Traitor's Moon

11 SETTLING IN

Alec's heart sank a little when Adzriel pointed out their guest house. Tall, narrow, and topped with some sort of small, open-sided structure, the house loomed ominously against the late-afternoon sky.

Inside, he found little to alter his opinion. Though well appointed and staffed by smiling Bokthersans, the place had a shadowed, oppressive feel—not at all like the airy comfort of Gedre.

What in the world makes them think this place is beautiful? he wondered again, but kept his opinions to himself as Kheeta guided them through the house. The warren of dimly lit rooms were stacked at odd levels and connected by narrow corridors and galleries that seemed to all slant to some disconcerting degree. Interior rooms had no windows, while the outer ones opened onto broad balconies, many without the privacy of draperies or screens.

"Your Bash'wai had an interesting concept of architecture," Alec grumbled to Seregil, stumbling over an unexpected rise in a passageway.

The interior walls were crafted of the same patterned stone as the outer ones. Accustomed to the rich murals and statuary of Skala, it struck Alec as odd that a people would leave no pictorial record of their daily life.

A large reception hall took up much of the ground floor. Smaller rooms behind it were appointed for private use. At the back lay several bathing chambers and an enormous kitchen that overlooked a walled stable yard. This was flanked on the right by the stables, and to the left by a low stone building that would serve as a barracks for Beka's turma. A back gate let out onto an alley between this house and Adzriel's.

Klia, Torsin, and Thero had rooms on the second floor. Alec and Seregil had a large room to themselves on the third. Cavernous despite the colorful Aurenfaie furnishings, its high ceiling was lost in shadow.

Alec discovered a narrow staircase at the end of the hallway and followed it up to a flat roof and the octagonal stone pavilion that stood there.

Arched openings on each of its eight walls afforded pleasant views of the valley. Inside, smooth blocks of black stone served as benches and tables. Standing there alone, he could easily imagine the house's original inhabitants sitting around him, enjoying the cool of the evening. For an instant he could almost hear the lost echo of voices and footsteps, the rise and fall of music played on unknown instruments.

The scuff of leather against stone startled him and he jerked around to find Seregil grinning at him from the doorway.

"Dreaming with your eyes open?" he asked, crossing to the window that overlooked Adzriel's house.

"I guess so. What's this thing called?"

"A colos"

"It feels haunted."

Seregil draped an arm around Alec's shoulders. "And so it is, but there's nothing to fear. Sarikali is a city dreaming, and sometimes she talks in her sleep. If you listen long enough, sometimes you can hear her." Turning Alec slightly, he pointed across to a small balcony near the top of his sister's house. "See that window up there, to the right? That was my room. I used to sit there for hours at a time, just listening."

Alec pictured the restless grey-eyed boy Seregil must have been, chin propped on one hand as he listened for alien music seeping from the night air. "Is that when you heard them?"

Seregil's arm tightened around his shoulders. "Yes," he murmured, and for one brief moment his face looked as wistful as that lost child's. Before Alec could do more than register the emotion, however, Seregil was his old bantering self again. "I came to tell

you that the baths are prepared. Come down as soon as you're ready."

And with that he was gone.

Alec lingered a bit, listening, but heard only the familiar bustle of his fellow travelers settling in.

Beka declined a room in the main house in favor of a small side room in the barracks.

"I haven't seen a decent fortification since we got here," Mercalle grumbled, looking the place over.

"Makes you wonder what happened to those Bash'wai folks," Braknil observed. "Anyone could ride in and take the place."

"I'm no happier about it than you are, but it can't be helped," said Beka. "Get watch fires started, give the place a thorough inspection, and set guards at all entrances. We'll rotate everyone between guard duty here, escort detail for Klia, and free time. That ought to keep them from getting bored too quickly."

"I'll keep those off duty to standard city drill," said Mercalle. "No less than three in a group, old hands watching out for the new ones, and keep them close to home for the first few days until we see how warm our welcome really is. Judging by some of the Aurenfaie I saw today, there's likely to be a bit of chest thumping."

"Well said, Sergeant. Pass the word, all of you; if there is any trouble with the 'faie, Commander Klia doesn't want steel drawn unless life is about to be lost. Is that clear?"

"As spring rain, Captain," Sergeant Rhylin assured her. "It's better politics to take a punch than to give one."

