Elvenbane

The younger elves were far more flexible than their elders, and there were some who had not yet lost their ideals. There were far more who simply disagreed with their elders because they were older and the ones in power.

It was possible that the sons could be induced to take up the cause, even threaten to revolt over this issue...

From what Keman had said, that was one of many possibilities. Some of the younger sons...and possibly daughters, from what she'd seen...were perfectly ready to take up almost any cause, so long as it meant their own particular grievance might also be addressed.

With Valyn to act as their spokesman, it was quite likely that they would be able to attract quite a few of these disaffected youngsters... And those that didn't bring their own agenda, might be induced to join from sheer boredom.

The turn of her thoughts astonished her, so much so that for a moment she even forgot her anger at Valyn. Since she'd been in the Citadel, she'd learned politics, she thought wryly. That was certainly something she'd never understood before. An awful lot of what the dragons did back at the Lair had begun to make sense. Their politics never got half as complicated as the machinations in the Citadel. And from everything Keman told her, that didn't begin to compare to politics among the elves.

So Valyn wanted to play with politics, did he?

All right. If he could get Shadow to agree to go along with this, she would, too. But this "handfasting" was going to be in name only, no matter what Valyn thought. And before too long, Valyn was going to be sorry he wasn't in Shadow's place.

She turned back to him, clenching her teeth into the semblance of a smile, and gave Valyn her answer.

ONLY THE HINT of red where there should have been nothing that color warned Shana that there was something wrong in the valley below and behind them.

And suddenly she had an uneasy feeling, a feeling that it might be better not to try a mage-sight scan of the valley. Kalamadea had something to say about that, too.

If the elven lords know that someone might be "watching" for them with inner eyes, they invariably lay spell-traps for those with mage-sight. Such traps lie completely dormant until the touch of a probe activates them...then a spell of coercion seizes the watcher in bounds few have been able to break, holding him entranced and unconscious until the elven lord can retrieve his prize at his leisure. Of all our number, only a handful can successfully spring these traps or break the coercion-spell in time to save the victim...or themselves. And that was only accomplished with much study and practice. I hope that I never need to put my knowledge of these things to the test.

:Keman?: she said urgently. :What was that flash of red down in the valley? Can you use heat-sight to see if it was just animals or birds?:

The young dragon was perched on the rockface above her, shape-changed just enough to look like rock. With the elven lords following them, Shana had deemed it a good idea to check their backtrail from time to time. :Is that what I think it is?: she asked, hoping he would say "no."

:It's elves, Shana,: Keman replied. :At least, I think it's elves. They have horses, and most humans aren't allowed to ride.:

She closed her eyes and tried to remember if she'd muddied the trail down there in the valley enough to confuse their pursuers for a while. Was there a stream down there?

Yes, she decided. There had been. And since they were all already soaking wet, she'd elected to have all of them walk upstream for a good long way to break the trail. So they had a little time.

But not much. And not enough for the bit of a rest she craved...

:I think we should get out of here,: Keman offered. :Fast.:

:I think you're right,: she said grimly.

Valyn reported another hunting party close behind them...but not the one Shana and Keman had spotted. This one had an elven mage with them, it seemed... one who was using his limited powers to "read" their trail. Valyn had only detected him by "feeling" the magic behind them, and going personally to see what it was.

A foolhardy move, or so he knew now. At the time, it had seemed sensible.

"Are you sure they didn't see you?" Keman asked, while Shana tightened her lips and looked annoyed at him. He knew what she was thinking. If he'd been spotted...

But he hadn't been, he thought with annoyance of his own. He was a better mage than the underling on their trail. In fact, now that he thought about it, she should have been glad he took the initiative like that.

"I wasn't seen, and I wasn't close enough to be seen," he replied crossly. "I'm not an infant. I've hunted before..."

"But you've never been the quarry," the girl interrupted. "How far behind us are they?"

"Not by much," he muttered uneasily. "But I covered our trail. He'll never read it through what I laid down."

"But he'll read the fact that someone muddled it with magic," she retorted. "I just hope he won't find it again for a while." She looked up at the leaden sky, and rain dripped down her face from the continual drizzle. "And I hope this stuff takes care of any other kind of trail we leave." Then, without another word, she shoved a dripping branch aside and turned down a game trail that was heading mostly north. Valyn hesitated a moment, then followed her, Shadow right on his heels, Keman bringing up the rear, his feet shape-shifted into deer hooves to confuse their tracks. And hopefully, their trackers.

He had wanted to protest that they needed to rest...but that was two sets of hunters they'd eluded now, and he wasn't sure how many more might be out here. Neither, evidently, was Shana.

This was not just for hunting children. Cheynar would never have committed more than one party for that. This was for wizard hunting...Cheynar knew, or guessed, that the children hadn't escaped on their own. And if he assumed there were wizards in their full powers out here...

Valyn's blood ran cold. There would be no quarter, and no escape, if Cheynar could help it.

Cheynar already disliked humans; where wizards were concerned, "hatred" was not an adequate term for what the elven lord felt. And as for what he'd do when he caught them...

Valyn tried to move a little faster.

Shana closed her eyes and thought of the harsh, scorching heat of the desert sun, of the soothing warmth of her bed at the Citadel, trying to conjure up a little of that to ease her wretchedness now. She failed completely.

They huddled together in soggy misery under the meager shelter provided by a fallen tree and a lean-to of pine boughs. All of them except Keman, that is; he had shape-shifted to something very like a small dragon, while Valyn had watched in fascination. Shana was used to seeing him shift; Valyn and Shadow had only seen it once...and at the time, they had been too overcome by shock to think about the mechanics of shape-changing. Neither of them had realized that Keman's "clothing" was part of him until he reabsorbed it this second time, just before the shift itself. They had gawked while she had gathered material for a shelter, and for a little bit her resentment at being the only one working had been enough to keep her warm.

Now Keman lay along the top of the log, watching for predators, keeping a mental eye out for their pursuers, perfectly comfortable, with his metabolism adjusted for the cold, and the rain sliding off his scales. And the three of them huddled together on the ground beneath him.

Wistfully, Shana wished for the same power. As the last into the shelter, she had gotten her clothing completely soaked; she shivered despite the nearness of the other two. In fact, she was too miserable to appreciate Valyn's proximity. She rubbed a nose that felt numb, and coughed, an ominous tickle in the back of her throat heralding more misery to come.

Mero sneezed, and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

"Are you all right?" Valyn asked his cousin anxiously. Shana suppressed another cough and a glower. But her annoyance rapidly melted beneath her general misery, and she had to fight back tears of self-pity. She didn't want to give way now. She had spent a great deal of time and effort on appearing tough and capable. There was no point in destroying all that work by resorting to weakness and leaking tears...

Even though she really wanted to break down and cry right at the moment; she was freezing and wretched and she had the feeling she was about to come down with something awful...and Valyn was worried because his stupid cousin had sneezed once.

"I think I'm getting another cold," Mero replied in a gluey voice; and under other circumstances Shana might have felt some sympathy for him, for he sounded as if he felt just as awful as she did.

"Shana..." Valyn said without turning (mostly because he couldn't; they were wedged in so tightly that none of them could move). "Shana, can't we do better than this? We can't afford for Mero to get sick, not now, not with Cheynar practically on top of us."

That again. As if she wasn't fully aware of it every waking moment and most sleeping, with a feeling of claws and fangs closing in and ready to rend her in pieces if she once closed her eyes. Fear was such a constant presence at her shoulder that she tasted the metallic flavor of it in her food, and her heart raced every time she heard a noise she couldn't readily identify. The equal fear in Valyn's voice was not enough to mollify her...he wasn't thinking of anyone but Mere, he wasn't even paying any attention to the fact that she was sick, too.

"No," she said shortly, her temper finally shattering and falling to bits. "No, we can't. This is the best I could do. Everything I've learned has had to do with attack and defense. I'm sorry, but nobody ever taught me how to conjure up shelter out of nothing."

She would have said more, but a coughing fit interrupted her, and Valyn craned his head around to look over his shoulder at her, his expression of annoyance turning to concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She shook her head, and shivered even harder as a trickle of cold water ran through the pine boughs and down the back of her neck. Despite her determination to show no weakness, to her complete mortification, she did start leaking tears out of the corners of her eyes.

Maybe they'll look like rain, she thought hopelessly. "I'm probably coming down with the same thing," she said around the lump in her throat. "And I don't think the weather is going to break for a while." Now she couldn't keep resentment out of her voice. "You elves are to blame for that...every time you muck around with the weather patterns somewhere, it throws something else off. This place has no business turning into a rain forest, but that's what's going on, and we're stuck in the middle of it." Valyn looked startled at her sudden outburst; she recollected herself, and softened her voice, putting an effort into sounding a little less accusatory. "At least Cheynar's not going to get around very fast in this mess."

She managed a tremulous smile, and got the tears stopped. Valyn frowned as she coughed again, her chest tightening painfully.

"We can't afford to have you sick either," he pointed out, gently. "Cheynar's not that far behind us. If you're sick, who's going to hunt, find the camps, and guide us through this place?"

"I don't think anybody's going to have a choice," she retorted. "And if I could magic up a big house with warm beds and hot drinks, don't you think I would?"

The thought started another tear down her cheek...its path was the only part of her that felt warm.

Valyn's jaw clenched, and he stared at her closely. "You look awful," he said. "And my guess is that Shadow's fevered. You're both going to be ill before nightfall."

And just what am I supposed to do about it? She retorted in thought. And what difference is it going to make?

Apparently it made some difference to Valyn. "That's it," he said decisively. "We don't have a choice, we need to get out of here and back to someplace civilized."

"Right," she replied, with an edge of sarcasm to her voice. The rain increased marginally; just enough to send another cold spill down through the branches onto the back of her neck. "I'll just stroll up to Lord Dyran's door and ask him if he'll please take us all in. After all, he should be overjoyed to see us; his renegade son, two halfblood wizards and a dragon."

To her surprise, Valyn half smiled. "That's not exactly what I had in mind," he said, his sweetly reasonable tone setting her teeth on edge. "But it is close. There's an old saying about the best place to hide being in the enemy's territory. So...let's try it."

"You mean...double back on Cheynar and try to hide with the slaves on his estate or something?" she asked, aghast. "We'd never get away with it!"

He shook his head. "That's a little too much of enemy territory...and besides, Cheynar has too many experts in detecting wizards. I think we ought to drop in on a friend of mine. The estate is within flying distance for Keman. If we went by night, he could ferry us one at a time without being seen. She's just the kind that's likely to take us in and hide us, just for the sheer thrill of harboring fugitives."

"A friend?" Shana replied, her voice rising until it caught on a cough. She wondered if Keman was listening to all this, and if he thought it as suicidal as she did. "What kind of friend would take us in? Or are you not going to tell her what we are? I'll warn you, after talking to Shadow I don't think Keman and I are going to pass close inspection as either humans or elves. You'll never pass us halfbloods as elves if we're sick, because you elves don't get sick that often, and if we're fevered you can bid farewell to any deceptions that we're human. We won't be able to hold the illusions...and your magic can be dispelled, and will leave telltales."

"Well...she's not precisely a friend." He flushed, and Shana got an odd feeling that there was more about this "friend" than he would ever tell anyone. "But...well...I can almost promise Triana won't turn us in to the rest. She's not what I'd call a conformist, and she doesn't treat her humans the way most everyone else does. She's not exactly in good graces with any of the elders...the only reason they don't come and confiscate the estate is because she never meddles in politics."

She wasn't a conformist? Which probably meant she did things she shouldn't. Ah! That might explain the flush. Shana's mouth twitched involuntarily, and she fought down a surge of jealousy.

Valyn paused, as if searching for the right words. "Let me see if I can make this clear to you. The elders opposed her becoming the head of the Clan so much that she's never forgiven them, and she hates the Council as much as they are contemptuous of her." He paused again to think. "I don't know exactly how she's going to react to seeing halfbloods, but I do know this much; she socializes with her humans, everyone in her personal household is young, and I've never seen her mistreat or condition a slave. Yet most of them are fanatically devoted to her, at least the ones I've seen."

"She sounds too good to be true," Shana said dryly. The ones you've seen...one wonders about the ones you haven't seen.

Valyn coughed and flushed again. "I have to admit that I've also never seen her really bestir herself for anyone or anything except her own pleasure. The truth is that she spends most of her time thinking up pastimes. And her parties are...ah...notorious. I've...been to a few. The reputation doesn't even begin to cover the reality."

That told her all she needed to know. She didn't think she was going to like this Triana much. But she didn't see what other choice they had. Shana clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached, and tried to think of an innocuous question instead of one of the dozen she wanted to ask.

Shadow raised his head from his arms. "So how are we going to get there, again? I must have missed it. And how are we going to get past Cheynar and his merry band?" Mero asked thickly.

"I think Keman can fly us over one at a time," Valyn said. "He might be able to take all of us at once, if I dare to take the chance of Cheynar detecting my magic and make us all much lighter temporarily."

"Absolutely not," Shana vetoed immediately. "Cheynar doesn't actually know for certain that you're with us, and I don't see any reason to let him find out." She thought for a moment, though with the pounding headache behind her cheekbones it was growing increasingly hard to do so. "There is something I would like to do, though, before we get there. I want arrow-shafts for those claw-trimmings of Keman's. Just in case this friend turns out to be less than friendly."

Valyn shuddered at the reminder of those claw-trimmings; she felt him shaking, though he tried to conceal it. She didn't much blame him; when she'd wistfully said one day that she wished she had some of the elf-shot the chronicles had mentioned, Keman had offered the tips from his claws. Valyn had been skeptical of the efficacy of those claw-bits, until an accidental scratch with one of the points inflamed immediately and sent him into a state of shock that kept them bound to one spot for days. That was what had enabled Cheynar to catch up with them.

Though the claw-tips seemed ill-omened to Valyn, Shana was convinced they'd prove an important weapon against the elves, and she had no intention of giving them up.

:Tell the young elven lord that I can fly two of you in tonight, and you and I can probably come in by dawn if we stay above the clouds.: Keman sounded perfectly confident, which relieved Shana. She had not been certain if he could carry one of them and still fly.

:You weigh no more than a large two-horn, or a small deer, little sister,: he chuckled. :I think I can manage.:

She relayed the information to Valyn, who sighed with relief equal to hers. "Then it'll be all right," he said.

Mero said something inaudible, sneezed, and tried again. "Valyn ought to go first," he said thickly.

"But you're sick..." Valyn began.

"And you're elven," Mero retorted. "And she knows you. Her servants won't dare interfere with you, and you can get us explained." He sneezed again, and Shana had to stifle a coughing spasm. Mero smiled weakly, and said, in what was probably an attempt at a joke, "If she won't take us in, just kill me, all right? It'd be better than being sick out here in the mud."

Shana lost her fight to control her coughs, and her body shook with the violence of the fit. When she finished, she croaked, "He's right. But there's an alternative."

"What's that?" Valyn asked anxiously.

"The desert," she told them. "Keman and I can live there, and if we can, so can you."

"If we can get across country. If we can get across my father's land without him sensing I'm there," Valyn replied gloomily. "If we can avoid him and his hunters."

His gloom communicated itself to her, and she snapped, "Well, it's better than no plan at all!"

He made no reply to her outburst, but then she really didn't expect one. She just huddled back against the trunk of the tree, tried to arrange herself so that the least number of drips hit her, and settled down to wait until sunset.

It seemed to be the longest wait in her life.

Valyn clung to the spinal crest of the dragon and tried not to look down. He'd done so once, and had nearly lost his grip and what little he had in his stomach.

While clouds blanketed the sky, they were low-lying clouds, and Keman had quickly climbed above them, even with the added burden of Valyn on his back. The moon shone brightly down on the mounds of white below as they climbed and headed southwards to elven lands; the full was a day or two away, and it was particularly bright up here in the clear air. It wasn't so bad while they flew above the wilderlands; the cloudscape below didn't look real, and Valyn could convince himself that it was all a very skillfully wrought illusion. But when they reached Cheynar's lands and beyond, the cloud-cover finally broke, and Valyn had made that fatal error of looking down...

He finally kept his eyes tightly closed, and hoped he wouldn't disgrace himself too badly.

He had thought that Keman would have him sit over the dragon's shoulders, just behind the neck and in front of the wings...but instead, Keman had him position himself behind the wings and just in front of the hindquarters: He saw why, now...the muscles of the forequarters were constantly in motion, and he might well have gotten unbalanced or even tossed off by a sudden movement...while here, the muscles scarcely moved at all.

Which was just as well, because there was no way for him to strap himself on. No saddle, no straps, nothing but his own legs and the stiff spines in front of him.

His legs were clamped to the dragon's torso as tightly as he could manage. He had the feeling that when he reached the ground, his legs were going to ache for a week.

Triana's lands were west of Cheynar's, west and a little south. There was a swamp between her lands and the wilderness that bordered Cheynar's...a swamp that not even Keman had wanted to venture into. Then to the south was Dyran's land, and the desert that bordered his property and Lord Berenel's. And to the west...beyond the desert...

Dragon lands. Real dragons. I'm riding a real dragon... sort of. He thought for a moment about all the children's tales he'd been brought up on, the stories of dragons and the stories of taming one to ride.

And he thought about how his arms and legs already ached from holding on, and how one of the flattened spines of Keman's crest was digging into...

Never mind.

And the way Keman moved was not exactly pleasant, either. Valyn had always assumed that flying would be smooth.

Hah.

Keman's normal movement...in completely still air...was with a series of lurches as his wings beat. This was complicated with sideslips and drops as he hit turbulence and thermals...and punctuated by a few...'very few...blessedly smooth moments when he glided for a bit, resting his wings. If Valyn had been inclined to motion sickness, the trip would have been an unmitigated disaster. And if there had been a real storm instead of the rain-drip they'd been getting, Valyn would have been torn off the dragon's back before they'd flown a league.

If they'd had any idea how much dragon-riding hurt...and how little it would take to induce him to take to a horse with a proper saddle. Or a grel. Even a bad-tempered grel...

No one would ever be tempted to make a romance out of dragon-riding, once he'd tried it for himself.

Valyn risked a look ahead...and saw a sprinkling of multicolored lights against the dark of trees and tree shadows. More, he spotted a slender, pink-tinted finger of light rising gracefully from the dark bulk below. That could only be the illuminated tower Triana had erected for her last party, the one with the enormous, cushioned platform at the top that was little more than one gigantic bed, surrounded by windows and roofed with a skylight...

Valyn flushed, even though there was no one here to see him. Things had happened at that party he hadn't even told Shadow. In many ways, Triana and Dyran were a great deal alike.

But that tower alone showed how unlike Triana was from the rest of the elven lords in the ways that counted. Nearly every other lord Valyn knew lived in manors entirely closed off from the sight of the natural world. It was as if they were trying to create their own little worlds, untouched by the reality outside their doors. Triana's villa was glass from floor to ceiling, and she often went up in the tower even when she was alone, to watch a storm, the stars, or the clouds float peacefully overhead.

