook her head, stubbornly resistant to com-
fort. 'Gifted, Darion was drugged unconscious at the time
the Seeress delivered the prophecy to him.'
    'It's not lost.' Taroith's hold tightened. 'A Seeress's
words never pass unheard. Ask Darion for his portion of
the Trinity. Afterward, if you still wish to renounce your
Consortship, come back, and we'll talk. But I caution
you: Ielond chose you for the Prince's bride. Trust there
was purpose behind his selection. Change might well
disrupt the legacy he left his ward.'
    The Sorcerer urged Elienne to her feet. Beyond the
window, the interplay of quarterstaffs reached a cres-
cendo. 'Score!' shouted Darion.
    Taroith smiled. 'You're dressed for the outdoors. Go
to your Prince.'
    Doubts lingered in her thoughts as she reached the
door. The tabby blocked her path, and Elienne bent to
move the animal aside.
    'Lady!' The Sorcerer shouted, razor-edged with
urgency. 'Summon Darion.'
    Elienne started and whirled around, surprised rather
than frightened.
    Taroith overtook her in two long strides. The cat
streaked out of his path. 'Use the mirrowstone, at once.'
He grasped her forearm and wrenched open the door.
 B_u_.n. cl_l.e_d_ u_.n.c_e_r_e__m__o__n_i_Qu~s_[~V i~nto the corridor, Elienne
gasped. 'What's happening?'
      'Call Darion to Minksa's chamber, now.' Taroith

298

turned a corner and plunged down the stairway, his fingers
like iron upon her wrist. 'Minksa's dying.'
    Elienne groped at her neck for the mirrowstone's chain.
The echoes of her own footfalls beat at her ears as the
jewel caught in her palm. She sent a mental call to the
Prince; his surprise struck her in a wave of cold, and she
sensed him fling aside his quarterstaff in dismay.
    '... stabbed herself.' Breathlessly, Taroith ducked into
a corridor. 'Duaire tries to hold her to life, but her spirit
is unwilling, for reasons - ' He broke off suddenly, then
said, 'Oh, Ma'Diere. So this was the outcome Ielond
foresaw.' He stopped so suddenly she slammed into his
side. The Sorcerer caught her close with his other hand.
'Mistress, keep steady. We're going to transfer.' And the
narrow stair exploded into light.
    Wind slapped into E!ienne's skirts. A flash of energy
scalded her, and emptiness yawned under her feet. The
sensations ceased with a snap. As her eyes adjusted,
Elienne viewed a small, candlelit chamber, sparsely fur-
nished. A tray of food steamed on a side table. Beyond,
Duaire bent over a slight, familiar form, the hem of his
robe darkened crimson. He spoke without looking up.
'Mercy upon her. She used a fork. Taroith, I couldn't hold
her. Something concerning a debt to the prince and his
betrothed, and far too strong to countermand.'
'I know what it was,' Taroith sighed. 'Is she gone?'
Duaire's shoulders sagged as he straightened. 'Yes.'
Yet another loss, Elienne thought. Minksa had been a
friend. Tormented as her short life had been, the girl had
not deserved such an end. These were the fruits of the

    'Summon me a circle of seven Masters. But spare
yourself, Duaire. You've spent enough of your strength.'
                299

With careful hands, Taroith lifted Minksa's corpse from
the floor.
    E!ienne watched dully as small, streaked fingers fell
away from the smeared handle of the fork.
    'Don't look,' said Duaire unexpectedly out of the
darkness at her side. He caught her close; the sounds of
the other Sorcerers' arrival was muffled by the fine cloth
of his sleeve.
    Suddenly Darion's voice cut clearly through the noise.
'Taroith! No! I forbid this!'
    E!ienne twisted clear of Duaire's hold and saw the
Prince standing in the doorway, pale features set with
denial. His shirt lay open at his throat, and sweat gleamed
on his collarbones. Across from him, ringed by six League
Sorcerers, Taroith leaned over Minksa's limp form, hands
stained red from handling her, and head bent in apparent
deference.
    Yet when he looked up, determination etched new lines
across his lean face. 'Your Grace, the girl died believing
she granted you deliverance.'
    'No.' Darion made a trapped gesture with his hand,
breathing hard. The stag medallion flashed on his chest.
'You'll work no darklore for my sake. I refuse to see you
damned.'
    But Taroith was not deterred. 'Would you permit Faisix
to reverse the curse against you?'
    'He's dead.' The prince spoke aggressively, clear warn-
ing his temper neared the breaking point.
    'Not precisely.' Taroith paused, as though waiting. His
gaze stayed locked upon the Prince. A moment later, one
of his colleagues entered carrying the iron bar that con-
fined the demon ring which had once driven Minksa to
murder. The Sorcerer handed the rod to Taroith, who'
raised it balanced across his palm. Stillness settled over