Beka sighed. "Let's hope it never comes to that. We've got enough enemies back over the sea."

Entering the long main room of the barracks, she found Nyal stowing his modest pack next to one of the pallets.

"You're bunking in with us, then?" she asked, feeling another odd little flutter below her breastbone.

"Shouldn't I?" he asked, reaching uncertainly for his pack again.

From the corner of her eye she saw Kallas and Steb exchange knowing grins. "We still need you, of course," she replied tersely. "I'll have to consider how to assign you, now that we'll be splitting into details. Perhaps Lady Adzriel can find me another interpreter or two. We can't expect you to be everywhere at once, can we?"

"I shall do my best to be, nonetheless, Captain," he replied with a

wink. But his Smile faltered as he added, "I think it might be best if I don't attend the feast tonight, though. You and your people will be well looked after by the Bokthersans."

"Why not?" asked Beka, surprised. "You're living here in Adzriel's tupa. I'm sure she'd welcome you in her house."

The Ra'basi hesitated. "May we speak privately?"

Beka ushered him into her side room and closed the door. "What's the problem?"

"It is not the Bokthersans who would not welcome me, Captain, but the Akhendi. More specifically, their khirnari, Rhaish i Arlisandin. You see, Amali a Yassara and I were lovers for a time, before she married him."

The news sank in like a kick in the gut. What's the matter with me? I barely know the man! Beka thought, struggling to remain dispassionate. Instead, she suddenly recalled with merciless clarity how Nyal had kept his distance from Amali during the journey from Gedre when he had been so friendly with everyone else, and how he had faded into the background when her husband appeared at the Vhadasoori.

"Are you still in love with her?" She wished the words back as soon as she spoke them.

Nyal looked away with a sad, shy smile. "I regret the choice she made, and will always consider myself her friend."

Yes, then. Beka folded her arms and sighed. "It must have been uncomfortable—being thrown together again this way."

Nyal shrugged. "She and I—it was a long time ago, and most agreed that she made a wise choice. Still, her husband is jealous, the way old men are. It's best that I stay in tonight."

"Very well." On impulse, she laid a hand on his arm as he turned to go. "And thank you for telling me this."

"Oh, I think it would have been necessary sooner or later to say something," he murmured, and was gone.

Sakor's Flame, woman, are you losing your mind? Beka berated herself silently, pacing the tiny room. You barely know the man and you 're mooning over him like a jealous kitchen maid. Once this mission is over you'll never see him again.

Ah, but those eyes, and that voice! her mutinous heart replied.

He's a Ra'basi, for all his traveling, she countered. By all reports that clan was expected to support Viresse. And Seregil obviously distrusted Nyal, though he hadn't come out and said so.

"Too many months without a man," Beka growled aloud. That

was easy enough to remedy, and without all the bother of falling in love. Love, she'd learned through harsh experience, was a luxury she could not afford.

Freshly bathed and brushed, Alec and Seregil headed downstairs to meet the others in the main hall.

Reaching the landing at the second floor, however, Seregil paused. "I'd feel better if we were down here, closer to Klia," he noted, walking the length of the crooked corridor where the other guest rooms lay. At the far end was another stairway, with a window overlooking the rear yard. "This goes down to the kitchen, as I recall," said Seregil, following it down.

Wending their way past baskets of vegetables, they greeted the cooks and were directed down a passageway to the main hall at the front of the house. Klia, Kheeta, and Thero were there already, sitting next to a cheerful blaze on the hearth.

"It's too bad, having Akhendi there his first night with—" Thero was saying to Kheeta, but broke off when he caught sight of them.

"Hospitality must be served," Kheeta murmured tactfully, giving Seregil a knowing look that sent a niggling little jolt through Alec's gut. The two men may not have seen each other for forty years, but an undeniable rapport remained between them.

"Of course," Seregil agreed, brushing the matter aside. "Waiting for Lord Torsin, are we?"

And changing the subject as quickly as ever, too, thought Alec.

"He should be down in a moment," Klia said. The sound of cheers echoing down the back corridor just then.

"Ah, yes, and Captain Beka, too," Klia added with a knowing wink.

A moment later Beka strode in dressed in a brown velvet gown. Her unbound hair had been brushed until it shone and she even had on golden earrings and a necklace. It suited her, but if her expression was anything to go by, she didn't agree. Sergeant Mercalle came in just behind her, grinning broadly at her captain's unease.