Or so she told me.

Keman stopped lurching, and began a long, gliding descent; his goal, that same tower, or near it. He would land outside the manor, and Valyn would walk in, talk to Triana...

Hopefully she was between parties...

...and that would settle once and for all whether or not they had a sanctuary. Hopefully, they did. He hadn't lied when he said Triana might well offer them shelter out of sheer spite, or just for the thrill of it. What he hadn't said was how unpredictable Triana was. If she was in a bad mood...their arrival might well lighten it, because it would alleviate her boredom.

On the other hand, she might just have Valyn thrown out without even listening to him.

Valyn emerged from his thoughts when he realized that the ground was coming up very quickly...and he hadn't the vaguest idea of how a dragon landed. He ducked his head desperately, and clung on with every fiber, as Keman suddenly backwinged like a falcon at the end of a stoop, huge membranous wings flailing the air with a sound like thunderclaps, blowing dead leaves and other debris in front of him.

He landed with a lurch that threw Valyn forward; and unable to stop himself, the elven lord rolled over Keman's shoulder and landed on his rear in the grass, with a thud that did very little for his pride or dignity.

Before he could say anything, though, there was a writhing next to him that made him turn away...for, in the shape his stomach was in, watching Keman shift forms might well be the final insult. When he turned back, there was a large...very large...cow gazing at him with dark, solemn eyes.

"I'll be right back," he assured the youngster, as the cow joined a herd of her sisters. The cow looked over her shoulder and nodded, before putting her head down to gorge on grass as fast as she could pull it up.

He hadn't known the dragon could switch sex, too. Was it all external, he wondered, or...

Never mind.

Melody drifted towards him on the sultry breeze, with a hint of exotic perfumes and a breath of flower-scent. Triana's home was always surrounded with music; it was one of her abilities, the conjuring of sounds.

And when the music wasn't mage-born, she had an entire staff of humans trained as minstrels, both vocalists and instrumentalists, enough so that she had music night and day. Valyn hurried towards the lights and music in the near distance, and as he drew nearer the manor, he recognized two things that filled him with mingled relief and apprehension. There were no signs of guests, which meant Triana was not having one of her parties. And there were lights blazing in the top of the tower, and a single moving shape up in the room at the top...which, since only Triana went up there alone, meant that she was there, in a reasonably good mood, and awake...and probably bored.

Probably very bored, since most of her usual companions were...if their fathers were anything like Dyran...out on various attempts to solve the mystery of "dragon-skin."

And Valyn's friends might just be exactly what she needed to relieve that boredom. But what she'd do with them was anybody's guess...

V'dann Triana er-Lord Falcion paced the narrow edge of walkway that rimmed the inside of the windows of her tower, and stared at the lights of her manor below her. A restlessness was on her, and she hadn't stopped pacing since she came up here. She'd hoped to walk off her nerve-born energy, but the exercise wasn't working.

Damn, I'm bored. I need to do something.

Maybe she just ought to call down and get Rafe sent up...

Ancestors. She was not only bored, she was losing her memory. She'd broken him yesterday, and Mentor hadn't finished training a new stud for her.

Now not only bored but frustrated, she considered the options before her, as she twisted a silken strand of her hip-length, pale gold hair in one hand.

Not another party. Not until people stopped sending their children off to chase lizard-skins. Right now the only ones free to come to the party were the ones she'd rather not see. At least, not without plenty of more amusing people around at the same time. There was a limit to how much stupidity she was going to endure for the sake of entertainment.

For a moment she considered joining the hunt; after all, there weren't too many elven lords with her resources out looking for the things. One rumor and the scrap of skin that verified it weren't important enough to rate the attentions of a Clan head...but it was significant enough if true for the Clans to put subordinates and younger sons on it. Now if she found them...

No, it was a stupid idea. If she found these so-called "dragons," what would she do with them? Hunt them herself? She wasn't the kind of fool who thought risking her life was a good way to combat ennui. Send her underlings in to hunt them? Then what? Make a fortune?

She didn't need a fortune. She had one. As long as her people kept their skimming within reason, what more did she need? Father had picked the best possible people to run things before he fell off that horse...she'd put them in the best possible position for her. As long as she did well, they did well. If one of them found the stupid things on his own, fine. Otherwise, why bother with it?

She had the suspicion that it was all a hoax, anyway. And she mentally congratulated the author, whoever he was. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that the skins could have been made magically. After all, the one-horns, the grels, and plenty of other animals had been made that way. All it took was patience and the proper root material, and a very powerful magician.

She stared down at the illuminated water-garden below her, and chuckled a little at the thought of someone spending all that time on a prank.

It sounded like something she'd do.

It would have taken years to set up, with the "wild" girl and all, but who cared? If it was a hoax, it was brilliant. She wished she had thought of it herself!

Now that was an intriguing idea...

She wouldn't be able to pull it off if it turned out that this was a hoax...but if the whole thing just fizzled, or it actually turned out to be the real thing, maybe she should try pulling a similar trick. It would be no end amusing to watch those stiff old elders chasing their tails over something that never existed! She could do it, too, if she could lure one of the few youngsters who was a strong mage over to help her set up something like the dragon-skin scam...

Someone like...oh...Valyn.

The faint, musical sound of a bell rang from the speaking-tube near the entrance to the staircase.

The message bell? She gathered up her amber-silk skirts in one hand and crossed the cushion-covered floor to reach it, interest piqued. The slaves knew not to disturb her when she was up here unless it was something or someone special.

Maybe it would be something exciting.

"Yes?" she said into the tube.

"Lord Valyn is here to see you, lady," came the echoing voice from below, rendered anonymous by the distortions of the tube. "He says that it is very urgent."

Valyn? How convenient! First she thought of him, then he appeared...

She was tempted to think she was getting wizard-powers!

Triana knew Valyn well enough...he was like most of the others who came to her parties; she knew he found a certain fascination in simply associating with her. She hadn't even allowed him into the inner circle yet, and he was still one of the most prompt at answering an invitation...being even remotely involved with someone of her reputation seemed to be enough of a thrill for him.

For her part, she found his idealism and earnestness rather charming. Not for the long run, of course, but as an occasional thing, it was quite refreshing. So she had cultivated a special image of herself just for his benefit, an image some of her intimates would have found most amusing.

She wondered in startlement just what kind of a predicament he could have gotten himself into that would require coming to her for help.

Only one way to find out. "Send him up," she ordered, and waited for him, spending the time it took him to climb all of the four hundred steps to the top of her tower in carefully composing her pose, leaning out over the window to watch the lighted gardens below.

It never failed to astonish her that someone as innocent and...well...gullible as Valyn could be so elegant. So much naivete should accompany gawkiness, not grace. It was the grace she always saw first...

The fact that he was a threadbare, disheveled mess only dawned on her after he'd entered the room. It surprised her so much that she rose to her feet, quite involuntarily.

"Ancestors and Progenitors!" she exclaimed. "Valyn, where in the name of reason have you been? What have you been doing to yourself?"

"I've...been busy," he said hesitantly. "It's what I need to see you about. I've gotten into a bit of trouble."

"I would say you have, just from the look of you," she replied dryly. "I suppose it's too much to expect that this'trouble' hasn't followed you to my door?"

"I don't think it has, at least not yet," Valyn said, as he allowed her to draw him down to the cushions beside her, although she took care not to touch him in any other way. She didn't really want him, anyway. He was already conquered territory...and just like every other callow youngster she'd seduced. But this trouble of his...that could be worth getting involved with.

"Why don't you just begin at the beginning," she suggested, leaning back in her place, and assuming a properly attentive expression.

Shortly after he began, she no longer had to "assume" the expression. By the time he had finished, her head was buzzing with excitement.

"I'll help you," she said, quite sincerely, as he faltered to a close. His eyes didn't so much light up, as ignite. She interrupted him before he could start thanking her. "Go get the rest of your friends and bring them here, and I'll strengthen up the wards and shields. I may not be a master magician, but I'm not bad, and no one is going to be able to find you here without actually breaching my protections. I doubt they'll look here, actually," she added thoughtfully. "They're so used to thinking of me as a sybaritic nonentity that I doubt any of those old fools would even take me into account except as a joke if they were considering a list of possible troublemakers."

Valyn flowed to his feet, and extended a hand to help her up. She waved it away. "I want to stay up here and make some plans," she said truthfully. "Here, take this..."

She closed her hand briefly, and concentrated on the summoning-spell; when she reopened it, one of the bloodred stone signets she kept in her desk was in the palm, still a little warm from the journey. Like all her signets, this was a simple seal carved of sardonyx, her Clan crest, a rampant cockatrice.

"Here," she said, handing it to him. "Give that to my seneschal and tell him to take care of whatever you ask for. There's no one here but me, just now; take however many rooms you need."

Valyn smiled at her, a perfectly ingenuous, dazzlingly beautiful smile, and bowed over her hand, kissing the back of it lightly as he took the signet. "I'll never be able to thank you enough..." he began.

She waved him away, playfully. "Go on with you. Get out of here...and don't be such a foolish boy. You know very well how much I enjoy tweaking the old ones' beards. This is just one more chance to enjoy myself at their expense."

She noted with a certain pleasure that Valyn had learned enough of her to know when to withdraw gracefully before he began to annoy her. Once he was gone, she settled back into the softness of her cushions, caressing the fabric with a languid hand, and changing it from cream satin to deep black velvet with the touch and a few whispered words. With another word, she dimmed the lights to nothing, and watched the stars blazing through the glass of the skylight as she thought.

Wizards and halfbloods...and here she was, giving them safe harbor. What a magnificent jest! She remembered that "Shadow" now...lurking in the background the last time Valyn visited... he never left Valyn's suite once during the entire visit. Of course, now she understood why.

She chuckled, and stretched luxuriously against the velvet of the cushions. Oh, Ancestors and Progenitors! How the Council would love to get their claws on this little group! Three halfbloods, all with wizard-powers, and a renegade elven lord who'd been helping them for weeks!

Just the thought of defying the elders so completely gave her a thrill of pleasure equal to anything she'd experienced all summer. But it couldn't hold her for long...and she couldn't help but think of other possibilities.

Then she wondered...if these wizards really could read minds, could she trick any of them into doing a little mindreading for her? It would be nice, having a tame wizard of her very own. Think of all the things she could learn that way...

Perhaps she should go to work to captivate Valyn's Shadow. It shouldn't be too difficult, especially if she began while he was still a little sick. Humans were so easy to manipulate when they were young. Shadow should be no exception.

And as she remembered him, he was quite handsome. Definitely different from the late Rafe. Not in her usual line, of course...but it might be quite piquant to be the one doing the courting, instead of the courted, the dominant instead of the submissive.

In fact, she might even be able to separate him from Valyn's little entourage. She knew Valyn; he was too soft-hearted ever to condition a slave, and he indulged this one to a degree that was quite incredible. If she won Shadow over to her, she might be able to get Valyn to part with him.

Then she'd be able to subject him to her own conditioning...and she would have a wizard all her very own.

Now that had possibilities, indeed. She wondered how far his mind could reach. It would be worth his keep if he could only read thoughts in the next room...but if he could go farther than that, it opened up an entire realm of possibilities.

She'd never been willing to play politics before, because she never had the kinds of holds over some of the elders that she thought were necessary. But with a wizard to worm out their secrets, politics could prove a very rewarding arena indeed.

And a last thought...a sobering one, but the answer to a problem that had been plaguing her for years.

Shadow managed to escape detection for years without Valyn's help...and then with it, never was uncovered until Valyn was caught scrying out the other wizards. She wondered how many other halfbloods there were out there, hiding under illusions?

It didn't have to be an illusion of full humanity, either. It could be an illusion of full elven blood. She'd bet Valyn had never thought of that.

She played with her hair and considered the idea from all possible angles. It made perfect sense. How many elven ladies, afraid that they would be discarded by a powerful spouse, resorted to their human servants for the fertility their lords lacked?

What elven lord would ever argue with being presented with the male heir he needed so desperately?

The halfblood would not even need to feign mage-powers; he would have them...

For that matter, now she wondered how many elven lords thought of as being powerful mages were actually halfbloods, or the sons of halfbloods?

Now that was a startling thought.

Not Dyran, though. She was sure of that. He'd never have hounded that concubine of his to death if he'd been a halfblood himself...

Unless he didn't know it; unless his mother had kept that a secret even from him.

What a thought!

A wicked smile played about her lips, as she considered every illusion-dispelling incantation she knew.

Imagine casting the spell on him at the right moment...in Council, say...and proof there stands Lord Dyran, the halfblood!

She played with the idea for a while, then gave it up, regretfully.

Really, she doubted very much that he was. He'd made more than enough enemies over the years that he had to have had something like an illusion-breaking spell cast on him at least once. And Valyn showed every mark of pure breeding, and if there had been any illusions cast on him, she'd have noticed. It was an entertaining idea, but there wasn't much chance of it being more than amusing entertainment.

But there was another, equally interesting idea.

The problem for a woman Clan head had always been to find a mate that wouldn't try to take over the Clan seat for himself, and produce an heir that was unlikely to challenge her as he grew older. And yet she couldn't produce an idiot or a weakling, either. That would be just as much a disaster. If she mated with an elven lord of much inferior powers, her offspring was likely to have inferior powers, and either the heir or the Clan would end up being challenged. With a weak heir, they would wind up with a cadet line in charge of the Clan seat, or they would be forced to ally themselves with a Clan that was likely to eat them alive.

But what if she mated with a human...no one asked the Clan heads who the fathers of their children were if they didn't choose to reveal an alliance marriage or mating. What if some of them were mating with humans?

It would be easy enough to cast illusions then! And easy enough to keep them in place.

And all the while the child was growing up, the Lady had herself a budding wizard, bound to her by the strongest tie there was, of mother to child. If that tie stopped working as a controlling factor, the threat of exposure for what he was would keep him in his place.

What an outrageous thought!

And what an intriguing one...

And as Triana stared up at the stars, the most intriguing thought of all occurred to her.

I wonder if I ought to try that...

SHANA BURIED HER nose in her book as Triana sailed past the door of the library, and smoldered with resentment. The words on the page blurred for a moment as she brought her anger under control. Triana had done it again this morning, made her look like a fool in front of everyone, and had left her no out but to pretend to laugh at the joke. The elven maiden's delicate condescension had not escaped the intended target, and Shana was heartily sick of it...and the general misery brought on by the cold she still suffered from didn't help matters. When she complained about Triana's behavior, Valyn claimed she was being oversensitive. So she had decided to avoid Triana as much as possible, which, in a place this size, wasn't really difficult.

The library was the best place to go, and Shana blessed her foster mother's foresight in training her in the written version of elven tongue. Triana's forefathers had amassed quite a collection of instructional volumes, including those on magic...and Shana had just found the answer to some of her questions here.

Why did the elven lords destroy the wizards one by one, rather than together? And where did they get the power to do some of the things described in the old chronicles...like building manors overnight?

She shifted a little more in the overstuffed, velvet-cushioned chair, and reread the last paragraph of her chapter. Yes, there it was. The answer had turned out to be appallingly simple. If a magic-wielder was unguarded, it was possible to steal his power. It would return, usually within a day, but while it was gone he was defenseless. The trick was that one had to be within a certain distance of the victim...line of sight, usually. You didn't have to be able to see him, so long as you knew him, but you had to be within that distance. This was the first time she had ever seen the spell and its execution and results printed openly.

So that was why they killed off the wizards one at a time...so that they could also steal the wizard's power.

Without a doubt, all of the elven lords stayed guarded against just such an occurrence, of course, whenever they were with others of their kind. This was one spell that was democratic in its effect...the weaker could very easily steal from the stronger if he knew the trick.

Now Shana knew how the old wizards and the elven lords of the past had pulled off major spells that required much more power than a single magic-wielder could ever have...like the one that could transport several people from one place to another, the more elaborate version of the one the wizards now used to steal goods from the elves. They stole it. Or, in the case of the wizards, they loaned it. Possibly the elven lords had cooperated that way in the past, but they certainly weren't doing so now.

The fact that it hadn't been used in so long that the written record of it had "fallen out" of books wasn't really surprising. Like a fancy "secret move" in sword work, which, once it is used and known, becomes useless because everyone guards against it, this stealing of power was no longer an effective weapon because everyone expected it when they knew they were in the company of other, possibly adversarial, elven lords. But that didn't mean that they guarded against it all the time...

No one could be on his guard all the time. Especially not when it was something you had to work to shield against.

And it certainly didn't mean that Shadow, Valyn, or even Triana were on guard against the ploy.

Shana closed the book and pondered her options.

Right now, it looked as if Valyn's big plan to help the humans and halfbloods had pretty much come to nothing. So whatever got done, she was going to have to be the one to do it. She nodded grimly to herself. I should have known better than to get involved with those two. I can't undo it, so now I'm going to have to live with it. Maybe if she managed to pull this "cause" together, that would get Valyn's attention.

She reopened the book, and checked the text carefully, then decided to make some little experiments, figuring that she could probably drain power in such small quantities that it would scarcely be noticed. Considering how much they'd used her, she thought resentfully, it would serve them right.

Shadow, in particular, with Triana a close second.

From the moment they had entered the house, Triana had been making much of Shadow, and mostly ignoring the others. She'd even cured his cold...ignoring Shana, who was just as miserable. Predictably enough, it seemed that Shadow stopped thinking whenever the beautiful elven woman was around.

Shana's lip curled with contempt. Men. Completely useless.

Valyn had persuaded him to the handfasting...a simple ritual ceremony he himself had presided over...but if he had expected it to make the two of them fall madly in love, he had been sadly disappointed. Shana had no intention of following that particular plan.

Though Shadow's reaction had not been exactly what Shana had foreseen either. She had approached Shadow afterwards, intending to tell him frankly that she wasn't in the least interested in him, only to have him steal a march on her.

She seethed a little inside, with resentment and frustration, and squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. It was one thing to plan on jilting someone...but when the person you intended to jilt had the same thing in mind, it didn't do a lot for your pride... She'd made her little speech, too, just to save face, but it certainly fell flat. He hadn't reacted at all, that she could tell.

Well, let him have Triana, then. She would choose power. She would accomplish great things, while he wasted his time playing the fool to a woman who'd discard him as soon as she tired of him.

And the first task: cure this wretched cold.

The summer wind blew his hair all awry as Valyn set Triana's high-spirited little gelding into a gallop, riding out some of his restlessness and frustration. None of this was going as he had planned or hoped. Once they had reached this safe harbor, instead of everyone in the group pulling together and starting to plan how to take on the elven lords and the wizards, they all fell apart, drifting off to their own interests, the greater tasks ignored or forgotten.