300

the little room, and Elienne held her breath as he
addressed the Prince. 'Your Grace, if I release the ring
and place it upon my own hand, Faisix's projection will
supplant my will. With seven Masters present to direct his
influence, I believe he may be pursuaded to reverse your
affliction, in the same manner as it was originally cast.
Our offense against Ma'Diere's Law will be but slight.'
His tone turned stony. 'Faisix was not the only adept
about with a touch for mindbend.'
    Darion stepped out of the doorway, stern profile
bronzed by flamelight. 'There's danger to you.'
    Taroith gripped the bar of iron on either side of the
ring and stared at the bright gold glitter of the demon as
though he and the Prince were alone. 'Of course. Should
my colleagues lose control, yes, there is danger. There is
danger in all sorcery. But I assume that risk, as is my
fight.' He looked up in sincere appeal. 'Trust me, your
Grace.'
    'I understand.' The words seemed tortured from Dar-
ion's throat. Fallen hair veiled his expression as he blotted
his brow with his sleeve. 'Please take my Consort from
the room. I will not risk her to Faisix again.'
 Duaire moved to Elienne's side and took her elbow.
 'No, please. I wish to stay.'
    But Duaire paid no attention. He caught her arm with
uncompromising firmness, just as Taroith set his hand on
the ring, soulfocus stark as a beacon over his head.
Heated air fanned her hair as Duaire steered her toward
the door, and a harsh blaze of scarlet rinsed the walls.
Duaire guided her firmly outside. The corridor went dark
as the latch fell shut under his hand.
    The subdued light of the Sorcerer's focus drove the
blackness back. She sat down on the cold stone, weary,
feeling decades older than the desperate woman who had

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first come to Pendaire with lelond. 'I wanted to forgive
her,' she said at last.
    Duaire sighed, scarred features troubled by memories
of his own. 'Minksa could not forgive herself. All her life,
she was used as a pawn in this mad play for power. She
died believing your heirs would bring an end to the
feuding. Mourn her loss, but do not dishonor her sacrifice,
my Lady. The decision to take her life was hers alone.'
    Elienne waited in silence. From within the cell came a
rumble of thunder and a sharp metallic clang; she heard a
Sorcerer's voice say, 'Your Grace, I suggest you burn that
garment.' After an interval, the door opened, throwing
yellow light into the corridor. Darion emerged, shiftless,
his face a mask. Taroith followed on his heels, haggard
with weariness. He had rinsed his hands. Eiienne watched
the approach of the Sorcerer and the Prince and thought,
it's over now. It's all over.
    Gently Darion pulled her up from the stone. Elienne
leaned against him and listened to the steady beat of his
heart.
    Taroith shoved damp hair back from his brow and
broke the silence with a curt command. 'Your Grace, tell
Elienne your third of the Trinity of Fortune.'
    Darion swore in mild surprise. 'Wasn't she told?' And
he leaned close, a trace of life restored to his expression.
'The Seeress promised me my heart's desire.'
    'Your succession.' Elienne traced his jawline with hesi-
tant fingers. 'I'm glad.'
    'Ma'Diere.' Darion laughed and lifted her effortlessly
into his arms. 'No, love. My heart's desire was nothing
less than a child of my own, by you.'
    'The curse has been reversed.' Taroith raised an iron
rod newly bent into a seamless ring. The demon glittered
hotly, imbedded immovably in a surface that glowed white

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with wardspells. 'Lady, I can promise with Eternity's
finality Faisix will cause no more harm to your children.'
    Darion cradled her close. The Sorcerers fell behind as
he moved off down the corridor. Elienne felt his grip shift
as he started up the stairs.
    'I can walk,' she said. When he failed to respond, her
protest turned heated. 'Lord, put me down!'
    But his arms only tightened. 'Not here, my future
Queen. I'm taking us both to the bedchamber. We've an
obligation to the realm of Pendaire.' He paused. Chestnut
hair tickled her cheek as he kissed her long and gently.
When he finally raised his head, a dawning glimmer of joy
shone through his solemnity. 'Our first male heir will be
named Cinndel. This time, by right of sovereignty, I'm
going to insist.'

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