"No wonder your riders were cheering," Kheeta exclaimed. "For a moment there I scarcely recognized you."

"Adzriel sent word that I was included among the guests," Beka explained, blushing as she flicked an imaginary bit of lint from her skirts. She looked up in time to catch Alec and Thero staring and bristled. "What are you gawking at? You've seen me in a dress before."

Alec exchanged a sheepish glance with the wizard. "Yes, but not for a long time."

"You look very—pretty," Thero hazarded, and got a dark look for his trouble.

"Indeed you do, Captain," chuckled Klia. "An officer on the rise has to know how to carry herself in the salon as well as in the field. Isn't that right, Sergeant?"

Mercalle came to attention. "It is, my lady, though this war hasn't given the younger officers much opportunity for anything except fighting."

Torsin came down the main stair and gave Beka an approving nod. "You do your princess and your country honor, Captain."

"Thank you, my lord," Beka replied, softening a bit.

Adzriel had included Klia's entire entourage in her invitation, and everyone was in high spirits as they walked over, even Seregil.

"It's about time I brought you to meet my family," he said, grinning crookedly as he slipped an arm around Alec and Beka.

Adzriel greeted them, flanked by her husband and sister. "Welcome, welcome at last, and Aura's light shine on you," she cried, clasping hands with each in turn as they entered. Seregil and Alec were soundly kissed on both cheeks. The word «brother» was not spoken but seemed to hover on the air like a Bash'wai spirit.

"The Akhendi and Gedre are here already," Mydri told them as they walked through several elegant chambers to a large courtyard beyond. "Amali is very taken with you, Klia. She's talked of nothing else since she got here."

This house was larger, but seemed to Alec to be more welcoming, as if centuries of habitation by this family had imbued the harsh stone with something of their own warmth.

Low, two-person couches for the highest ranking guests had been set out on a broad stone platform above an overgrown garden, positioned so that the members of the dinner party could watch the moon rise over the towers of Sarikali. Alec counted twenty-three people wearing the colors of Bokthersa, and half again as many Akhendi and Gedre. The riders who'd accompanied Klia over the pass were seated at long tables in the garden among banks of fragrant, funnel-shaped white flowers. They called out happily to the Urgazhi, making space for them among their ranks.

Amali was already stretched prettily beside her husband. She had not warmed to Seregil during the long ride, and showed no signs of thawing now. Alec was glad to be seated several couches away from her, near Adzriel and the Gedre khirnari.

Sitting down next to Seregil, however, he studied the Akhendi khirnari with interest. Rhaish i Arlisandin sat with one arm clasped

loosely around his wife, clearly pleased to be with her after a long absence. Looking up at Alec, he smiled. "Amali tells me you were the luckbringer of the journey?"

"What? Oh, this." Alec raised a hand to the dragon bite on his ear. "Yes, my lord. It was a bit of a surprise."

Rhaish arched an eyebrow at Seregil. "I would have thought you'd have told him all about such things."

Alec was close enough to feel Seregil tense, though he doubted anyone else noticed. "I've been very remiss, but I've always found it painful to—remember."

Rhaish raised a hand in what appeared to be some benediction. "May your time here be one of healing," he offered kindly.

"Thank you, Khirnari."

"You must sit with me as a most honored guest, Beka a Kari," Mydri invited, patting the empty place beside her. "Your family took our—took Seregil in. The Cavish clan will always be welcome at the hearths of Bokthersa."

"I hope we can offer your people the same hospitality one day," Beka returned. "Seregil has been a great friend to us, and saved my father's life many times."

"Usually because I'd gotten him into trouble in the first place," Seregil added, drawing laughter from many of the other guests.

Servants brought in trays of food and wine as Adzriel made introductions. Alec quickly lost track of the names but noted with interest the various Bokthersans. Many were referred to as cousins; such terms often indicated ties of affection rather than blood. One of these people turned out to be Kheeta's mother, a dark-eyed woman who reminded Alec of Kari Cavish.

She shook a finger sternly at Seregil. "You broke our hearts, Haba, but only because we loved you so." The stern look gave way to a tearful smile as she embraced him. "It is so very good to see you in this house again. Come to the kitchen anytime and I'll bake spice cakes for you."

"I'll make you keep that promise, Aunt Malli," Seregil replied huskily, kissing the backs of her hands.