While they plunged through a field of sweet-scented wildflowers, he guided the horse with skillful hands and a light pressure on the rein, and wondered what went wrong.

He'd used glamories on both Shana and Mero to get them to agree to the handfasting...but it hadn't worked. Or at least, it hadn't done more than get them to the handfasting. Once the handfasting ceremony was complete, they had gone off together...he'd thought for certain that they were starting to make a pair of it, that his glamories had worked.

But not too much later, he'd seen Shana alone in the library and Mero with Triana. The handfasting might just as well not have taken place.

He set the horse down a purposely overgrown path, where jumps appeared unexpectedly. The horse strained over the tallest of these, needing his encouragement to tackle them. He guided the gelding skillfully, and the horse responded...but not even the speed and the exhilaration of the jumping-course could shake the uneasy feeling that he'd done something wrong and it was backlashing on him. The horse took obstacle after obstacle, and he could not leave his worry behind him.

He wasn't particularly happy with the way Mero was spending so much time with Triana. His cousin had assured him that he was trying to bring Triana around to their point of view, to recruit her fully for the cause, but it didn't look like there was much recruiting going on...

He was being stupid, he told himself firmly, bringing the lathered horse to a walk and letting him cool himself down. Mero was just getting to her through the things she knew best. She had a good heart; when he got her to listen, Valyn knew Mero would bring her around. It was just a matter of time.

But he couldn't rid himself the premonition that they had an increasingly small amount of that time left.

Triana smiled at Mero, settled down on the couch beside him, and let her glamorie steal gently over him, binding him even tighter to her will. She didn't really have to condition most of her slaves; for all except the really strong-willed or dangerous, all she ever had to do was cast a glamorie. That was her strongest magic, the much-underrated magic of glamorie. The subtle webs of power that she wove were the reason why none of the elders had set their sights on her or her properties...why no one had ever seriously challenged her once she'd come to power...why her slaves were fanatically devoted to her.

She had put her entire stable of favorites aside for Mero's sake; the first few weeks were critical in the weaving of as complex a spell as she was working. Any jarring note could force her to reweave the foundations again. Once the net was in place and tight, she could do anything she chose with her victim, but until then, she had to move very carefully.

Mero's eyes glazed and he smiled happily back at her, gazing at her with his full attention. "And what should we do today?" she asked him. "I think we've surely gone over every bit of the estate by now; we've been riding, hawking, and hunting nearly every day. Is there anything you'd like to see or do?"

His eyes focused a little more, and he tilted his head to one side as he thought. Triana fluttered her eyelashes at him, enjoying the effect her flirtations had. She hadn't taken him to bed yet...she would save that for the moment she set the glamorie. Until then it was rather enjoyable, playing with him, first courting and then drawing back.

Valyn probably thinks I'm bedding him every night, she thought with carefully concealed amusement. And he doesn't approve. She wondered if his prejudices were finally showing...it was all right to befriend a human or a halfblood, but don't go to bed with one.

Poor fool, he couldn't see how that untidy little halfblood girl fawned on his every word. Or if he did, for some reason he was pretending he didn't. Triana hadn't had so much fun since the Midsummer Party last year when everyone turned out to be everyone else's lover, betraying each other on all sides, and no one knew it until they got to the party and the drink started to flow!

Mero blinked, as if he were trying to think of something. "I...you know, this probably sounds boring to you...but I'd really like to see what a Council session is like," he said finally. "I don't think I could get inside alone; I don't know how, I don't even know where it's held. And anyway I'm not good enough to do my own illusion of disguise yet. But you are, and since you're a Clan head, you could get in, right?"

Triana raised her eyebrows in surprise. So he was still thinking for himself. She hadn't thought he had that much willpower left. Obviously she was going to have to be extra-careful in setting the glamorie. "I could. Why?" she asked casually. "Is there a point in going?"

"Well, it's just that you learn a lot about an enemy from the way he acts with his peers," Mero said slowly. "And I want to see Dyran with his peers. I've never seen him as anything other than the master, and I have the feeling that he's the real enemy we'll have to face."

Interesting that he was still thinking of Dyran as an enemy, which meant he still had Valyn's "cause" on his mind. Well, it couldn't hurt to humor him.

"I do have a gallery box," she said, playing with her hair and looking up through her lashes coyly. "I don't use it very often but...why not?" She jumped to her feet, and gave her hand gracefully to Mero. "Here, stand up. I can't work on you while you're sitting there."

He rose obediently, and she admired the play of muscles beneath his shirt as he moved. His frame, light, but strong, was much more to her taste than the attenuated bodies of elven men. Or even the bulky forms of human men, for that matter.

She really did need a little wizard for her very own, she mused, and she spun a careful mist of illusion that lightened his dark hair to silver-blond, thinned his body, lengthened his ears, and bleached his complexion to pale alabaster. Once I get him broken in, he just might turn out to be the best lover I've ever had.

Her work done, she stepped back and admired it critically. "I think that will do," she said, nodding. "Are you ready? Come on, there's a Council session going on now."

"How are we going to get there?" he asked, as she turned without waiting for his answer, and led the way to her father's study at a fast walk. "Lord Dyran has to spend a week in travel to get there, but Lord Leremyn lives farther away and gets home every night. What's the trick?"

"Every one of the original High Lords had a permanent spell-cabinet in their manor," she said over her shoulder, as he trotted down the white marble hallway to catch up with her. "It only goes one place: the Council building at the capital. We can't change it, and if we ever tried to move it, the spell would break. Lords like Dyran, who are upstarts, really, don't have one. There were a few of them destroyed during the Wizard War, but most of them still work. The idea was that with the cabinets, lords could live on their estates and govern them while still sitting on Council. Of course, the ones that don't have the cabinets have to live in the capital during Council season, but that's just too bad for them, really."

"Why don't they just build their own?" Mero asked, as she paused in her chatter long enough to open the study door.

"Because it takes too much power," she explained. "The old ones built the cabinets as the manors were being built, and they all contributed to each cabinet's spell, all twenty of them. It took them a year, and they couldn't do anything magical at all during the year except to build the cabinets, it took that much power."

Unspoken was the implication that the elven lords on the Council these days didn't trust one another enough to either contribute power or lie helpless while recovering, in order to build more cabinets. She wondered if Mero had picked that up.

Probably, she decided, looking at his thoughtful expression as she pulled back the pale-pink satin drapery that concealed the cabinet, and handed him one of her sardonyx seals from the drawer of the dainty carved-birch desk in front of it.

"Here," she said. "Don't lose this. The cabinet here only works one-way, but the one at the Council building won't know where to send you home if you don't have this with you."

Obediently, he pocketed it, and she pulled the door open for him. There was just barely enough room inside for two.

"Get in," she said, and followed him, closing the door after herself and giggling when he tickled her playfully.

They returned at nightfall, and Mero handed her out of the cabinet with a great deal of gallantry, but none of the playfulness he'd shown earlier. The room had been made ready for their return; lights burning, and the curtains drawn as she preferred them. She broke the illusion on him with that touch, and his face shimmered and changed as she allowed him to resume his core-illusion, of full humanity.

He looked at her thoughtfully, and she smiled. He smiled back, but didn't say anything, and Triana gathered that the Council session had really opened his eyes to the reality of elven politics...and the strength of Lord Dyran.

The subject that had been before the Council was a dispute between two of the lesser lords...one which seemed simple on the surface, but involved the prestige and welfare of at least a half dozen Council members. And the rest, of course, had bets riding on the outcome. Insofar as she had been able, Triana had kept up a running commentary on exactly who was involved with what, who was being betrayed, who was likely to turn his coat if the tide turned against him. Dyran, who, as always, was covering both sides without either side knowing that he was, controlled both halves of the conflict with a masterful hand.

If Mero had to pick a day to visit the Council, this was a good one, she thought with satisfaction, as she had Mero take a seat, and summoned a servant to fetch them a late meal. Not like the day they spent arguing over trade quotas and the Council tax on oat harvests.

She felt a little light-headed, and recognized the symptoms for what they were. "If you don't mind, Mero," she said, breaking into the young halfblood's reverie, "I'm going to go change. I'll be right back."

He kissed her hand as she stood, and she gave him a dazzling smile before turning away and going out the study door.

She didn't really want to change; she wanted to reinforce the glamorie, and for that she needed one of the talismans in which she had stored power. Besides creating the illusion for Mero, the transport-cabinet used her energy for the actual transportation, and she was depleted. But no matter how depleted she was, one thing she would never do was to allow any of the slaves to handle her talismans. That would be inviting disaster. You never knew when one of them might have enough residual wizard-power and will left to use the stored energy of the talisman to counter the spells on his collar.

She wouldn't run; it wasn't dignified. But she hurried her steps as much as she could without running, her heels echoing in the white marble hall, and let herself into her room without any fanfare. There was no one there, which was just as well. She tried not to let anyone know where she kept her talismans, not even the lowest of the slaves.

She took the key from around her wrist and unlocked the appropriate drawer of her white-lacquered jewel cabinet, and looked through her talismanic jewelry until she found the necklace of amber that matched her creamy-gold gown. She slipped it on over her head hurriedly, and immediately felt better, less as if she were reduced to a mere wisp of herself. Being depleted always made her feel as if she were likely to blow away on the next breeze.

She returned to Mero, her steps echoing confidently up the hall. She thought she heard male voices somewhere ahead, and didn't give it a second thought. But as she approached the door, she heard the sound of a splintering crash, and the thud of two bodies on the floor.

Ancestors! What on earth? Who would dare...

She flung the door open, just in time to see Mero receive a kick in the ribs that sent him flying into the wall, taking one of her little carved-birch chairs with him. The chair did not survive the impact. Mero did, but not well.

Triana whirled, her power rising within her, to confront Mero's assailant. A huge, muscular, dark-haired man stalked past her, ignoring her presence and advancing on Mero with blood-lust in his eyes. She recognized him with surprise. It was a human named Laras, one of her stable, a slave who had been intended for the gladiatorial ranks before she had taken him for her own purposes. If he had been a little brighter, she might have elevated him to be Rafe's replacement, but his dim-wittedness ruled that out. Nevertheless, he seemed to regard himself as her favorite. He had always been inclined to jealousy, and his fits of temper were violent and notorious among the slaves, but she had never seen him lose his control so completely.

For a moment, her blood and heartbeat quickened. She was being fought over! It was like the old days, when elven lords dueled for the favor of a chosen lady. But that was long ago...long before elves came here, to this world.

How exciting...they were fighting for her'! She didn't know of anyone who'd had men fight over her...

But then, as she took in the damage that had been done so far (two broken chairs, a ruined table, and most of the ornaments smashed), her anger awoke. Laras had broken conditioning and training, and he was in the process of destroying her property. This was not to be tolerated. Even if it had been caused by jealousy over her...

She stepped into the room, her power tingling at her fingertips.

"Laras!" she shouted...her voice evidently penetrated the fog of rage that enveloped him, and he began to turn. When he saw that it was really her, he started to smile.

She ignored the smile. "You've been a very bad boy, Laras," she said coldly. "I'm going to have to make sure you never do this again."

As Laras winced, and his eyes darted frantically from one corner to the other, looking for a place to hide, she acted. Before she could change her mind, she called combat-fire and burned him to ashes where he stood.

She was merciful. He didn't even have time to scream.

Now, too late to stop the fight, other slaves came running; they arrived at the door just in time to see her punish Laras for his presumption, and most of them shrank back from her as she leveled an angry gaze at them. No one made the mistake of trying to run; that would be tantamount to a confession of guilt. And a suicidal move, given the temper she was in now.

"Who allowed this to happen?" she snarled, knowing very well that no one was going to answer. She raked them all with her eyes, and had the satisfaction of seeing them blanch. There had been times when she had punished everyone for misdeeds, and not just the guilty party. She was tempted to do just that right now, and reinforce the lesson in obedience she had just delivered.

But...there was another witness. She dared not give in to her anger around Mero. Not when she was trying to impress him with her charm and gentleness.

"See that the room is clean and refurnished," she ordered, knowing that everyone within hearing would leap to do just that. Her tempers were too unpredictable to take a chance with. "And see that everyone on the estate hears about this. I have no wish to see a repetition of this incident."

She picked one servant at random and directed him to see to Mero. He scuttled to the halfblood's side and helped him sit up. She stood by with a look of assumed concern while the slave checked Mero for injuries.

Fortunately for the halfblood, Laras had not even begun to punish him. All his hurts were superficial, and the slave helped him to his feet. Triana was a little gratified at his reaction of shock and nausea...it gave her a little thrill of power, but she didn't want that particular reaction to last. She took his arm as soon as the slave released him, and reexerted the glamorie, striving to wind him back to his former state of bemused contentment. He must come to see this as her protecting him from a slave who was crazed, an irrational man who could not be reasoned with.

She didn't even have to say anything; she just cooed over him and wove her magic, and before she returned him to his quarters for rest, he was as glassy-eyed as ever.

He was more than beglamored, she thought contentedly. He was half in love with her. This was going to work out very well...especially if she could figure out how to get rid of Valyn and the other two. Permanently, if possible. And soon.

Keman paced the hardwood floor of his enormous, luxurious room, and fretted. From time to time he glanced out the window, but the view of the ethereal lighted gardens gave him no answers.

Nothing was going right. Shana spent all her time in the library, and when she did come out, he got the feeling that she was hiding something from him. Valyn seemed to have lost all of his earlier fervor for the cause of humans and halfbloods, and acted as if he wasn't quite sure where he belonged anymore. And Mero...Mero was totally changed. He paid no attention to Shana, he was no longer practicing combined magics, only elven ones, and Valyn had confessed that he wasn't even confiding in his cousin anymore. And it was all the fault of that Triana...

She was trying to split them up, Keman thought desperately, kicking aside a footstool covered in emerald velvet. She was trying to make the group fall apart, and she was working on Mero as the weakest of the lot.

Keman had tried to wake him up; had tried to make him see what Triana was up to, but he had dismissed the dragon's attempts at reason with a shrug. He wouldn't even argue the point. He just ignored it.

Finally Keman had tried to distract Triana from her goal by making a play for her himself. I thought it would be easy, he recalled ruefully. After all, she had all those men...she should have been willing to go after anything that looked good, right? He'd thought that when Mero saw her casting him aside for a new conquest, his friend would see what the elven woman was really like. He had brought her presents, tried to engage her in conversation when she was plainly on her way to a meeting with Shadow, and did his level best to charm her. But all he really knew of mating were dragon-courtship ways.

He flushed at the memory of his clumsy attempts at seduction. The approaches a dragon considered subtle...a few presents, which were followed, if they were successful, by the direct question of "Do we mate in the air or on the ground?"...were pretty inept by elven standards. Triana laughed at me. He flushed again at the recollection of Triana's reaction. She didn't even say "no"...she'd just laughed at him.

It couldn't have been his disguise...he'd chosen to appear as if he had full elven blood, and he had, in fact, modeled his disguise on several young elven lords thought particularly handsome. It had to have been his manner.

At least he'd amused her. He sighed. He hadn't done anything but amuse her, though. And he hadn't gotten his message across to Mero. Mero had laughed at him right along with Triana.

He had gone to Valyn then, but it hadn't done a bit of good except to worry him more. Valyn was helpless where his cousin was concerned.

And Shana was angry. Very angry. He could tell by the way she avoided everyone and everything and kept herself locked away in the library. He surmised that Shadow had said or done something to her that made her angry, but he couldn't imagine what it was.

And when he asked her what was wrong, she acted as if she didn't care. Which left him unable to think of any solutions to what was obviously...at least, to him...a problem.

He looked up in startlement from his pacing, as someone walked through the door without even tapping on the frame, then closed it behind himself and stood in the shadows where the light from Keman's single glow didn't quite reach. There was no mistaking who it was, though. Keman was surprised to see that his visitor was Mero.

"Keman...have you got some time to spare?" the halfblood asked hesitantly, shifting his weight from foot to foot uncertainly as if he wasn't sure he was welcome, and giving the dragon a slow, sheepish smile. "I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a mess."

Keman looked from him to the door, Mero nodded, and turned to lock it behind himself. "That should be sufficient to keep us from being disturbed," Mero told him. As he turned back, Keman finally noticed the bruises on his face, and instantly surmised from the way he was walking that there were more like them under his clothing.

What...Fire and Rain! Someone had been beating him!

"What happened to you?" the dragon blurted, frozen with shock. Mero limped over to him and looked around for somewhere to sit.

"One of Triana's old harem decided he didn't like being put away," the young man said casually, and eased himself down into one of Keman's armchairs. "He decided that if I wasn't around anymore, Triana would come back to her old ways. The Lady disagreed with his approach...and he is even now being shoveled into a very small sack for disposal."

The young man's face and hands betrayed the casual tone of his words; his hands were shaking, his face was white, and his expression was set in a patently forced smile.

He looked up at Keman, who was slowly lowering himself into the chair opposite him, and his eyes were dark, and full of something Keman couldn't read. Pain. And something else. "I never saw an elven lord actually kill someone before," he said forlornly. "I've seen them hurt plenty of people, but I never saw one kill someone. And she did it the way you or I might squash a bug."

Keman didn't know quite what to say, so he waited for Shadow to continue. Finally the halfblood's shoulders relaxed and he sighed as he sat back into the armchair.

"Elven lords...the fullbloods...they're really funny that way. They can convince you that they're feeling something when they're not, but they can't convince you they're feeling something when they are."

Keman tried to follow the logic of that sentence. "I don't understand," he replied, shaking his head in confusion.

"They can't show their feelings; they're trained out of it," Mero replied, running his hand through his hair. "I should have known, I really should have known, that when Triana was acting like I was the only man in the universe she was faking it. Valyn, he's that way, and I've lived with him all my life, so I should have known. The stronger an elven lord feels about something, the colder he gets on the outside."

Suddenly that explained a great deal to Keman. "Shana's the opposite...but she was raised by us," he pointed out.

Mero smiled. "Doesn't hide anything, does she? No, Valyn has been getting more and more like a statue, and that should have told me something. And it didn't."

Keman didn't reply, just looked attentive.

"I doubt he meant it that way, but that fellow who tried to beat me into oblivion did me a good turn. He broke what I think was a half-formed glamorie on me, Keman. I'm sorry I've been such an idiot over Triana. Now I see what you were trying to tell me. Do you know, I actually had myself convinced that if I could somehow make myself into a really good imitation elven lord that she'd have me?"

Keman tilted his head to one side. "I had guessed something like that was going on. But I am not the one you should be apologizing to. You made Shana very angry with you, though I don't know why. And Valyn is not happy either."

Mero rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "I don't know what Shana's problem is, honestly. I'm not sure it has anything to do with Triana, or if it does, that's only part of it."

"I don't always understand her either," Keman replied ruefully, when Mero looked up at him.

Mero sighed. "I've been ignoring all of you, actually. Triana's been taking me everywhere, as if I was a lover or a mate. We've hunted or ridden over every thumb-length of this estate, she did some magic tricks for me...she built a mountain and flew us both up to the top for a picnic."

"I remember that. Afterwards she slept for two days," Keman said absently. "I didn't know elves had to sleep after doing magic."

Mero wasn't paying attention. "I thought that meant she loved me, so I started asking her to take me places she could only take one of the elven lords. And she did, she took me to a gladiator duel, and she took me to a Council meeting. I really thought she cared for me." He hung his head. "I should have known. It was all a lie, a ploy. She's just like all those women in the harem who try to eliminate each other to get positions as favorites. There isn't one of them that really cares for another person, just what that person can do for her."

"What does she want?" Keman asked reasonably. Mero looked up, startled.

"I don't know," he admitted. "All that time with her, and I don't know."

"It must be something important for her to be taking so much time with you," Keman pointed out. "And using a glamorie to get you, too..."

"Oh, that's not a big thing." Mero dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "I half think Valyn used a glamorie on me to get me to handfast to Shana. Elves do that sort of thing all the time."

"I don't know about that," Keman said reluctantly. "I wouldn't say that. There are lots of other things she could have done to you, you know, including ignoring you. If she wanted to control you, she could have substituted her collar for the one you're wearing. She's spent a lot of time and effort on this one spell, and it has to be because she wants something important from you, don't you think?"

"That is the purpose of a glamorie," Mero replied thoughtfully, looking past Keman to the darkening window. "But maybe you're right. I know I had a kind of fight with Shana over it. She kept saying Triana was trying to get something from me, and I didn't believe her."

"Are you going to be able to keep your mind free now that you know?" Keman asked, dreading the answer. "If she wants something from you, she isn't going to give up now."

"I think I can," Mero said, after a long moment of thought. "I really think I can. And if I can, then I can find out what it is she wants."

"Is that such a good idea?" Keman asked doubtfully.

"I think I'm going to have to," Mere said, with a grimace. He stood up. "Thanks, Keman. Thanks for not telling me to go lose myself."

"That's all right," the dragon replied, surprised at the feeling of warmth Mero's words kindled in him. "You needed somebody to listen, I think."

"You're the right person for that, Keman," Mero said over his shoulder as he headed for the door. "We have a lot in common. Thanks."

He was gone before Keman could say "you're welcome," but the pleasure those few words gave him stayed with the young dragon for a long time.

"TRY IT AGAIN," Triana urged, and Mero frowned, though she knew it was not at her. His frown was for the smooth quartz river-pebble on the cool surface of the white marble table in front of him.

Nothing much was happening to it, which was the problem. Mero was having trouble mastering the illusion-spell.

Triana reminded herself not to look bored, and concentrated on keeping her expression interested and eager. "I..." she began.

Mero interrupted her. "Just a moment! I think I've got it here..."

The river pebble began to glow, a soft, pale gold that was barely discernible from the sunlight streaming in through the windows behind him. The glow brightened for a moment, then vanished altogether.

But the pebble continued to shine...the reflected sheen of light off the lustrous surface of polished gold.

To all appearances, the plain quartz pebble had been replaced by an identical roundel of solid gold.

"Excellent!" Triana applauded. "That's it exactly! You've done it, you've built a perfect illusion!" Shadow looked up and beamed at her with pride. "Before long, you'll be a match for any of us." Inwardly she was laughing; he had all but abandoned his wizard-powers and was concentrating entirely on those magics he inherited from his elven blood. His attempts to make himself wholly elven were nothing short of hilarious.

He was like the overseers and the others, she thought with contempt. Fools who spent all their time trying to become something they weren't...wasting their efforts in trying to find a "trick" that would make their magic stronger. She'd seen them use everything from vegetarian diets to celibacy to taking up some of the old human religions. And all that time that they were wasting, they could have been using to discover what it was they did best and strengthen that. If Mero had any sense at all, he'd be learning how to combine his magics, not denying he had the wizard-powers altogether.

Not that it really mattered. What was important was that her hold over him had continued undiminished. There had been no damage done to the glamorie after that incident with Laras. If anything, her power over him was stronger than ever.

She continued to praise his puny effort, while he basked in the warmth of her approval, and banished, then reinstated the illusion. Perhaps she would turn the other three over to the elders. If she engineered this right, it would look as if they were discovered from outside. She could hide Mero, and let Cheynar's people take away the others...then he wouldn't have anyone to turn to but her.

She smiled over his shoulder, at the trees beyond the windows. That wasn't a bad plan at all; in fact, she ought to be able to accomplish it easily enough by having Cheynar's people descend while she and Mero were off riding or hunting.

And it was something she was going to have to do, to put his cousin and those others completely out of his reach. If she didn't get them out of here, Mero was never going to sever his ties completely with them. She felt it in her bones.

And then, once she had him isolated...she would throw him to the harem pack. He'd come out on top, but he'd have to use all of his abilities to do it. Including wizard-powers. That would keep him busy enough that he wouldn't have time to think about Valyn and the others.

She found herself looking very much forward to it, as she nodded and spoke empty words of praise.

It would be most amusing...

Shana grabbed Mero's arm as he passed, pulling him into the library before he could protest or pull away from her. She shut the door quickly, locked it, and turned, pressing her back up against it.

He stood where she had left him, a look of bored tolerance on his face. "All right, Shana," he said, with weary patience. "What's all this nonsense about? What is it Triana is supposed to have done now?"

"It isn't what she's done, it's what she's going to do," Shana replied angrily, tossing her hair out of her eyes. "She's moving you into a suite of rooms of your own, isn't she? Right next to hers!

Shadow shrugged carelessly, and Shana wanted to strangle him. He folded his arms over his chest, and sighed theatrically before replying. "I suppose there's no use in denying it if you already know. So what?"

The bored expression on his face made her angry, and caused her to blurt out the first thing that came into her head. "So she's separating us from you, that's what! We hardly even see you anymore! She wants to keep you away from us so she can manipulate you...why, you haven't said more than two words to Valyn in weeks!" That wasn't what she'd intended to say. She had intended to sound a little more reasonable, but she couldn't stop herself.

She noticed that he looked a little shamefaced when she'd mentioned Valyn, but otherwise he seemed unmoved.

"She doesn't want you to have anything to do with us, Mero," she continued, trying to make him react, trying to penetrate his indifference. "She's going to betray us, I know she is, all of us but you...and then she's going to use you..."

A look of disgust was her only reward, and he interrupted her impassioned speech. "I can appreciate that you're concerned about me, but I don't think that's what's really bothering you right now. You're just jealous, Shana. She's beautiful and well-bred...everything you aren't...and you're just jealous of her!" While she dropped her jaw in outrage over this injustice, he continued on, relentlessly. "I'm sorry for you, I really am; she'd be perfectly willing to be your friend...if you weren't so sure there was something wrong with her just because she's so lovely! You know, in a lot of ways she admires you...she thinks it's really fascinating how strong and self-reliant you are. You could be her friend, Shana, if you weren't so eaten up with envy!"

Shana clenched her fingers into white-knuckled fists, and felt her ears burn with mingled shame and fury. Shame...because she was jealous of Triana; how could she not be? Triana was exquisite, and standing next to her, Shana felt like a young heifer with muddy feet and a tangled tail. But fury because the elven maiden had taken Shadow in so completely. There was no way Triana wanted to be friends! The so-called overtures she had made were all as phony as a glass ruby. Every one of them had been poisoned sweets...with mockery beneath the gentle words. But no one...or at least, no one male...was going to believe that. They wouldn't look any deeper than the surface.

"It's not you I'm worried about," she retorted angrily. "It's what you're doing to the rest of us! We're supposed to be finding ways to help the humans and the halfbloods, but we haven't done one single thing since we got here...because you have been spending all your time with her! You've been ignoring your wizard magics, trying to show off for her. I know you haven't been learning anything about combining your powers...you've let it all go to waste, everything I tried to show you. And I'm telling you, Shadow, she's going to betray us, you...all of us!"

As she searched his face for any sign that he'd actually heard her words, she felt herself being tempted to use her mental powers on him. If she could just force him to pay attention...and if he wouldn't, she could probably control him...

"This is childish," Mero declared loftily. "I'm not going to waste another moment of time on your infantile accusations."

He reached forward and caught her arm before she could pull away. "And don't try your wizard tricks on me..." he warned, as he took a firmer grip on her arm and forced her away from the door. "I'm ready for them, and you won't get anywhere."

And with that, he turned the lock and let himself out, slamming the door shut and leaving her fuming behind him.

She wanted to kick, scream, run after him and beat some sense into his head. She did none of these things. Instead, she forced herself to calm down to a point where she could think, taking deep breaths and deliberately emptying her mind, as the flush left her cheeks and ears, and her icy hands warmed.

She had to think objectively about this, she decided, when she had sufficiently calmed down. She went over to her favorite chair in the library and curled up in it, watching the tops of the trees tossing below her, as a high, warm wind whipped them, the kind of wind that heralded a storm. All right...if she kept an eye on Triana, there was nothing she could do that Shana and Keman together couldn't escape from. At least, I don't think there is. If they both watched her, they could get away. If Valyn wouldn't believe her, too bad for him. She'd get him away when Triana betrayed them all and then he'd believe her.

She indulged in a brief daydream of tearing Valyn out of the hands of Cheynar's men and escaping into the night with him...of his gratitude afterwards...

But reality intruded, and a stab of pain at the way Shadow had treated her. I am jealous of Triana; Shadow's right. The way she manipulated and used him was sickening...she drained him without his knowing, otherwise he'd be farther along with his magic by now...

She suddenly realized something and her cheeks burned with shame. She had been using the others in exactly the same way, though not to the same degree. She'd been stealing their power, a little bit at a time...and she'd been considering using her mental abilities to manipulate Shadow. To manipulate him just as surely as Triana, though in a different way.

In fact, she'd been using her powers to manipulate a great many people in the past year.

She shuddered as she realized just how close she had come to becoming like Triana. She had learned a great deal with the wizards in the Citadel...but not once had any of them said anything about morality. The wizards were not unlike their elven parents...any means was fine so long as the desired end was reached.

And that was not what Alara had taught her.

That's not right, she told herself fiercely. I don't know what is right...but I know what isn't. You didn't use your powers to manipulate friends who trusted you. That was betraying their trust.

She took a long, hard look at what the past year had made her, and she didn't much like it.

I'm becoming as bad as the elves. Worse, because I know better.

She stared at the frantically tossing branches, and tried to figure a way out of the entanglement that was right. Shadow wasn't listening to warnings. Valyn didn't listen to her much at all. Keman was completely innocent. All right, she had warned everybody and only Keman believed her. So, if worst came to worst, what could she do?

She stared at the book on the floor, the last one she had been reading. There was something she could do, she realized as she stared at it. It wasn't entirely ethical, but it was an elegant solution...

She could...she thought...steal enough power from Triana and the rest that she could transport all three conspirators out of there and back to the Citadel, that's what she could do. Or at least as many of them as she could get in the same room. Which meant that she'd better start practicing the magic on small things. If she could steal enough power...

Her hand closed on the nearly forgotten amber lump from her hoard; she closed her hand around it in an automatic reflex, then took it out and stared at it...and began to laugh.

Stupid! Of course she'd have enough power! She could use her stones to amplify it! Why didn't she think of that before? Because I was so busy being jealous of Triana, that's why.

And that was an entirely elegant solution. She could drain enough from Triana alone to take them to the Citadel...and that would leave the elven lady helpless to follow or detain them.

If she was going to do it, she'd better start practicing now. She looked up as the room suddenly darkened, and saw that the storm clouds she had sensed were rolling in, covering the sky like blue-black clouds of ink.

She'd better get ready to use this...because that wasn't the only storm that was moving in.

"Indeed, Lord Cheynar," Triana said smoothly to the image on her wall. Let others put their teleson screens in their desktops; she preferred to lounge when she spoke to someone. "I have seen some signs that the wizards you seek are on my property. Can you tell me again exactly what the reward is if I happen to find them?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "I'm afraid it's quite gone out of my head. The idea of wizards loose is terribly frightening, you know."

Cheynar sighed impatiently and explained the relatively simple reward structure all over again. Triana widened her eyes innocently, and feigned attentiveness. "I'll have my hunters look for them most diligently, my lord," she told him. "I really do think they must have slipped past you and gotten onto my estate. There are too many odd occurrences...missing livestock, that sort of thing...that make a great deal of sense if you assume someone is hiding here."

Before Cheynar could take the initiative and suggest that his men come look for the renegades, she pleaded exhaustion, and cut the communication.

Well, she thought, with a smile of satisfaction, that was certainly a good day's work. The seeds were now nicely planted. The crop should be ready to harvest at any time.

Now for Mero...

She rose to her feet and sought him in his new quarters, the spacious, private suite she had assigned him next to hers. He was playing a game of draughts against one of the slaves when she came in, but jumped to his feet with a speed that was tremendously gratifying. The slave likewise sprang to his feet, and quickly took a place at the side of the table, ready to serve.

He was coming along nicely. "I didn't know you played draughts," she said, gliding across the room and taking the seat the slave had hastily vacated for her. "I used to be quite good at it, actually. I like strategy games...but then, the best kind of strategy game is the kind played with real people, like the one your friends are setting up."

"What?" Mero said, frowning with puzzlement as he resumed his place.

"Didn't they tell you about it?" she said innocently, and covered her lips with a slender hand, as if she had said too much. "Oh...never mind what I said. It probably didn't mean anything anyway."

"Probably not," Mero said, and picked up one of his game pieces, moving it carefully, as if he were concentrating on the game to the exclusion of all else. "They're always hatching half-fledged plans and discarding them."

But they always included you in that, didn't they, dear? Triana thought with sly satisfaction. They never left you out of a planning session. But now it's beginning to look as if they're conspiring without you...and maybe even against you.

She tightened her glamorie on him, wishing more than ever that she had wizard-powers to control his thoughts. All she could do at the moment was manipulate him through the actions of others.

She moved her game piece, and studied the dark head across from her, bent over the draughts board. She rather thought she was doing a good job of manipulating all of them so far. The special treatment, special quarters, and frequent gifts were making it look as if she was singling him out...which of course she was. And that was indubitably giving rise to a certain amount of envy and jealousy. She had been encouraging him to think of himself as being somehow "better" than the others...and that should be reflected in his behavior to them. Certainly it seemed that way. She knew that several times he had come upon the three friends talking intently about something...and that they had broken off the conversation when he entered the room, turning the talk to something innocuous.

Any creature with an ounce of perception would be certain that he was the topic of conversation the moment before. He was, of course, but probably not in the sense he thought.

As for Shana...the attention she had been giving the boy, and the concubines she'd been sending him nightly were undoubtedly the cause of the black looks the girl had been sending his way. That relationship was certainly dying, if not already dead.

Mero made his move, and sat back in his chair, the frown still creasing his brow. She chose another piece and moved it, taking one of his.

And now she'd hinted that there were plans he hadn't been informed of. By now his skin must be crawling.

He moved again and, with a tight smile of triumph, took her royal piece. "I'm afraid you've lost, my lady," he said smoothly. "What's your forfeit?"

She smiled back, having had this in mind the moment she sat down. "I think this will do," she told him, slipping off a beryl-set ring and handing it to him. "After all, it was only a game of draughts. If you want higher stakes, you'll have to play a different game."

He took the ring, and kissed the back of the hand that held it. "Perhaps I shall," he replied, the frown gone from his face. "And perhaps if I lose, I shall think myself the winner, hmm?"

She laughed softly. "My word, Mero, you're becoming quite the courtier! I had no idea you could be so gallant!"

He released her hand reluctantly. "I've never been moved to play the gallant before, my lady," he replied, "but you can be assured that I will wear this, not as a token of triumph, but as a token of regard."

Just as I'd hoped, you silly child, she thought with elation, as he tried the ring on each of his fingers. One of her best spells was in that beryl. Once he put that ring on, he was never going to believe a bad word about her again. And once she took him to her bed, he'd be hers entirely. If she told him to fling himself off a cliff, he would. And I think that should be the stakes in the next game or two.

"Hmm," Mero said, when it wouldn't fit on any of his fingers. "I'll have to size it to fit me." When she started to reach for it, he waved her hand away and dropped it in his tunic pocket. "Don't worry your lovely head about it, my lady. After all you've taught me, resizing a ring will be child's play. I'll take care of it later...and don't worry, it will never leave my finger."

She sat back as he began rearranging the draughtsmen for a new game. Oh, I shan't worry, dear Shadow, she thought, keeping her eyes down on the board, lest the gleam of satisfaction in them give her away. That was the last thing that she was going to worry about.

Shadow opened the window of his room and made sure there was no one in the gardens below. A quick mental check showed that there were no watchers, human or magical, lurking about either.

He cleared the table and carefully pried the prongs from around the beryl without touching it with his flesh. When the stone popped out of its setting, he picked it up in a bit of silk, took it to the window, and flung it away from himself as hard as he could.

The tiny beryl quickly sailed out of sight. The bit of silk fluttered to the ground.

He nodded with satisfaction, and went back to the table.

A cloak brooch supplied another, unused beryl of the proper size and shape. He pried the gem out of its setting and placed it in the ring, using magic to soften the prongs long enough to mold them securely about the stone. Then he smoothed out the place in the cloak brooch where it had been, inscribing a leaf-shape in the softened metal, making certain that he left no traces of his tampering.

There. He put the brooch down beside the ring, and eyed them both critically. That should do.

The past few days had been agony; it had especially hurt him to say those awful things to Shana. She was a good girl, and she deserved better than that...but he'd had no choice, not if he was going to convince Triana that her glamorie was still in place.

The knock on the head he had taken during the fight had evidently dispelled it. The first thing he had noticed was that Triana's little affectations no longer were endearing, they were annoying. Then he had realized that for the first time in several weeks, he was able to think for himself. That was when he remembered that they had all come here only as a stopgap measure, a temporary hiding place, and that they had originally planned to get back to Shana's Citadel, enlist the wizards in their cause, and work towards freeing the slaves and saving the halfbloods still in hiding.

None of that had happened. Instead, he had drifted into a sybaritic dream with Triana at the center, ignoring his friends, his causes, everything he had thought was important. Shana had seemed both childish and an arrogant, overbearing fool. Now, while he still found her arrogant, he realized that she was not being childish when it came to Triana. She was suspicious of the elven lady, and had every reason to be.

He'd been casual about his relationship to Keman...but after he'd had a chance to think about it, and to observe Triana with clear eyes, he'd been angry. She'd been using him. At least he could say this much for Shana, she never used him. And Triana had been toying with him. He didn't know what her game was yet, but he was certain she had one.

That was when he decided to find out just what, exactly, she was up to...and the best way to do so was to fool her into thinking he was still enthralled and spellbound.