Alec knew he was seeing glimpses of a history he did not share. As the old familiar ache threatened to close around his heart, however, he felt long fingers close over his own. For once, Seregil understood and offered silent apology.

The meal began informally with several courses of finger foods: morsels of spiced meat or cheese wrapped in pastry, olives, fruit, fanciful nosegays of edible greens and flowers.

"Turab, a Bokthersan specialty," a server murmured, filling Alec's cup with a frothy reddish ale.

Seregil clinked his cup against Alec's, murmuring, "My tali."

Meeting his friend's gaze over the rim of his cup, Alec saw an odd mix of joy and sadness there.

"I'd like to hear of this war from you, Captain," said Adzriel's husband, Saaban i Irais, as a course of meats was served. "And from you, as well, Klia a Idrilain, if it is not too upsetting to speak of it. There are many Bokthersans who will join your ranks if the Iia'sidra allows." Judging by the worried frown that crossed Adzriel's face, Alec guessed that Saaban might be one of them.

"The more I see of your people, the more I wonder why they would risk themselves in a foreign conflict," Beka replied.

"Not all would, or will," he conceded. "But there are those who would rather meet the Plenimarans now than fight them and the Zengati on our own soil later."

"We can use all the help we can get," said Klia. "For now, however, let's keep the darkness away and speak of happier things."

As the evening progressed and the turab flowed, conversation turned to reminiscences of Seregil's childhood exploits. Kheeta i Branin figured in a good many of these tales, and Alec was surprised to learn that the man was actually a few years older than Seregil. Seregil had moved to Kheeta's couch to share some story, and Alec studied the pair and those around them, trying yet again to get his mind around the long 'faie life span that he himself shared. Adzriel and her husband, he knew, were in their twelfth decade, a youthful prime among the Aurenfaie. The oldest guest, a Gedre named Corim, was in his third century and looked no older than Micum Cavish, at least at first glance.

It s the eyes, Alec thought. There was a stillness in the eyes of the older 'faire, as if the knowledge and wisdom of their long lives left its mark there—one that Kheeta did not yet show. Seregil, though—he had old eyes in a young face, as if he'd seen too much too soon.

And so he has, just in the time I've known him, Alec reflected. By the time they'd met, Seregil had already lived a human lifetime and seen a human generation age and die. He'd made a name for himself while the friends of his youth were still finishing out their long childhoods. Seeing him here, among his own kind, Alec realized for the first time just how young his friend actually was. What did his own people see when they looked at Seregil?

Or at me?

Seregil threw his head back, laughing, and for a moment he looked as innocent as Kheeta. It was good to see him like that, but Alec couldn't keep away the darker thought that this was how he might have been if he'd never gone to Skala.

"You're as solemn as Aura's owl, and as quiet," Mydri observed, sitting down next to him and taking his hand.

"I'm still trying to believe I'm really here," Alec replied.

"So am I," she said, and another of those unexpectedly warm smiles softened her stern features.

"Can the ban of exile ever be lifted?" Alec asked, keeping his voice low.

Mydri sighed. "It happens, especially with one so young. Still, it would take a petition from the Haman khirnari to begin the debate, and that doesn't seem very likely. The Haman are an honorable people, but they are proud in a way that breeds bitterness. Old Nazien is no exception. He still grieves at the loss of his grandson and resents Seregil's return."

"By the Light, you're a grim pair," Seregil called over, and Alec realized that he was drunk, a rarity for Seregil.

"Are we?" Mydri shot back, a gleam of challenge in her eyes. "Tell me, Alec, does Seregil still have his fine singing voice?"

"As fine as any bard's," Alec told her, giving Seregil a teasing wink.

"Sing for us, tali!" Adzriel urged, overhearing. At her signal, a servant came forward with something large and flat wrapped in patterned silk and placed it in Seregil's hands.

He unwrapped it with a knowing smile. It was a harp, its dark wood polished with use.

"We kept it for you, all these years," Mydri told him as he settled it against his chest and ran his fingers across the strings.

He plucked out a simple tune that drew tearful smiles from his sisters, then moved on to a complex tune, fingers flying across the strings as melody followed melody. Even drunk and out of practice, he played beautifully.

After a moment he paused, then began the exile's lament he'd sung the first time he'd spoken to Alec of Aurenen.

My love is wrapped in a cloak of flowing green

and wears the moon for a crown. And all around has chains of flowing silver.

Her mirrors reflect the sky. O, to roam your flowing cloak of green

under the light of the ever-crowning moon.

Will I ever drink of your chains of flowing silver and drift once more across your mirrors of the sky?

"A bard's voice, indeed," said Saaban, dabbing at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. "With such power to move the emotions, I hope you know happier tunes."

"A few," Seregil said. "Alec, give us the harmony on 'Fair Rises My Lover. »

The Skalan song was warmly received, and more instruments appeared as if on cue.

"Where's Urien?" Seregil demanded, squinting out into the garden at the soldiers. "Someone give that boy a lute!"

This broke through the Urgazhi's reticence. The young rider's friends all but carried the blushing musician forward, demanding favorite ballads as if they were at a crossroads tavern.

"For the pride of the decuria, rider!" Mercalle ordered with mock severity.

Urien accepted an Aurenfaie lute and smoothed an admiring hand over its round back.

"For the pride of the turma," he said, striking a chord. "This is from before my time with the Urgazhi."

Ghost wolves they call us, and Ghost Wolves we are. Drawn to the enemy by a plague star Fighting and burning, deep in their lines Our Captain was fearless, we followed behind.

Death and dark magic, demons she faced, Under the black sun, in that dread lonely place. The black shields of Plenimar, rank upon rank Until their Duke Mardus, in his blood sank.

Alec watched in dismay as Seregil's smile froze and Thero went pale. One of several ballads that extolled the Urgazhi's early exploits, this one spoke of Nysander's death. Fortunately, Beka caught on at once.

"Enough, enough!" she begged, masking her concern with a comic grimace. "By the Four, Urien, of all the grim, threadbare ballads to choose! Give us 'Illior's Face Upon the Waters' to honor our good hosts."

The chagrined rider nodded and commenced the tune, playing each flourish flawlessly. Seregil moved to sit by Alec again.

"You looked as. if you'd seen a ghost. Are you all right?" he whispered, as if the previous song had not affected him.

Alec nodded.

The song ended and Kheeta held a harp out to Klia.

"What about you, my lady?»

"Oh, no! I have the voice of a crow. Thero, didn't I hear you sing a passable ballad after our victory at Two Horse Crossing?"

"I'd had a bit more to drink then, my lady," the wizard replied, thin cheeks coloring as all eyes turned his way.

"Don't be shy!" Sergeant Braknil called out. "We heard you sing sober aboard the Zyria."

"All the same, perhaps our hosts would prefer a small demonstration of Third Oreska magic? " Thero countered.

"Very well," laughed Mydri.

Thero produced a pouch of fine white sand and sprinkled it in a circle on the ground in front of the couches. Using his crystal wand, he wove a series of glowing sigils over it. Instead of the tidy configurations he usually produced, however, they swelled and bulged, then exploded with enough force to scatter the sand and knock wine cups in all directions. Thero dropped the wand with a startled yelp and stuck his fingers in his mouth.

Alec stifled a laugh; the normally reserved wizard looked like a cat that had just slipped on a patch of ice, chagrined and determined to regain his dignity before anyone noticed. Seregil shook with silent laughter beside him.

"My apologies!" Thero exclaimed in dismay. "I–I can't imagine what happened."

"The fault is mine. I should have warned you," Adzriel assured him, clearly fighting down a smile of her own. "Magic must be performed with great care here. The power of Sarikali feeds into our own, making magic sometimes unpredictable. All the more so in your case, evidently."

"So I see." Thero retrieved his wand and tucked it in his belt. After a moment's thought, he sprinkled more sand and tried the spell again, drawing the sigils with his fingers this time. The patterns hung in the air a few inches above the ground, then coalesced into a flat disk of silvery light as big around as a serving platter. He added another sigil, and the smooth surface took on a mottled array of sun-washed colors, then resolved itself into a miniature city set high above a miniature harbor.

"How wonderful!" exclaimed Amali, leaning forward to admire his creation. "What place is it?"

"Rhiminee, my lady," he replied.

"That sprawling black-and-grey monstrosity is the queen's Palace, my home," Klia remarked dryly. "While this lovely white structure over here, the one with the sparkling dome and towers, is the Oreska House."

"I visited it during my time in Rhiminee," said Adzriel. "As I recall, the wizards of Skala were originally scattered around your land, some solitary, others serving various noble houses."