Even though, to do that, he had to keep up the act with his friends.

That had hurt, more than he wanted to admit. It had hurt especially when he'd had to insult Shana to her face.

He hadn't realized until then how much he liked her, and seeing her crumple under his insults had made him feel as if he were the lowest thing in the world.

But it looked as though things were about to come to a head. Taking Triana's hint, he had set up the chessboard instead of draughts for their second game...and she had lost. Deliberately, he was sure...he'd made a couple of very clumsy moves that could have given her the game, which she had totally ignored. She had dimpled, fluttered her eyelashes, and told him to name the forfeit. He had, naming what he figured she was expecting. After all, she'd been keeping him at arm's length for weeks now; deliberately heating his blood, then putting him off. And now he knew why. She had been weaving a glamorie around him, and a physical consummation would complete it. She wanted to be sure that the hook had set before she brought in the fish.

"You," he'd said slyly.

She had simpered and acted shy; he insisted. The long-awaited rendezvous would take place after dinner, in his rooms.

But that was hours from now...and he had a feeling, from the way she had hurried out, heading for her rooms, she had something she wanted to do.

Like calling someone on the teleson and telling them she had the "wild girl" everyone has been looking for.

He had every intention of finding out just what she was up to.

One advantage of being a servant, he thought wryly, was that no one ever paid any attention to what you did. The last time he'd been here, Valyn had been given rooms just like these. Shadow had stayed in the suite most of the time, unwilling to take the chance of having his illusory disguise dispelled. And since Shadow hadn't seen the elven manor yet that wasn't riddled with secret passageways, when he got bored with waiting, he'd gone looking for the doors into the ones here.

He'd found them, easily enough. And as usual, the passages had opened onto just about every room in the building. Now, if the ones in the guest rooms all worked alike-He examined the fireplace, and found the same little carved knobs he'd located in the other room. He twisted each of them in turn...

A panel beside the fireplace swung open without a sound. He slipped inside and closed the door after him.

He waited for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It wasn't totally dark here; there were peepholes that let in light on both sides of the passageway. There was a thick, wet smell of mildew, and dust cushioned the floor like a heavy snowfall. Obviously, they didn't use these very often. He wondered if Triana even knew they existed. He suppressed a sneeze and moved cautiously towards his goal, doing his best to disturb the dust as little as possible, holding his handkerchief to his mouth and nose to give him something to filter the dust.

Triana wasn't the type to want to go to an office every time she needed to talk to someone. Her teleson was probably in her room.

It was a good thing that his goal wasn't too far away...as careful as he had been, he was still kicking up dust. The air was full of it, and not all of it was being filtered out by the handkerchief.

This would be his bedroom...his dressing room...Triana's bathroom...He heard voices once he reached the area of Triana's rooms. Triana's...and one other. It sounded like simple conversation, not the voice of someone giving orders to a subordinate. It could be Triana talking to Valyn, but he didn't think it was. The voice sounded too deep to be Valyn's.

He hurried his steps a little...and in a few moments more he was able to make out words. He recognized Cheynar's voice immediately, and knew that his suspicions were being borne out. Triana did keep her teleson screen in her own rooms...and she was in contact with the elders.

"...enough of dancing around the bushes, my lady," Cheynar was growling, as Shadow stifled another sneeze and stopped where he was. "Let's get to the point, shall we? Do you have news of these renegades, or not?"

Shadow froze, hardly daring to breathe. So Triana had been talking to Cheynar about them being here! Shana was right; she had intended to betray them all along.

"Well, my lord," Triana said slowly, "there is certainly someone living in my woods...if not your renegades, then certainly some other wild humans. I confess, they are too clever for me or my men, and I would appreciate your help in flushing them out."

Shadow touched carefully at her thoughts, and heard her thinking,: I'll put together a hunting party, and lose them, then double back and meet Cheynar's people. I probably ought to put Mero to sleep though, and hide him somewhere until they've gone. He'd probably try to rush to the rescue, or something equally heroic and stupid. And he hasn't even begun to outlive his usefulness to me.:

"That's easily done," Cheynar replied. "I can be there in two days. Is that soon enough?"

"Perfect, my lord," Triana told him, her voice bright with satisfaction. And thought: :That's more than enough time to set everything up, including a campsite for Cheynar's men to find, so that it looks as if three of them been living there for some time. I wonder how Dyran is going to react to discovering his son is a renegade?:

"Then I will see you in two days' time, my lady," Cheynar said.

"You certainly will, my lord," Triana told him. "You certainly will."

Outside, a full moon sailed peacefully and serenely over the treetops. Inside, in the suite shared by Shana and Keman, there was anything but peace.

"I'm not being stupid, and I'm not being overly sensitive," Shana said patiently, doing her level best not to fly into a temper in the face of Valyn's skepticism. "And I swear to you, I am absolutely not saying these things because I'm jealous of Triana. You heard Keman! You heard what Mero told him! He is completely unbiased, and he certainly doesn't have any reason to feel threatened just because Triana has a pretty face."

"I would have said,'seductive nature,'" Keman put in, unhelpfully.

Shana stifled a groan. She had been trying to keep that particular aspect of their erstwhile hostess out of the conversation, knowing what it would do to her credibility.

Valyn reacted predictably. He put on that superior expression she hated so much, and said, in a tone that just oozed sweet reason, "But you do, Shana; you couldn't help it. It's a perfectly natural reaction. And after all, you're a guest in her house; of course that puts you on an uneasy footing with her. You feel you have to compete with her, and yet you can't. I understand that. But it doesn't make Triana bad."

Shana wanted to shake his shoulders and scream at him: I'm not some animal, to be set off just because I'm on another female's territory! But she kept her temper in check and repeated what he evidently had not heard. "Keman isn't a female, and he isn't in the least threatened by her and he..."

She was interrupted...by an odd sound that made her look over Valyn's shoulder, and the completely unexpected sight of a door appearing in the wall next to the fireplace and swinging open. She stopped dead in midsentence, her mouth hanging open as she stared. Valyn turned in his seat just in time to see Shadow emerge from the half-height door, beating dust from his clothing and coughing.

Her first thought was...How did he get back there? And her second was accompanied by a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Did every room in this place have hidden doors in it? Was that the way all elven buildings were made? If so...she would never feel comfortable in a building again! Not when someone could creep up on you unseen and pop out of the blank walls!

Valyn recovered first. "What were you doing in there?" he demanded, astonished. "And why did you..."

"I had to find something out," Shadow said, interrupting him. "Listen, I am really sorry...we're in trouble, I've been an idiot, and Shana's been right all along." His expression was a grim one, but he met all of their eyes without flinching. "Triana's been after me, and I fell right into her trap with a grin on my face and my arms wide open. She put a glamorie on me to make into her own little tame wizard...and she intends to throw the rest of you to Cheynar's people. I overheard her on the teleson this afternoon." He paused for a breath, and absently rubbed his temple, as if his head hurt. "I'm sorry. I apologize. Now, we have to get out of here; how are we going to do it?"

"Wait a moment...if you overheard her this after noon, why did you wait until now to tell us?" Valyn asked, accusation in his voice and eyes.

"I couldn't get away until now," Shadow replied unhappily. "I didn't want her to know I'd overheard her, so I had to keep on as if nothing had changed. Cheynar won't be here for another two days. I didn't think a couple of hours would matter one way or the other."

"He's right," Shana said, surprising even herself, as all eyes turned towards her. "If he'd come running to one of us this afternoon, and Triana had been expecting him to be with her, she'd have known something was wrong. Valyn, you were out riding, I was in the library, and Keman was..."

"Spying among the slaves," Keman supplied. "Looking for information that would prove to Valyn that you were not being unduly sensitive, Shana." He smiled sheepishly. "I found any number of things, but it would seem they are no longer necessary."

"You see?" Shana said, turning back to Valyn. "If he'd come looking for us then, Triana would have missed him, and we'd have wasted time trying to find each other." She raised one eyebrow at Shadow, who nodded soberly.

"Exactly. I've been stupid; it wouldn't help to compound my stupidity. But we have to get out of here now...because in a little while Triana is going to discover I'm gone, and she's not going to be happy."

Shana decided that she was not going to ask what he'd done. She had the feeling that his pride was smarting from this whole affair, and that he probably set up some surprise for Triana designed to salve that bruised pride. Unfortunately, that kind of "surprise" generally made for a great deal of trouble.

She should know; she'd given in to that temptation to salve her own bruised pride more than once.

"Ancestors!" Valyn muttered. "I wish you'd given us a little warning, Mero...how are we going to get..."

"We don't need a thing." Shana interrupted him, a grin of vindicated triumph on her face. "Just stay right where you are. I haven't been sulking in the library, like you all thought I was. I've been very busy, in fact..."

Her hand sought her globe of amber, and she closed her fingers around it tightly.

"Don't anybody move..." she warned.

Faster than a breath, she seized the power she needed from Triana, ripping it from her ruthlessly...

She fed the power through the amber, multiplying it threefold, and twisted it into the paths of the spell as she whispered the words that set the spell of transportation...

And she named the place.

"The Citadel..."

The last thing she saw was Valyn's mouth dropping open as the room filled with light as bright and sudden as a lightning-flash...

Her stomach lurched sickeningly...

...and they were gone.

Triana smoothed her pearl-white, silken dress over her breasts and flat stomach, and preened herself in the mirror. The fabric was just barely transparent, designed more to tease than to reveal. Mero had worn her ring at dinner, and she had seen to it that the meal was one loaded with purported aphrodisiacs. Between the spell, the dinner, and this dress, Mero should be ripe for the plucking.

She tapped on his door, then let herself in without waiting for his response, and flipped the lock shut as she closed the door behind her.

She didn't want to be disturbed by anyone, not tonight. Every indication was that Mero was not inexperienced; she was looking forward to putting him through his paces.

Mero wasn't waiting for her in the sitting room...which was probably not surprising. He was in the bedroom, of course, and given his romantic nature he had probably left the lights turned down low, and perhaps had perfumed the air with incense...she sniffed, and thought she detected the faint scent of flowers.

She slipped towards the bedroom, and eased the door open...

"Shadow..." she whispered, then stopped, puzzled.

The bed was still made up, the room undisturbed, and both were empty.

What...Now entirely perplexed, she pushed the door completely open, and walked normally into the bedroom.

Nothing.

Not a sign of life.

He's hiding behind the door, and he's going to jump out and catch me...

But he wasn't. He wasn't anywhere in the suite.

She turned, slowly, unable to believe that someone might make an assignation with her and then not appear for it. And as she turned, she saw the small square of paper pinned to the pillow.

She reached for it, and opened it.

Amateur, it said, in neatly formed script.

Nothing more.

It took a moment for her to understand what he meant...but the moment the meaning dawned on her, she was so startled that her mind went blank...

And by then, it was too late.

As she stood there, frozen with shock, someone reached out a magical "hand" and ripped her power from her, wrenching it away from her with a force that was physical as well as magical.

Ancestors...

Her knees gave; she stumbled, then fell onto the bed. She tried to call for help, but could only gape like a stranded fish.

The only "sound" was the one of the spell that took her power, a jangle of discordances like the music of mad minstrels.

Who...she thought, desperately trying to make her body work again. How...

But that magnificent creation that had served her so well for all these years was not responding. Her legs would not move; she could barely move her arms. As the last of her power bled away from her, and she began to black out from weakness, she tried to reach out with one hand for the bell to summon a slave.

Her vision narrowed, and sparks danced in front of her eyes.

She could feel the end of it...she almost had it...

Then...sound, overwhelming...the roar of an avalanche...the crash of thunder...

The transportation-spell?

And with that, she dropped into darkness.

FEAR...

Shana's stomach lurched and twisted; she was disoriented, dizzy. Was she falling?

Fear...the growl of thunder...

Sound, an unending roar, a cacophony, overwhelming, surrounding her...

...where am I...

Nothing...not blackness, nothing...all around her.

Dizzy...sick...thunder pounding the senses...

She panicked; couldn't remember where...what...

...and dropped with a bump that tumbled her rump-first down to the ground onto the lawn of the Citadel cave. The others apparently had no better luck with their landings than she did; when her head stopped spinning and she could look about, she saw them sprawled in varying degrees of disorientation beside her.

She coughed, and cleared her throat. In the near distance, where the Citadel bulked against the back of the cavern, there were shouts. Surprise, alarm, confusion; the entire Citadel had been aroused.

"I...didn't claim it was a quiet spell," she said weakly, as people poured out of the building.

Valyn had the presence of mind to cancel the magic that made Shadow look full-elven, and to cast a hasty illusion of halfblood appearance on himself; she saw the features on both of their faces blur and reform at the same moment. In the general disturbance as the transportation-spell's effects died down, she doubted if anyone noticed the light breath of music that came with his magic.

Right now she didn't want to even think about casting another spell. No wonder the old ones didn't do this often. She had known this would be more difficult than the simpler version she and the others had used to steal goods from the elven overlords...but she had not anticipated anything like this.

Zed reached them first, running as if his feet were on fire. When he saw who was sprawling all over the grass, he slowed, then stopped beside Shana, a strange mixture of surprise, apprehension, and wry amusement on his face.

"Well, Shana," he said, looking from her to Valyn and back again, "you certainly know how to make an entrance."

I don't believe it. The one time I do something I'm sure is right and it turns out to be completely wrong.

Shana buried her head in her hands; Keman sat down on the bed beside her, and patted her shoulder sympathetically.

She couldn't believe what a mess she'd made. She just couldn't believe it. She'd turned the entire place on its ear and undone hundreds of years of secrecy in one afternoon. How did she do these things?

"Hey," said Zed. She looked up, and he handed her a cup of hot tea. "Look, it could be worse," he continued, squatting on his heels next to her. "So, you didn't know the transportation-spell can be traced...so what? There was no reason you should know that...and I'd be willing to bet it was only a matter of time before the elven lords learned where the Citadel was."

"But I'm the one who broke the disguise," she said miserably. "It wasn't chance, or fate, it was me...doing something stupid."

"So?" Zed didn't look terribly worried. "There were a lot of us who wanted to face the elven lords straight on; now there's no choice. We fight, or we get wiped out."

"If that's supposed to make me feel better, it doesn't," she told him sourly.

He grinned. "We're not exactly helpless, you know...and anybody who's afraid to fight can pack their things and head into the wilderness or the desert." He paused a moment, then added, "Besides, even though they won't tell you this, I will. The elves only know where we are in general. They don't know the exact location of the Citadel. That gives us a really good tactical advantage when they move into the area to try and find us."

"But that wasn't what I wanted," she protested unhappily. "I didn't want to force anybody into anything." She glanced sideways at Shadow and Valyn, who occupied the room's only chair and the top of her little chest. "All I wanted was to get myself and my friends to someplace safe."

Zed shrugged. "So it didn't work out that way. Despite what anyone else says, I think we're ready to take the elven lords on. Provided we aren't taking on all of them at once."

At that, Shadow looked up. "I've been keeping track of the Council through the lovely Triana," he said, "just in case the wizards decided they weren't going to tell us anything. They're divided on it. In fact, it's business as usual. Some of them think this is a trick by one of the others, some are certain it isn't serious, and some just want to play games of politics with the situation. And of the ones that want to come wipe us out, most think that there isn't more than a dozen of us. That lot is arguing about who's to be in charge, and who is to report to whom...where the troops are supposed to come from...who's going to supply them. It's funny, really. While they're debating, Dyran, Cheynar, and a couple of others are stealing a march on them and coming after us."

Shana was surprised; first, because she hadn't known that Shadow's reach was that far, second, because of the elven lords' behavior. It seemed so ridiculous...

But Zed nodded. "That was what I thought would happen. Back during the Wizard War they were united. Nowadays they're so used to betraying each other that it's second nature to them. That's the weapon that is going to win this one for us."

"Win?" Shana squeaked. "I'll be happy just to survive! You haven't seen what they can do..."

Valyn finally roused enough to take part in the conversation.

He had been acting so...flattened. As if when his plan went wrong and she took over, all ambition and energy seemed to drain out of him.

"Shana, don't write us off the record before we even try!" He turned to Zed. "You can work that business of dividing them up even with the ones that are allied," he said slowly. "At least you can with Dyran's faction. No one trusts anyone in that cabal. If we can defeat them quickly, we'll frighten the rest...and I think at that point there would probably be enough elves on the Council who are concerned only with their own skins and prosperity that we might be able to get them to sue for peace before they figure out how few we are."

"Now that is what I was hoping to hear," said a voice from the doorway. Shana's old mentor Denelor entered, on the heels of his own words. "I've been studying the histories, you know," he said, rubbing a tired eye with one finger, "and I'd noticed something about the elven lords. Since the Wizard War, every bit of real, physical fighting that's ever been done has been fought through humans. You don't like to risk your own lives at all, do you, lad?"

He looked directly at Valyn when he said that, and it took Shana a moment to realize that the wording of that last question was significant.

Valyn paled, his fists clenched, and he looked about him as if trying to figure a way to escape.

"Do relax, there's a good lad," Denelor said wearily. "I have no intention of doing anything about you, other than picking your brains for information. You there, youngster, give me that chair, will you? I'm too fat to want to stand for long. Which one are you, Mero or Keman?"

"Mero," Shadow said, giving up the chair and taking a seat on the floor instead, relaxing under Denelor's matter-of-fact attitude. "Keman's on the bed. How did you know Valyn was elven?"

Denelor smiled a tired smile. "Two things, I suppose. One was his name...I know something about all the major elven lords and their heirs, and 'Valyn' isn't a human name, anyway. The other was the fuss that occurred when Dyran's heir and the heir's bodyslave went missing at about the same time, and the fact that it was hushed up so quickly. That told me that the youngster was probably either a runaway or an abductee, and more likely the former. We don't all bury ourselves under this mountain, and ignore the world outside, Shana." That, she presumed, was for the look of surprise she must be wearing.

Denelor settled himself in the chair with a sigh. "At any rate, I keep a quiet eye on the affairs of our neighbors; I put all the facts together and added the faint glow of illusion that hangs about you, and concluded that the V'kass el-Lord Valyn and the Valyn that materialized with our Shana were one and the same." He gave Valyn a kindly smile. "Sometime if you feel like talking, you'll have to tell me what led you to bolt, lad."

"Does anyone else know about him?" Shana asked anxiously.

"No," Denelor replied, folding his hands over his stomach, "and I don't intend to tell them. It isn't relevant. A lad who would keep his halfblood friend...relative?...safe for years, then turn and run with him, is not the kind who would betray us. What is relevant is what you can tell us about our opposition."

"You were right about them not wanting to risk their own lives," Valyn said, slowly relaxing again. "That's absolutely true. That's why feuds never turn into assassinations. When you have as long a prospective lifespan as one of us...well, you don't want to cut it short. If we can defeat the forces under Lord Dyran and make them think that we could just as easily defeat anything they'd bring against us, the Council is very likely to want to sue for peace. Especially if..."