"Yes, my lady; what we called the Second Oreska. After the old capital, Ero, was destroyed, Queen Tamir founded Rhiminee and forged an alliance with the greatest wizards of her day, the Third Oreska. They helped build her city and other wonders; in return she gifted them with her patronage and the land for the Oreska House."

"Then it is true that those among you with magic are kept apart from others?" an Akhendi asked.

"No, not at all," Thero replied. "It's just that we are so different by virtue of that magic and its effect on us—life spans comparable to your own, and the barrenness that is its price—that it was good to have a haven, a place where we could live and share our learning among ourselves. Wizards are not required to live there, but many choose to. I spent most of my life there, in the tower of my master, Nysander i Azusthra. Wizards are highly honored in Skala, I assure you."

"Yet do you not find it sad, to be cut off from the natural flow of life among your own kind?" the same Akhendi asked.

Thero considered this and shrugged. "No, not really. I've never known any other life."

"Rhaish and I visited your city as boys," Riagil i Molan told Klia. "We went to attend the wedding of Corruth i Glamien to your ancestress, Idrilain the First. We were taken to visit this Oreska House of yours. Rhaish, do you recall that wizard who did tricks for us?"

"Oriena, I think her name was," the Akhendi khirnari replied. "It was a beautiful place, with gardens where it was always springtime, and a great mosaic on the floor showing Aura's dragon. The queen's Palace was much darker, with thick walls like a fortress."

"Which only goes to prove that my ancestor, Queen Tamir, should have included more wizards among her builders," Klia said, smiling.

"I should like to see this Third Oreska," said Amali.

"With pleasure, my lady, though it is a less happy place now than it once was." Thero uttered a quick command, and the city's image was replaced with a view of the Oreska gardens. A few robed

figures were visible there, but the place looked strangely deserted. The scene shifted, and Alec recognized the view of the central atrium from the balcony by Nysander's tower door. Sections of the dragon mosaic still showed the damage caused by the attack of Mardus and his necromancers. Here, too, there were fewer people than Alec remembered from his time there,

"This is how it looks now?" Seregil asked softly.

"Yes." Thero changed the image again, showing them Seregil's Wheel Street villa.

"My Skalan home," Seregil said with a hint of irony.

What would they see if Thero conjured up their true home? Alec wondered. Was the blackened cellar hole still there, or had some new establishment been built over the ruins?

"I know a similar magic," said Saaban. A servant brought him a large silver basin mounted on a tripod. Filling it with water, he blew gently across it. Ripples ridged the surface for an instant, then cleared, leaving in their wake a view of green forests below snowcapped peaks. On a hill overlooking a broad lake lay a white sprawl of interconnected stone buildings similar to the khirnari's house at Gedre, but much larger and more elaborate. A town spread down the hill from it to the water's edge. At the forest's edge, a pillared temple stood in a grove of white birches, its domed roof gleaming in the brilliant sunlight that bathed the scene.

"Bokthersa!" breathed Seregil. "I've forgotten so much."

The image faded and more turab was poured. Seregil drank deeply.

"We saw a bit of Akhendi magic as we passed through your fai'thast, Khirnari," Klia told Rhaish i Arlisandin, holding up her left wrist to show him the carved leaf hanging there.

"They're periapts, aren't they?" asked Thero, who wore a similar one.

"Very good," the khirnari said, acknowledging him with a nod. "It is the knots as much as the amulet itself that hold the magic. Either by itself does not work."

"I'd like to learn how they're made, if that's allowed. We have nothing quite like them in Skala."

"But of course! It's quite a common skill among my folk, though some are better at it than others." Rhaish turned to his wife. "Talia, you have a way with such things. Have you the makings with you?"

"I'm never without them." Amali moved to sit next to the wizard and produced a hank of thin leather laces from a purse at her belt. "It's simply a matter of knowing the patterns," she explained. With

one smooth gesture, she pulled the laces through her hand and produced a short band of intricate weave, far more complex than any the Skalans had seen so far. "The second pass sets the amulet, according to the needs of the intended wearer." She took out a small pouch and spilled a collection of little wooden carvings onto her lap. She gazed at Thero a moment, then chose a simple, tapered plaque carved with an eye symbol. "For wisdom," she told him, setting the charm into the weave and tying it around his wrist.