He stopped, his expression clearly saying that he was torn between wanting to continue, and wanting to let his words remain unsaid.

"Especially if we can kill one or more of the elven leaders and bring it home to the rest that the immortals can be slain. Is that what you were going to say, lad?" Denelor asked softly.

Valyn nodded, reluctantly.

"That's easier said than done, Master Denelor," Zed said with direct matter-of-factness. "There aren't a lot of things that'll kill an elven lord. Magic, if you can get it past his shields. A sword, a knife, poison, if you can get within range to use them. Projectiles can be gotten rid of at a distance, so arrows are out. Except for elf-shot, and we don't have any of that..."

"We have something like it," Shana interrupted. :Keman, should we let them know what you are?:

Keman shrugged slightly. I don't know why not. Between Mother and me, we've pretty well let the secret out.:

:Then go ahead. Just don't fill up the room, please.:

"Oh?" Denelor said, turning back to Shana. "And just what is this...my word]"

Keman, who had transformed himself back into his real shape, though at less than one quarter of his real size, grinned toothily. Shana's bed creaked and threatened to collapse, and he slid quickly from it to the floor. Zed and Mero scrambled hastily out of the way, and Zed's eyes were as big and round as wine goblets. Shana couldn't help herself; she chuckled, just a little, to see the otherwise unflappable Zed so thoroughly discomfited.

"Dragon-claws, Master Denelor," Keman said, hissing the sillibants just a trifle. "You may ask Valyn if they are effective. Clippings from my claws can be made into an arrow-point, just as elf-shot can be. They pass magic-shields, and they are quite poisonous to those of elven blood."

He transformed again, back to his halfblood shape, and Zed moved cautiously back to his place, although he kept a wary eye on the young dragon.

"My word," Denelor said weakly. "This is...rather astonishing. But...there is nothing of magic about you, no telltale...how..."

"It's not an illusion, Master Denelor," Shana told him. "It's a true shape-shift. Use an illusion-breaking spell on him and he'll look exactly the same. That's dragon magic, to change the shapes of things, including themselves."

Denelor mopped his brow with his sleeve. "Well," he said, after a long pause. "I thought I would come down here to consult with you about our present situation, then bring something to the elders as a kind of given...but I'm going to bring back a great deal more than even I bargained for. Well." He sat there for a moment longer, looking at each pf them in turn, then heaved an enormous sigh. "Let's get on with it, then, shall we? There's no point in wasting time."

Valyn slipped from tree to tree, letting his clothing blend in with the bark as he came up on the enemy's rear.

Thank the Ancestors he finally had something to do. Something he could do. He felt so...useless. He hadn't been able to think of anything for himself lately...his mind just wasn't working. And every time Shana came up with another brilliant idea, he felt more and more inadequate. He'd assumed he would be pivotal in this whole rebellion...

Not only was he not pivotal, he wasn't particularly useful.

It was not a good feeling. And all his life, he'd thought of women as being the useless ones...not really consciously, of course, but...it was one of the "givens," like the fact that the sun set in the west. Shana had turned his "given" on its ear. Sometimes he half expected to find that the sun was not setting at all anymore.

Compared to that, finding himself working against Dyran was hardly worth thinking about.

Though it was odd to think of his father as the enemy. And yet, not odd at all. Somehow they had always been enemies, from the very beginning; and only now had the hostilities come out into the open. He had never really known his father, he thought, as he froze behind a tree trunk. It was strange, but he felt more kinship with old Denelor than he did with his own father.

As far as that went, he'd never really had the sense of family with anyone that the humans and halfbloods seemed to take for granted. Even Mero had always been...kind of an extension of himself. The shadow he had been nicknamed for. Mero had never seemed to have a life or a mind of his own...and one of the few times he'd balked, over handfasting to Shana, Valyn had never once hesitated to use a glamorie to change his mind.

In fact, the only time he'd done something against Valyn's wishes when Valyn hadn't used a glamorie to bring him round, was over Triana.

And was that because he didn't think he should...or because he didn't want to go head-to-head with Triana, he asked himself soberly.

He had found himself feeling very isolated and alone, watching the affection that Shana and Keman shared, the relationships between the older wizards and the children they had adopted. There was room in a relationship like that for quarrels and disagreements, for each party going his own way. There didn't seem to be that kind of freedom in the bond between himself and Shadow. It would indubitably have been better for both of them if there had been.

Those were uncomfortable thoughts, and he left them gladly enough as he neared the enemy encampment.

He just couldn't seem to...cope with feeling.

The encampment wasn't hard to find. The humans of the army were noisy, and they were patently afraid of the forest, covering that fear by making still more noise. Most of them had never been in this wilderland, but they had heard terrible stories about the beasts and monsters that supposedly ranged it. They didn't know they were about to have their fears realized.

Valyn sought for the peculiar blank spot that was the creature he had nicknamed the "snatcher." There were several of them in the forest, but this one happened to den very near the elven lords' line of march. It was, in fact, the same creature that had taken his horse the first night in the wilderlands. It wasn't nearly as dangerous as he had thought...it seldom went after two-legged targets, and it never killed more than it could eat...but they didn't know that.

He crept as close as he dared to the den, then froze where he was still safe...the snatcher hunted by movement...and sent out a delicate little thread of magic, creating an illusion of a fat pony just outside tangle of fallen tree trunks and thornbushes that hid its den, an illusion complete with rustling leaves and the sound of equine jaws tearing up grass.

The snatcher lunged, traveling so fast that it was a mere blur, the "pony" leapt away, then turned back to look at it with astonished eyes. It was very hard to see, once it stopped moving; it was able to change the coloration of its skin to blend in perfectly with its surroundings.

The snatcher lunged again. Again, the pony escaped, and to the snatcher it must have seemed oblivious to its danger.

Three more lunges and escapes, and the snatcher was within sight of the army's picket lines. The horses sensed something wrong; they began whinnying and stamping nervously just as Valyn banished the illusion. Hungry, frustrated by the inexplicable disappearance of its quarry, and already farther from its den than it like to be, the snatcher saw the picketed horses, and gave way to temptation.

This time the prey did not escape; one poor, unfortunate beast wound up in the snatcher's jaws, and the picket line exploded in panic as the snatcher snapped the ropes with a claw and retired swiftly to its den. Horses crashed through the underbrush as the ropes holding them broke and let them fly to the four winds. Some plunged through the camp, scattering gear and trampling people and equipment in their panic. Others plunged off into the forest, with handlers shouting after them.

Valyn withdrew discretely, before any of the elven lords thought to look for traces of magic, chuckling quietly to himself.

Mero waited patiently, lying along the tree limb, a position he had taken up as soon as he had determined where they planned to camp. Knowing, as he did, how the current hierarchy was constructed, and knowing where the choice campsites were, it didn't take a great deal of thought to determine where the various leaders would choose to have their tents pitched and arrange to be in the vicinity.

He had an excellent view of the encampment. Lord Cheynar paced outside his tent beneath the boughs of another tree not far away. Finally, after what probably seemed like an indecently long time to the elven lord, the person he was waiting for appeared.

Cheynar started to relax...then Mero nudged his mind, just a little. Safer, far, than using magic that the elves could set traps for.

:Stupid wench...spends all her time at the mirror...thinks it's all a game...should never trust women with power...should never permit a woman to command troops.:

"You took your time getting here, Triana," he snarled. "Couldn't you decide what dress to wear?"

Triana, who was garbed quite practically in leather armor very similar to Cheynar's, frowned. Her delay had been occasioned by another one of Valyn's little ambushes, one that left the entire encampment in shambles, and the picket line decimated. And the horses were supposed to be Cheynar's duty. Mero reached for her mind.

:How dare he! Obnoxious male...can't trust him...looking for a way to steal my troops, then my Clan...trying to discredit me, make me look like a fool...:

"It just so happens, my lord Cheynar," she said sharply, "I was seeing that the resupply of horses you lost due to your incompetence was taken care of properly. I don't leave important business to subordinates!"

Mere reached again. :Uppity bitch! Should be in the bower where she belongs! Probably out scouting the slaves for likely bedmates!:

"Really? Was it the horses that interested you...or the horse-keepers?" Cheynar smiled nastily. "It couldn't have been the horses...we don't have any stallions here..."

The sound of a palm striking a cheek with a crack that made heads turn all over the camp was sheer music to Mero's ears.

Shana lay flat on her back in her bed in the Citadel, all alone, her eyes closed, to all outward scrutiny completely asleep.

In actuality, she was very, very busy.

Between her native ability and the amount of practice she had in using the amplifying powers of her stones and crystals, her "touch" in the use of the spells that moved things about was unrivaled, even by older wizards. Add that to her ability to levitate objects, and she was, essentially, an invisible, undetectable saboteur. So she had taken it as her task to make life interesting for the elves hunting them.

At first, she had confined herself to simple sabotage. Now she was after bigger game.

From Mero's mind, she found Dyran's tent. With that location verified, she could "look" inside it, and even peer within caskets, "read" unopened documents, and sift through piles of papers without moving any of them.

Thus, letters vanished from a locked box in Dyran's tent, and reappeared under a pile of dispatches on Triana's portable desk. Cheynar's secret dispatches to the Council appeared in Dyran's correspondence. A series of small, valuable objects belonging to various subordinates ended up among Lord Berenel's personal effects.

A large cache of gold coins, moved from the storage vaults under the Council chamber, appeared in Berenel's luggage.

She still had some strength left after all this, so she concluded her exercise by disarranging the papers in all the elven lords' tents, making it look as if someone had been rummaging through them.

Then, greatly daring, she eased a touch into Cheynar's mind. :Something is wrong,: she whispered into his thoughts. :You can't trust anyone. Dyran is a powerful mage, and even Triana could be hiding something besides who she wants in her bed. Perhaps you had better check the tent...:

Shana found the dim lighting of the Citadel meeting-room restful to her tired eyes. The other four looked just as weary; even Keman had been hard at work, keeping watch as best he could on the elven lords' thoughts.

The council of war in the wizards' meeting-room included the four youngsters for the first time, at Denelor's urging. Up until this moment, their efforts had been discounted...but the effect they were having at slowing the elves' advance and disrupting their movements had finally convinced the older wizards that they knew what they were doing.

"... and I think it's working," Shana concluded wearily. "I think we might be able to get rid of them without exchanging a single blow ourselves. They haven't moved their camp for the last two days, and yesterday Cheynar came so close to challenging Dyran that I was ready to place a bet."

Denelor straightened his tunic and nodded. "There's no doubt that what you're doing is keeping them distracted. More than that, really. The seeds of mistrust you planted are flowering so that they are finding excuses to quarrel. What I cannot comprehend is why things haven't fallen completely apart by now."

Valyn, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. "It's Dyran," he said softly.

All heads turned in his direction.

"Would you care to elaborate on that, lad?" said Denelor.

"It's Dyran," Valyn repeated. "Haven't you noticed that while all the others are at each other's throats, he never gets angry, never makes accusations? That's been one thing that he's been noted for, all of his life. He may betray his allies, but he will never, ever lose his temper with them. He saves his tempers for his slaves...and for the halfbloods."

Denelor nodded thoughtfully, as if Valyn's words confirmed a guess of his own. "Go on, lad. You obviously know something we don't."

Valyn frowned. "He's always been able to keep people under his thumb. He's a master at it...threats, bribes, persuasion, glamorie...it doesn't matter, he knows how to handle them all. He's the one who's kept the quarrels patched up, who's found a face-saving explanation for the inexplicable. I don't know why he's so determined to find us, but he is, and he isn't going to let anything or anyone get in his way."

"Dyran is the real foe here?" asked Garen Harselm, his green eyes icy and calculating.

"That would make sense," said Lukas Madden thoughtfully, hand stroking his beard. "It makes excellent sense. But what does Dyran expect to get out of this?"

Valyn shrugged. "I know a lot about Lord Dyran, but I don't really know him," he said with a straight face, as Shana held her breath, afraid that he would make a slip. Only Denelor knew who and what Valyn was...and she was afraid of the consequences if any of the other wizards should discover Dyran's heir in their midst. The fully human children she and Zed had rescued had made more than enough of a stir...and they were children, too young to be traitors or spies, young enough to fit into life within the Citadel and learn loyalty to the wizards.

But a full-grown elven lord?

The first thing the others would think of would be betrayal; the next, how Valyn could be used as a hostage.

So, Valyn had miraculously become a halfblood cousin, like Mero, named for Dyran's heir and placed in the heir's service until that worthy had gone off to Lord Cheynar for fosterage. Whereupon, fearing discovery, the two had escaped. None of the other wizards knew as much about the elven lords as Denelor, the subterfuge had passed unremarked.

"We have to conjure up some trick that not even Dyran can explain away," said Parth Agon decisively. "The longer we keep them quarreling, the more time we will have." He smiled thinly. "I must admit that I find it ironic to think that the very tactics that defeated our predecessors may be our salvation."

"Only if we can continue to make them work for us," Denelor warned. "The combined troops of all of the allies could easily overrun the Citadel, despite its protections, if they ever learn exactly where it is. Arrogance and overconfidence lost the last war for us. And according to the old chronicles, we were the victims of manufactured quarrels the last time. We must stand united in this."

He looked directly to each of the wizards in turn, before concluding his speech. "Let's learn from our history, shall we?" he said mildly.

Please, Shana thought, with an intensity that threatened to give her a headache. Please listen to him.

There was a moment of silence...

Then Parth cleared his throat, and half a dozen voices spoke up at once, each with a different plan.

So, Lord Dyran was the one to reckon with, hmm? Garen Harselm left the war council with a decidedly different set of ideas than his fellow wizards. And as he made his way to his quarters, he weighed all the possible options in his mind. They were all set to oppose the elven lords...even old Parth had screwed up his courage, now that there was no choice except to run or stand and fight.

And probably die. Denelor was right. The wizards should learn from history. And history said that opposing the elves was suicide.

Garen opened the door and lit the lamps in his suite with a negligent flick of his hand, and surveyed the accumulations of a lifetime, all crowded into three cluttered rooms. Not so much, really. Nothing that couldn't be replaced. Very little he couldn't live without.

There were a few things he would like to take along...a book or two, a favorite robe, a carved fish he liked to hold when he was thinking...

But...no. None of it was worth encumbering himself. And if he was seen in the halls carrying a bag, there would be questions that he was not prepared to answer.

So he turned his back on the possessions of a long and acquisitive life, and closed the door again, heading down into the maze of corridors in the caves behind the Citadel, towards an exit he was fairly certain only he knew existed.

"Lord Dyran?" The human guard was diffident, humble, and reluctant to disturb his master's concentration.

Having learned, no doubt, from the example of his predecessor.

A predecessor whose ashes were even now being swept into the fire-pit by yet another slave.

"Yes?" Dyran said, without looking up from his letter. It was another missive to the Council of course; damned fools, all of them, who could not forget their quarreling long enough to deal with a real problem. But he could not be there and here at the same time...and once he crushed this menace, he could deal with the Council at his leisure.

Why was it that none of them could understand that the halfbloods were more dangerous than any elven lord? If he'd known that the thefts all these years had been due to halfbloods and not wild humans with wizard-powers, he would not have left a tree standing in this wilderland.

"Lord Dyran, there's a Lord here to see you," the guard said, with commendable civility. "He says he's here to offer you an alliance."

An alliance? Dyran looked up, his interest piqued. Were they flocking to his banner already, and the war not yet won? "Send him in," he told the guard, "and see that we aren't disturbed."

But when the visitor entered Dyran's tent, his face shrouded in the hood of a cloak, Dyran frowned. There was a glow of magic about him, the faint hint of illusion. If this was some kind of a trick...

With a single word, he overpowered and broke the spell, and the man chuckled, and put back his hood, allowing the golden glow of a mage-born light to shine on his face.

There was no mistaking those features.

Halfblood! Dyran raised his shields immediately, and his hand stole beneath the table to grasp the knife hidden there.

"What do you want of me, wizard?" he asked coldly.

But the other made no offensive moves, indeed, no moves of any kind. His bearded face remained calm, even bland. "It is not what I want of you, my lord," he said, in a smooth, even voice. "It is what I can offer you."

Dyran's eyes widened in surprise, but only for a moment. Then he, too, began to smile. "So," he said, releasing his hold on the dagger's hilt and leaning back into his chair, "one of the wizards chooses to turn his coat. Is that it?"

"My lord, I protest," the stranger replied, irony thick in his tone as he spread his empty hands. "I am simply choosing to provide my services to someone who would appreciate them. The choice is simple, or so it seems to me. I can choose to serve you, live, and most likely prosper...or I can oppose you with the rest, and die, as the old ones did long ago. My name, by the way, is Garen Harselm."

"You interest me," Dyran said, and gestured at one of the stools on the other side of the table. "Do sit down. Now, what exactly are these'services' you offer, Garen?"

Garen hooked one of the stools neatly with his foot, and drew it to him before settling himself onto it. If he was disappointed at not being called "Lord" Garen, he did not show it. "First, I offer my services as a wizard. You, of course, are an acknowledged master of elven magics...but I can provide you with the other half of the equation. The wizard-powers. The ability to know what your enemies are thinking...to know what they are doing...to move objects without needing to cast a spell..."

"Enough, Garen, I know what wizards are capable of," Dyran said with a trace of impatience. "I also know that not all wizards are equally able in all aspects of those powers."

Garen shrugged. "I can't expect you to believe me when I tell you that I am as much a master of my magics as you are of yours. I shall, of course, prove that to you in time. But I can offer you two more things that

I think are of great import to you." He held up one finger. "The location of the wizards' stronghold." He held up the second finger. "The location of your son and heir."

Only years of self-control...and the suspicion that the wizard was going to say that he knew where Valyn was...kept Dyran from betraying himself.

"And just what are you asking in return for all this?" he asked smoothly, raising a long, elegant eyebrow.

Garen spread his hands. "Simple enough, my lord. The opportunity to serve you. After all, isn't it better to live in service than to die in dubious freedom?"

"Indeed," Dyran replied, smiling. "So...just where is this stronghold?"

Dyran waited, still smiling, while Triana, Cheynar, Berenel, and the rest seated themselves. Triana alone looked unruffled...but then, she was a creature of the night, and had probably been awake when his summons arrived. "My lords," he said, "and lady. Permit me to thank you for answering my call to assemble this evening." He smiled a little more as Berenel stifled a yawn. "I know it is late, but I think, Lord Berenel, you will find it was worth breaking your rest to come."

"It had damn well better be," Berenel grumbled, wrapping his cloak about himself. "This is the third night in a row that something's rousted me out of my bed."

"It should be the last, my lord," Dyran replied with a friendly nod. And you can go back to your dragon-chasing, my lord...while I go on to overlordship of the entire Council. "I have had a most unusual visitor tonight," he continued. "A wizard."

He chuckled at the swift intake of breath from Triana and Cheynar. "Yes, that is correct. A halfblood. He offered me the location of the wizards' stronghold...and his own services. An offer that would be extremely difficult to turn down, wouldn't you say?"

"In exchange for what?" Berenel demanded sharply. "And how do you know he wasn't lying?"

"In exchange for his safety, and my protection...and of course, I don't know that he was telling the truth. He could easily have been lying, both when he told me freely, and when I burned his hands off." Dyran steepled his hands before his chin, thoughtfully. "It is possible of course. But I rather think he was telling the truth both times. And I don't think he was tampering with my mind...I have had dealings with wizards before, you know, and pain completely destroys any control they have over their powers."

"Where is he now?" Triana asked...uneasily, Dyran thought. He regarded her askance for a moment. There was something going on there. When this was over, he would have to see to the Lady, perhaps. She was hiding something...

He nodded at the pile of ash a slave was sweeping up. "He'd outlived his usefulness." At Triana's frown he pointed an admonitory finger at her. "You are very young, my lady. I take it that you disapprove of my promising this renegade safety, then disposing of him."

Triana nodded slightly, reluctantly, as if she had not wanted to admit to that disapproval.

"Firstly, I never offered him safety," Dyran told her. "He assumed it. And secondly, a man who has betrayed his friends, his own kind, is never to be trusted...and a wizard, a halfblood, triply so. Anyone who turns traitor once will do so again, when the stars turn in favor of a new master. Remember that, my lady. Halfbloods are treacherous by nature, and become more so with every passing year they add to their age. Like a one-horn, they will always turn on their masters."

"For once, Dyran, I agree with you," Berenel said emphatically. "So where is this'stronghold' of theirs, and what are we going to do about it?"

Ah, I have you, my reluctant allies, Dyran thought with satisfaction, as he unrolled his map before them.

He had them all. And to think it was his bitterest enemies who gave them to him!

"Here is the stronghold," he said, pointing to the spot he had carefully plotted from the renegade's directions. "And this is what we are going to do about it..."

THAT WAS ODD, Keman thought, as he flew over the enemy campsite, trusting to the moonless night to keep him invisible. That was very odd...

Although fires were burning in every fire-pit, and torches flared beside the tents of the commanders, there was no movement in the camp. None whatsoever. And as Keman had come to learn, there was always some movement in a sleeping camp. Sentries and messengers came and went...men needed to relieve themselves...horses stirred in their sleep.

He took a deep breath and tested the air. Woodsmoke. Nothing more. It didn't smell right, either. There should have been other odors; cooking, horses, the sweat of humans.

He swooped in lower for a better look.

No sentries. That was the first thing he noticed. Of course, they could be hidden, but why bother? He cast a sharp glance at the bivouacked troops. There were bundles lying beside the fires, but they weren't moving either. Men did not just lie like logs when they slept, they twisted and tossed...

Lie like logs ... He sharpened his eyes and focused in on those bundles. Those were logs! Logs, bundles of brush, grass... Where were the fighters?

He drove himself upward with strong wing-beats, and hovered, checking the forest beneath, changing his eyes again, so that they could see the heat of warm, living bodies...

And found what he was looking for, traveling in dark and silence through the forest, somehow able to see despite the moonless night and the stygian dark under the trees. The entire enemy army, moving on a line that pointed straight at the Citadel.

For a moment, his heart stopped beating.

Fire and Rain...

His wing-beats faltered...then, as shock gave way to panic, he drove himself upward in frantic haste.

:Shana!: he called, reaching as hard as he could.

Please, please let her hear me, let her answer. ...

He drove himself higher, then turned his drive into a flat-out, high-speed run to the Citadel.

:Shana!:

Ordinarily Keman transformed as he landed, to avoid frightening people, but when he had reached Shana and sounded the alert, she had asked him to stay in draconic shape when he arrived. The only entrance large enough for him in that shape was the main one...and he saw as he landed that the illusion cloaking it was gone and it was lit as bright as day by hundreds of lamps and torches.

He heard children crying and being shushed; from within the cave, heard the echoing voices of people shouting directions. The smoke that swirled pale and gray from the cavern mouth tasted of other things than wood and oil.

There was a thin but steady stream of people heading northwards from the entrance...groups of two and three children and one adult, all carrying packs. He squeezed by a little knot of them, and they never even looked up at him as they passed, even though most of the children had only seen him once or twice, and at a distance. The children stumbled under their burdens, sleepy, heavy-eyed, and confused; the adults were awake enough, but grim-faced and frightened.

The Citadel itself buzzed with activity, with most of the adult and near-adult wizards rushing about, carrying things; the confusion looked random and chaotic at first, but after watching for a bit, Keman could see there was purpose behind it.

Some of them were carrying small brown bundles into the tunnels, and returning empty-handed. Some were taking larger packages into the Citadel, and returning with the small brown bundles. Some were going off down the tunnels and coming back laden...

Some were feeding the fires with papers and books.

Shana came running up, pack on her back, and her face white with strain and fear, hair tumbled all awry.

"Can you fly more tonight?" she asked, and at his nod, she reached for the back of his neck and grabbed his spinal crest, hauling herself up into place in front of his wings with practiced ease. In less time than it took to breathe, she had settled herself on his back.

"Where are we going?" he asked in Kin tongue, trotting back towards the mouth of the cavern, his mouth dry with anxiety, his stomach in one big knot. But he still couldn't help thinking that if the conditions had been pleasant instead of panicked, he'd have purred a little...under the fear, the anxiety...it felt good to have Shana with him again. Good, and right.

"They're never going to get everyone out in time, so we're going to play rear guard," she replied, as they passed another little group of children, slipped through the entrance, and reached the clearing outside. And at his start of surprise, she added, "We're going to pull off a delaying action, but not by ourselves. Remember that herd of one-horns we found?"

"Biggest herd I'd ever seen," he responded absently. "I didn't know any of them were sociable enough to make a herd that size. They must be some variant on the breed. Hold on..."

He made a short run and launched himself strongly into the air, pumping his wings as hard as he could to make up for the lack of updrafts, noting as he gained altitude how Shana moved with him, and how she felt like a part of him...unlike Valyn, who'd felt inert and lifeless, like a sack of grain. And by the time he had breath to continue the conversation he knew what she wanted.

"You are the only creature I've ever heard of who can control those monsters," he said over his shoulder. "But do you think you can control an entire herd?"

"Well," she shouted back against the wind of his passage, "that's what we're going to find out."

They did.

She could.

Without his night-sight to guide them, they would never have found the herd of one-horns, but once they located it, Shana didn't need much time to wake them and bring them under her control. Keman wished Shana could see the herd as he did...the faint starlight gleaming on ivory and ebony coats, shining on the long, slender, pointed horns...

You could almost forget the fangs and the claws, and that they could kill even snatchers with that horn.

And of course, from here the mad, orange-red eyes were impossible to see.

Keman had to hover as rock-steady as he could, because all of Shana's concentration was taken up with making sure that the herd followed her orders...that none of them turned maverick and broke away, because as soon as one broke, they all would. The herd moved along steadily, as docile as a herd of two-horns...and they needed to keep it that way. He kept his mind as silent as possible, knowing that the least little distraction on his part could ruin everything...

But everything went as perfectly as if it had been planned and practiced. Right up until the moment that the herd got downwind of the army.

Below him, Keman saw first one, then a dozen, throw up their heads and sniff the air suspiciously. The whole herd stopped dead in its tracks, and the lead stallion pawed the ground and snorted.

Then started to turn...

Oh no...Shana was losing them...

The rest of the herd pranced restively as the stallion hesitated, started forward, backed a pace, lowered his head, and squealed angrily; protesting, and rebelling against Shana's unspoken commands.

Keman searched his memory desperately for everything he knew and had learned about one-horns...and dared a thought of his own, aimed at the stallion.

Not a thought, really...an image. The image of the two-leggers taking his mares. His mates. Stealing them...and giving them to another stallion. Shana caught his image, and added an illusory scent of strange stallion to what Keman projected.

The stallion's head came up as he sniffed the air for what he thought he had scented...and he bugled a cry of maddened challenge. He reared and screamed again, his herd picking up his agitation, and now starting to mill. Keman sensed that Shana was holding him back, making him angrier.

Then he was plunging straight ahead, nothing in his mind but red murder, craving nothing more now than to destroy those who would dare to steal his mates, all earlier protests utterly forgotten. The rest of the herd followed, infected by his rage, with the scent of the humans now become the scent of the enemy, and blood-lust maddening them past all reason. Through the forest below Keman tumbled a frothing wave of black and silver manes and tails; the thunder of feet, the squeals and shrieks carrying clearly up to where he flew. In moments they had gained such momentum as to be next to unstoppable.

They hit the scouts and cut them down, pounding them to red dust, before they could even sound a warning.

Keman sped up, and moved ahead of the herd, reaching the oncoming army before the rage-maddened one-horns did. Below, the first ranks looked up at the sky, wondering if there was a storm coming in.

The herd encountered the leading edge of the army, and the real slaughter began.

Keman didn't wait to see more than the initial contact; he veered off and headed northwards, feeling sick to his stomach and a little guilty. And he wasn't certain which he felt more guilt over and sorrier for...the army of human slaves or the one-horns.

:I wish I hadn't had to do that.: came Shana's subdued thought.

:I know,: Keman replied, relieved that she shared his feelings of guilt. :Me, too.: He heaved a sigh that she echoed.: Well, if I know one-horns, at least half the herd is going to survive...and if the slaves have any sense at all, they'll run.:

:If they have a choice,: Shana reminded him glumly. :Their masters may not give them one. The one-horns are going to run right over the top of them. And I don't know if the one-horns are going to be so crazed that they turn and try to run down the entire army, or if they're going to scatter as soon as the humans start to fight back.: She sighed again. :At least we gave the rest enough time to seal as much up as they could, destroy the rest, and get out of there.:

:.Where are we going?: he asked. :And...how did this happen? How did the elves find out about us?:

: We're going north, to an old human fortress.: she told him, as he veered north at her direction, catching a rising thermal and gaining more height, ill's in ruins, but it has a well, it's on the top of a hill, and it's defensible, which the Citadel isn't; there are just too many bolt-holes and escape tunnels for us to block. The old wizards meant to use the new place for a second Citadel, but they never got the chance because of the plague.:

:Where did you find that out?: he asked.

It was in those old chronicles I found,: she replied. The ones back in the older tunnels.:

There was a lot about those old records she hadn't said much about; he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was just that she hadn't had time...

And they still didn't have time, not if they were going to follow the fleeing wizards.

That inability to defend the Citadel was what he had been afraid of when he'd first seen the place. Many ways to escape meant just as many ways for enemies to get in. That was the one aspect in which it was not the kind of home a dragon would have built...

Hopefully, this new place had fewer exits.

:As for what happened...: she continued, with smothered anger, :someone turned his coat. One of the older wizards. He was missing when you called in the alarm, and he hadn't turned up by the time I left. We have to assume he's told the elves everything there is to know about us...how many we are, what we can do. Since he was on the war council, even about you. Any edge we had because of surprise is gone.:

The feelings that came with her thoughts told him that she was not optimistic about this second refuge. He didn't much blame her; it didn't sound like anything other than it was...a last place to make a stand.

:Shana,: he said solemnly, :I want you to make my apologies to the others when we land.:

:Apologies?: she replied, startled. :For...:

:I'm going to leave for a little,: he told her. I can't do much for you now, since the enemy knows about me...but there's something I can do that he won't know about, and if I leave now, I can return in time to do some good.:

He took a deep breath, as she waited in expectant silence, her mind churning with unspoken speculations. :I can go get help,: he said. :From the Kin.:

Keman left Shana at dawn. He came winging in to the airspace above the Lair in the light of full day; tired, but determined to have satisfaction at long last. And desperately afraid for his friends. Desperation gave him extra strength to put up a good front.

:Who flies?: came the ritual question from the sentry, who had not recognized him.

:Kemanorell: Keman trumpeted back, following the thought-reply with a bugling cry of defiance. :I return to claim Challenge-Right!:

Chew on that a while, he thought with satisfaction, when the sentry's reply was lost in confusion. He circled for a moment, pondering the best choice of ground, then landed on the top of one of the cliffs overlooking the Lair. He settled there, clung to the rocks with claws and tail, and took an aggressive stance, head high, spinal crest up, frill extended, mantling his wings, and waiting for his answer.

Down below he watched as several dragons emerged from their lairs, and stared upward at him. He had, deliberately, sent his reply to the sentry in an "open" mode for everyone in the Lair to hear...and it seemed that everyone had. More and more dragons either, appeared below, or poked their heads out of openings all along the sides of the canyon. Several of the Kin gathered in a knot...consulting, he supposed, on who was to deliver his answer. Finally it came.

:The Lair recognizes Kemanorei:

That voice he knew. Keoke.

The Elder launched himself laboriously into the air, then rose, slowly and with obvious effort, to hover just opposite Keman's perch.

Keoke should fly more often. Father Dragon moves better than he does.

:The Lair recognizes the Right,: Keoke said. :What is it that you challenge?:

Keman pulled himself even taller than before, getting all the height that he could, and spread his wings to the sun. :I challenge the old way of silence and isolation,: he replied. :I challenge the Law that is not written. I challenge those who would have the Kin bide in shameful sloth when there are those who need their help. That is what I challenge, Elder. Will the Lair hear me, or need I go elsewhere?:

That last was customary, but hardly needful. No Lair would ever want to admit to the shame of not having answered a rightful challenge to custom...even though that particular right was seldom exercised by anyone but a shaman. Alara could have issued that challenge over Shana...

But in the process, she might have lost her Lair if she had lost the challenge.

Well, Keman had already exiled himself. And not for nothing was he a shaman's son. This time the Lair, and the Kin, would at least see their responsibilities, even if they would not acknowledge them.

Keoke hovered a moment longer before answering, slowly and reluctantly, :The Lair will hear you.:

:Now,: Keman said quickly, before the Elder could name a later time. :There is need for haste in this.:

Keoke's wings missed a beat, as if he had not expected Keman's demand. But it was within Keman's right to insist on an immediate hearing, and Keoke answered even more reluctantly, :Now, then. I will summon the Lair.:

Then, without another word, the Elder sideslipped, turning on his wingtip, and began the spiral down to the bottom of the canyon. Keman waited until he had landed, then launched himself off the edge of the cliff and followed him straight down, wings folded in a stoop, backwinging at the last moment, sending sand and tumbleweeds flying as he braked to a spectacular landing on top of a rock outcropping near the center of the canyon.

Keoke's frill flared in reluctant admiration, though he said nothing; he simply turned, and took a step in the direction of the gathering-cavern.

"No," Keman said aloud. "Not in the dark. Not in a place where secrets breed. Up here. In the light, where truth belongs."

Keoke half turned and looked over his shoulder, one eye-crest arched ironically. "Isn't that a little melodramatic, Keman?" he said mildly.

Keman's spinal crest flattened with embarrassment, but before he could reply, Alara spoke from behind him; his heart jumped when he heard his mother's voice. He had been so afraid that she would be angry with him for what he had done...and yet, he'd had no other choice...

"Melodrama is the prerogative of the young and passionate, Keoke," she said. "But I think he is right. This should be discussed in the open, not in hiding. The Kin are accustomed to hiding. Perhaps we ought to change the thinking that leads to hiding."

As Keman turned to his mother with surprise and gratitude, she looked up at him and sent a wordless wash of love and welcome over him; and said softly, "I stand with you in this, Keman. I am only sorry that I was not free to do so before."

He lowered his head to her, and she brushed his crest lightly with her wingtip, and silently sent him a bolstering tide of approval. And as the first of the Kin arrived, they turned to face them together, he on the rock, and she below him.

"... and there the matter stands," Keman said, looking from face to face in his audience, and finding the visages of the Kin strange and difficult to read after all his time among the elves and halfbloods. "Through no one's fault, elvenkind knows we exist; the need for secrecy is at an end, for the secret itself is out. The Kin took on a responsibility to Lashana which has been sadly neglected...and another to the halfbloods by our meddling. Would they be in such peril if it were not for the Prophecy that we took care to spread? I think not. I challenge the old ways; I call for an end to them, and for the Kin to come to the aid of the halfbloods, now, before it is too late."

"I answer that challenge!" cried a female voice he did not recognize...though by Alara's start of surprise, she did. "Are you willing to fight to defend it?"

"Who speaks?" Keoke called impatiently. "Who answers the challenge?"

"I do!" replied the same voice, and the dragons crowded around Keman moved aside to let the challenger through. For one moment, as the young female dragon pushed and shouldered her way to the front of the crowd, Keman did not recognize her, she had changed so much since he had left. But then her coloring, a certain sullen look in her eyes, and the petulant cast of her features gave her away.

"Myre?" he said, bewildered.

"What, you didn't think that your sister would have the sense to see what a fool her brother is?" Myre sneered...sounding very like Rovylern. She cast a sideways, guilty glance at Alara, but did not show any sign of backing down. Instead she remained exactly where she was, feet planted stubbornly, spinal crest signaling her aggressive intentions. "The halfbloods have no call on us," she said scornfully. "No two-legged animal does. Your brain has gone soft, brother, to think that we owe anything to animals. The Kin serve only the Kin. The Kin answer only to the Kin. That's the way it should be."

:.After you left, Rovylern changed his bullying from physical to verbal...and Myre left my lair and moved in with Lori and her son, and became every bit as much of a bully as he had been,: Alara told Keman quickly. :She and Lori are two of a kind, and with Rovylern lurking in the background, Myre can intimidate just about anyone. The only difference between Myre and Rovy is that she's careful never to be caught harassing anyone. I sometimes think,: she concluded bitterly, :that I gave birth to a changeling.:

"How do you challenge me, sister?" Keman asked mildly. "A physical contest would be blatantly unfair, don't you think?" Female dragons, once they matured, tended to be much larger than males, and Myre was no exception to that rule.

"Magic," Myre said, and Keman thought she had an odd, sly look to her when she said it. "Your magic against mine. Here and now."

"Done..." he said, without thinking...and realized from the smothered gasps around him that he had made a major mistake.

But it was too late to back out now...assuming he could have. A physical challenge was out...he was small even for a male, and Myre, though not yet at her full growth, was much bigger than he was...if he had turned down magic, what did that leave?

He leapt down from his rock to the ground, and faced her; the rest of the Kin cleared well away from the combat area...and he tried not to notice his mother's glance of despair as she moved back out of the way.

He had learned things with Shana she couldn't possibly know. He had an edge she couldn't guess. He would beat her. He had to.

But the sly expression in her eyes did not change as he braced himself for the first trial. "Let the combat begin..." said Keoke.

Ahhh!

Keman shuddered as another shock convulsed him, holding him upright, although he could no longer see and could hardly hear.

...got to hold on...it hurts...hurts...

The sounds of the crowd of Kin were growing more and more indistinct, as he tried to break Myre's hold on him, and failed.

"Enough!" Keoke roared...it sounded as if his voice were coming from the other side of the universe...

The pain stopped, and Keman collapsed in a boneless heap into the dust; dimly hearing Myre's bugle of triumph, and no longer caring. He simply lay where he had fallen, head on one side, eyes closed, the bitter taste of defeat choking him, and no less an agony than the ache of his abused flesh.

He would live...in fact, in a while, he would be mostly recovered, for recovery from magically caused hurts came swiftly for a dragon. Right now he wasn't certain if that was what he really wanted.

He'd lost. He told Shana he'd bring back help...but he'd lost. Myre didn't even cheat; she didn't have to. The magic he knew was no match for combative Kin-magic. And that was all she knew.

If he had been in halfblood form, he would have wept.

How could he face them again? How could he go back to them and tell them that the help he promised wasn't coming?

But if he didn't go back...they wouldn't have even him.

He was exiled now beyond all recalling, as good as dead; if he were to approach anyone of the Kin, they would pretend he was not there.

He waited as sounds receded; as the last of the Kin left the arena, left the "dead one" to vanish discreetly. At least that would give him the privacy to pick himself up and take himself and his defeat away. Finally he opened his eyes, and slowly, aching in every fiber, got himself to his feet. He felt as if every scale had been separately hammered, then set on fire.

The canyon was completely empty; there wasn't even a hint that anything lived here. Somehow, that made him feel worse. Contrary to the Law, he had hoped that at least Alara would have stayed.

But...perhaps it was just as well. Now he was free to do whatever he felt had to be done. He would do it alone...but he need no longer fear the censure of anyone of the Kin.

You couldn't condemn a ghost, he told himself. You couldn't punish someone who was already dead. He didn't have anything else to bring Shana, so he would bring her what was left of his life.

Even though he was ready to give up, he would not begrudge her that. Whatever was left for him to do, he would. Even though it was probably not enough to save her.

He lifted his wings and spread them to the sun...and threw himself and his defeat into the cold, uncaring skies.

Alara climbed the back of the cliff to avoid being seen by any of the Kin. Right now, she was so angry that she could hardly think...she certainly wasn't going to be coherent enough to come up with a convincing lie.

Keman should be flying very slowly...and he would without a doubt have to stop fairly soon to make a kill. The fight would have left him terribly depleted. It shouldn't be too difficult to follow him.

She seethed with anger at the Kin of her Lair...at the Kin in general. Keman had been right; he'd been right since the beginning. His challenge should have been answered properly, with a responsible acknowledgment. The Kin should have protected him. It should never have come to trial-by-combat.

She reached the flat top of the cliff, and paused for a moment to rest and take in sun and the energy it supplied. She would need it; this was going to be a long flight.

The one thing that this sorry situation had done was to force her to set her priorities. What was the point of being shaman to a Lair full of bullies who did what they wished because no one stopped them, and cowards who abdicated their responsibilities because they were too lazy and too selfish to think of anything outside their own petty needs? What kind of a self-respecting shaman would remain in service to Kin like that?

What was important? To act on responsibilities, no matter what anyone else did. To do as Keman had done...stand up for what was right.

To stand behind the child who had the guts to do all of that, and shame to those who did not.

She climbed to the edge of the cliff, balanced there, and gathered herself for flight.

:Alara, wait.:

Alara stopped herself in midlaunch with a lurch, and turned to see who was behind her.

Keoke hauled himself laboriously up the cliff-face, and behind him, she saw the heads and snouts of a dozen others. She tightened her claws on the rocks and drew herself up stubbornly as they all climbed up over the edge and surrounded her.

"Don't try to stop me," she warned. "Keman was right...he's been right all along, and no stupid trial-by-combat with a bully is going to make him wrong. I'm following him, I am going to help him and my fosterling, just as I should have when he first ran away, and the Lair can just find itself another shaman. There is nothing you can say or do that is going to make me change my mind."

"Change your mind?" Keoke repeated after her...and to her absolute astonishment, he was clearly surprised. "Change your mind? Fire and Rain...we don't want you to change your mind, Alara...we want to go with you!"

"You...what?" She blinked, trying to make sense of what Keoke had just said.

"We want to go with you," he repeated patiently. "Myre won, yes, but she was in the wrong, and she only won because she's been working towards a challenge like this since the day she moved in with Lori. She plans on ruling the Lair. We all knew that! And we knew Keman was right, too...but there aren't enough of us to make a majority."

"I'm sick of this Lair," said Orola, with obvious disgust. "I'm sick of the lazy ignoramuses that think all we need to do is keep our bellies full and sit in the sun, like a fat herd of sheep. And I am sick to death of the petty nonsense we've been wasting our time on..."

"We're tired of doing nothing," chimed in one of the females, one of the young adults, about Keman's age. "Every time any of us wants to do something out there"...she waved a wingtip in the general direction of the elven lands..."all we hear about is that we have to keep our existence secret. Well, it isn't secret, and it hasn't been for a while, and we don't see any reason to go hide in a cave and nope nobody finds us!"

Her frill rose with agitation, but Keoke calmed the youngster with a look. "The real factor here is that Keman was right. We are at least partially responsible for the danger that the halfbloods are in now...and we are totally responsible for what happened to Lashana. The two-leggers are not thinking beasts; they are our equals. And the humans were here before we were; it's their world, and we and the elves are the interlopers here. We owe it to the rightful inhabitants to at least try to set things right for them, since we have co-opted a part of their world. The oldest ways taught us that we must accept and act upon our responsibilities, but we haven't done a thing. We've simply played with these beings as if they were markers on a gameboard. But they aren't...and it's time we made things right with them. Or at least tried."

:I have been waiting most of my life to hear those words from the Kin, Keoke,: boomed a deep, yet gentle, mental voice.

As one, the Kin looked up...as a shadow half again larger than any of them could cast came between them and the sun...and the very last creature that Alara had ever expected to see winged down to a graceful and effortless landing on the cliff-top, beside her.

Father Dragon shone in his full colors, purple and scarlet, and as fit and young-looking as the most athletic of them all. He covered Alara affectionately with his scarlet wing, as the rest of the dragons gaped at him in surprise...

Even Keoke.

"I have," he repeated, his frill rising, his huge eyes on all of them, "waited for hundreds of years to hear those words, Keoke." His gaze now rested upon each of them in turn, and Alara saw an entirely new expression in his eyes than she was used to seeing from him. Excitement, anticipation, eagerness. "Many, many years ago, when first I explored this new world for our Kin, I took the form of a halfblood wizard, and I not only walked among them, I worked with them. I was in the company of those who organized the first uprising, and I remained with them to the end of the conflict...and not as an observer, nor as a simple meddler in their affairs. I was one of them. And had they not fallen to treachery, I would likely still be one of them."

He raised his head proudly, and Keoke stared at him as if the Elder thought he had heard things amiss.

"You were with the wizards?" Keoke asked dazedly. "Truly?"

"Truly. I helped to plan the rebellion," Father Drag on told him. "I have been hoping for many years now, ever since I realized that the wizards were multiplying again, that they would gather their courage and rise up against the elves. And I had planned to join them, if I could, in whatever shape I could." He paused for a moment, then continued. "I could not in all conscience use my position as your chief shaman to urge you to help the halfbloods...but now that you have decided to do so"...he smiled toothily..."I trust you will permit me to join you?"

Shana scanned the sky anxiously. So far, the elven lords had not yet traced the fleeing wizards here. The traps they had left at the Citadel had certainly accounted for some of their followers (and with luck, one or two of the elves), and had, hopefully, disorganized and delayed the hunt.

The herds of deer and other beasts she had driven across the trail should have contributed to the delay.

But it was only delay, and everyone here knew that. They were on the very edge of mapped territory now, and there was a good reason for that. From here on, the terrain was so inhospitable no one other than the young and the fit could expect to pass through it. If they'd had time, perhaps they could have made their way across it, children and oldsters and all, by patiently exploring it one day at a time, and making safe trails. But they didn't have that time.

The enemy was coming, and their stand would be made here, or not at all.

And many had resigned themselves to that stand being a futile one.

Shana had not told the others what Keman had said to her; she had not wanted to raise hopes, only to dash them again. She wanted to believe that he could persuade the Kin...but she remembered, only too well, how they had treated her. First he would have to persuade them to abandon centuries of secrecy. Then he would have to persuade them to act on behalf of creatures who were not Kin.

The prospects of doing both did not seem very likely to her.

If I can bring them, Keman had said, look for me to arrive in two days' time. Three, at the most. Today was the third day since he had left, and Shana had been watching for him since the morning of the second.

This fortress was as ruinous as rumor had painted it...the outer wall was intact, but only because it had been constructed of stone blocks as wide as most men were tall. Within that outer wall were only the shells of buildings...and the few rooms that had been chipped from the stone of the mountain itself. Wind and weather and the passing of the years had taken care of roofs and any contents.

But the well was still clear, and once they had constructed a new gate of logs, the outer walls were enough to hold off any army. Now, anyone sound enough to thieve goods by magic was working as long as his strength would hold out, Shana included; those areas that were weatherproof or could be made that way were being stuffed to capacity. No one cared if magical alarms were tripped...and there were a great many elven lords who were complacently quarreling over whether or not the wizards were a danger, who would one day discover that they had been robbed even while they quarreled.

They wouldn't be starved out, unless the elven lords found a way to prevent the thefts, she thought soberly. And the elves wouldn't drive the wizards out with thirst. They would have to pry the rebels out. I hope that won't be easier than I think it will.

But the legended weapons of the elven lords were terrible things...and she was not certain they would be able to defend against them this second time. Too many secrets had been lost with the old wizards. And even though their foes were fewer, so were they.

And worst of all, the wizards' most clever and implacable enemy was heading the opposition again. They had no such experienced leader.

Dyran wouldn't stop until they were all ashes.

She scanned the sky again, watching for the blue-on-blue dot that would be Keman...

And saw, instead, three...four...a dozen...

Led by one, larger by far than all the rest, large enough for her to see wings, long neck, a trailing tail...

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she clutched the top of the wall so tightly that her entire hand turned white.

They grew nearer and larger by the moment. And yes, there was little Keman...not really little, but dwarfed by his companion. Flying wearily, she could tell by the labored flapping of his wings, but gamely keeping up with the pace set by Father Dragon. For it was Father Dragon leading the way, royal purple scales shading into scarlet, blazing bravely in the sunlight...and now she saw Alara's scarlet...Keoke's green...Orola's saffron...Liana's green-into-yellow...

At least a dozen dragons in all, and a dozen times more than Shana had ever hoped to see.

:Is the hunting good here, Foster Daughter?: Alara asked, her voice warm with amusement. :I fear we have brought a number of very hungry guests, with quite alarming appetites.:

:I...I think so, Foster Mother,: she managed to reply.

:We will not be lazy guests, I pledge you, my child,: said another thought-voice, very deep and warm. :We understand you have some unwelcome visitors on the way. We will be pleased to help you send them away.:

:Thank you, Father Dragon,: she replied, in something of a daze.

:You may call me Kalamadea, child,: he replied, with amusement. :I think that name may not be entirely unknown to you...:

Her hand went to the amber globe in her pocket, that had come from the hoard of that same Kalamadea, the dragon who had, in his guise as a wizard, helped to lead the last Wizard War.

:So the Elvenbane found my message and my hoard? Excellent. You may keep your jewel, Shana,: he continued, following her thought. :You are making better use of it than I did. Oh, will you tell your friends that we are coming, so that no one mistakes us for overgrown geese for the pot, and shoots us?:

:Yes, sir!: she replied, and turned to cup her hands around her mouth and shout down into the fortress below her the words she had never hoped to call.

"The dragons are coming! The dragons are coming!"

THUNDER CRASHED OVERHEAD, vibrating the very stones of the fortress, and Keoke, Liana and Shana all looked up involuntarily. The dragons were in their Kin-forms...which meant that there wasn't a great deal of room to spare. Fortunately, the upper story of the fortress, beneath the domed roof, had been constructed with dragons in mind.

"You'd think I'd be used to that by now," Shana said, looking back down at Keoke's claw in her lap, and her task.

"Why? We aren't," Keoke replied. "I never get used to thunder-calling. You know, I must admit that I never thought I would fly to the aid of the wizards only to spend my time growing my claws..."

"And getting them clipped, Elder," Shana reminded him. "These bits of nail are one of our most valuable weapons, and everyone knows it, sir. Don't worry, we should have enough nail-clippings as soon as I finish with you two. We can only make so many arrows...and frankly, if we use all of them, this thing will have gone on longer than any of us thought it would."

"Well, child, there's little enough we can do at the moment, it's true." Thunder rumbled again overhead, and the stone beneath them vibrated with it.

"It's not as if you haven't already done plenty," Shana told him. "We wouldn't have lasted a day under siege if it hadn't been for what you did to this fortress. Now, I'm beginning to believe we're going to win this one...or at least make it too costly for them to pry us out."

"True enough." Liana sighed, and extended her left claw to be clipped.

The dragons had wasted no time in implementing their newly won resolution to help. After landing...and eating hugely, which drove the provisioners briefly to despair, until they realized that it would be possible for the dragons to hunt on their own after this...the fourteen draconic allies had turned their abilities and powers to the transformation of the fortress into something siegeworthy.

This was even Shana's first look at the dragons' magic, other than shape-shifting. She still didn't know how they accomplished what they did; it seemed to involve the same kind of bone-deep understanding of...of matter...that enabled them to change to the forms of such nonliving substances as rocks. All she did know was that they distributed themselves fairly evenly about the fortress, after chasing all the halfbloods and human children out, and began sculpting the place, forming the stone into the shapes they wanted.

When they finished, the fortress was a wonder. The tops of the walls had bulwarked walkways and covered, arched roofs, with view- and arrow-slits, and the tops bulged outward, angled steeply towards the outside...so watchers could see right down to the foot of the walls and so that anything that struck them was likely to bounce out rather than in...and all corners were rounded so that grappling instruments would be unable to get a purchase on them. There was a perfectly clear space between the walls and the single inner building. Catwalks connected the building to the walls at a height of three stories above the ground, and it had no openings at all below the second story, other than the single door on the ground floor. It too had a dome-shaped, rounded roof, to assist in deflecting projectiles. Inside, each floor was a single, enormous room. There wasn't a seam, a crack, or a join-line anywhere. The entire place looked to have been carved from a single flawless piece of rock. Which meant, of course, that there were no weak points for the siegers to attack...something that probably frustrated the elven lords no end.

The only defects anyone could find in the design were the lack of fireplaces...quickly remedied by rigging stoves with chimneys going out the windows...and the fact that there were no rooms for individuals. And that second problem would only be a problem if they had to spend a very long time living here.

For now, however, the transformation of their shelter was nothing less than miraculous, and many of the wizards were soon proclaiming it enthusiastically to be superior to the Citadel.

Shana wasn't willing to go quite that far...the sanitary facilities at the Citadel were suited for humans, where the draconically designed facilities here were sketchy and primitive, to say the least...but it was far and away the best place she'd ever seen to wait out a siege.

And a siege was exactly what they were under. Dyran had moved in his troops two days after the dragons had completed their alterations, and more elven lords were joining him with every day. The thefts had brought it home to every elven lord with any size estate at all that distance was no guarantee of invulnerability and the losses Dyran had incurred and the size and scope of the Citadel when it was found had convinced everyone that the menace was real, and much more serious than they had thought.

Dyran was still the commander...he had held on to that position by sheer force of will. Shana had prayed for his overthrow, but had no real belief that he would lose the position...really, only death or incompetence would remove him, and they were not likely to see the latter. Insofar as magic attacks went, most of those were counteracted after the first attempt, as the wizards deduced what had been done and how to counteract it. The rest had been effectively shielded against. So far, casualties were light...though they had lost about ten, and there were twice that number wounded. Worst was exhaustion; they were keeping a day-and-night watch on the camp, in hopes of avoiding being surprised, and another day-and-night watch on the elven lords.

That was Father Dragon's doing; he was in charge of the halfbloods' side, as Dyran was commander of the elven lords'. Shana hadn't even needed to say anything about those old journals...the wizards themselves had deferred to the dragon, on the grounds that he was already a leader, and he had seen this all before. Father Dragon had seemed taken aback, and reluctant at first to take such a leadership role, but he wasn't given much choice. The other dragons were disinclined to obey the orders of two-leggers, and once the last of the work on the fortress had been completed, things threatened to become very chaotic unless he took a hand.

As in this watch on the elven lords' minds. The elves guarded their thoughts, but sometimes things leaked through, and every slip on the elves' part meant another bit of possibly important information.

On the positive side, the elves had no idea they were facing more than one dragon. The Kin flew out by night to feed, and returned before dawn, careful not to show themselves. In the case where the shamans needed to see the sky to work weather-magic...like now...they left with the others and simply did not return, taking cover somewhere nearby.

The elves dabbled in weather-magic. This was their first taste of the real thing; a full-scale Storm-calling at shamanic hands. Or rather, claws.

There were no wizards outside the walls right now. Pouring rain that drenched everything in sight, and pounded unprotected heads into a stupor, kept everyone under shelter. The elven camps were not so fortunate; the humans, when not fighting, huddled miserably under what shelters they could contrive, under scraps of canvas or under trees...fully half the tents were down and the rest threatened to collapse at any moment. Tent stakes would not hold in the soaked and muddy ground, and violent wind gusts uprooted canvas tents and turned them inside-out in a heartbeat. Nor were the elven lords entirely immune; many of them were sharing quarters, since the feebler magics of elves like Cheynar were not proof against the wind and weather, and their luxurious tents were also lying ruined and flat under the pounding rain.

The wizards' respite was only partial, however. Despite rain, despite lightning licking the ground around the fortress, Dyran was pressing the attack. And word had come from those watching the camp that this was a different man than the Dyran they had watched for so long. This Dyran was implacable, admitting no setbacks, permitting nothing to discommode him for long...a driven man, even an obsessed man. Valyn had grown very quiet when the watcher had told them that...and Shana wondered why. But when he wouldn't confide anything, either in her, or in Shadow, she dismissed it from her mind. Valyn had been growing more and more distant these days; withdrawn and introspective, and not even Denelor could pry him out of his shell. He was probably feeling rather useless; most of the older wizards knew as much or more combative magic than he did, and he was too softhearted to join the marksmen on the walls. Shadow, on the other hand, was a great deal more help...full of ideas, and the first one to volunteer for any task. He'd been blossoming since the Triana affair, and Shana was relying on him more and more as time went by...for as the liaison with the dragons, and the only one of them who had anything like real fighting experience, she had become the de facto leader of this little revolt.