"One can never have enough of that," laughed Klia.

Amali quickly created another and presented it to her, this one with a bird charm very similar to ones Alec and Torsin wore. "It's just a simple binding spell. It warns if someone is ill-wishing you."

"I've found those to be of use many times," Torsin remarked, showing her his. "I only wish the Oreska wizards had the knack for them."

"Can you tell me what these are?" asked Klia, showing her the carved leaf charm and another made from an acorn strung on a few twisted strands. "I couldn't understand a word of what the woman who made them said."

Amali examined them and smiled. "These are more trinkets or luck pieces than charms, but given with a loving heart. The leaf is for good health; the acorn symbolizes a fertile womb."

"I'll take the health, but I'd best save this other for later." Klia untied the acorn charm and tucked it away.

"And you say this magic is possessed only by Akhendi?" asked Thero, examining a charm on his own wrist with interest.

"Others can sometimes learn a few tricks, but it's our clan's gift— magic using knots, weaving, or bindings." Amali handed him a few laces. "Care to try?"

"But how?" he asked.

"Just think of someone here and will the laces to weave for them."

After several unsuccessful tries, Thero managed to knot two strands into an uneven tangle.

Rhaish chuckled. "Well, perhaps with practice. Allow me to show you something rather more sophisticated."

He walked down into the garden and returned with a handful of flowering vines. Taking a gold ring from his finger, he threaded some of the vine through it, then pressed both between his hands. The vine turned to geld before their eyes, each delicate blossom and leaf gleaming like fine jeweler's work. Rhaish wove it into a wreath and presented it to Klia.

"It's lovely!" she exclaimed, placing it on her head. "How wonderful it must be, to create such beauty with such ease."

"Ah, but nothing is ever as easy as it seems. The real magic is in hiding the effort."

The conversation rambled on over the wine, as if they'd all gathered for an evening of simple pleasure. Presently, however, Klia gently brought them back to business.

"Honored friends, Lord Torsin i Xandus had describe to me his impressions of the Iia'sidra's stand regarding our arrival. I would be most interested to hear your thoughts."

Adzriel tapped a long finger against her chin as she considered the question, and Alec was again struck by the strong resemblance she bore to her brother.

"It's too soon to tell," she replied. "While you may be certain of the support of Bokthersa and Akhendi, or the opposition of Viresse, there are still many who remain undecided. Your goal is to gain aide for your embattled country. Yet what you ask requires us to violate the Edict of Separation, thus embroiling you unwittingly in a debate that has been festering here for years."

"It doesn't have to," Klia countered. "One more open port— that's all we're asking for."

"One port or a dozen; it's all the same," said Riagil. "The Khatme and their supporters want to bar all foreigners from Aurenen soil. Then you have the Viresse; Ulan i Sathil will oppose any change that challenges his monopoly on northern shipping."

"And those who have come to rely on his good favor to market their own wares are being cowed with subtleties not to oppose him," the Akhendi khirnari added, his face darkening with anger. "Whatever you do, never underestimate Ulan i Sathil."

"I remember him well, from the negotiations with the Zengati," said Seregil. "He could charm the stones from the earth, but behind that silky manner lurks the will and the patience of a dragon."

"I've come up against that will many times over the years," Torsin said with a rueful chuckle.

"Who are his surest allies?" asked Thero.

Adzriel shrugged expressively. "Golinil and Lhapnos, without question. Golinil because of blood ties."

"And Lhapnos because they stand to lose valuable trade routes if Gedre opens and northern goods no longer must be shipped down Lhapnos's great river and up the coast to Viresse instead of the short way over our mountains," Rhaish i Arlisandin added.

"That is true, but I still say it is the Edict itself which creates the greatest opposition," said Mydri.

"But that came about because of the murder of Lord Corruth,

didn't it?" asked Alec. "Seregil and I proved who killed him. Hasn't honor—atui—been served?"

She shook her head sadly. "That was not the reason for the Edict, only the catalyst. From the time of the first contact between the Tir and the Aurenfaie, many of our race have resisted mingling with Tir of any sort. For some it is a matter of atui. Others, like the Khatme, claim it is the will of Aura. What it comes down to, however, is the simple drive to preserve our kind."

"Against the making of ya'shel like me, you mean?" said Alec.

"Yes, Alec i Amasa. As much as you resemble the 'faie, the years run differently in your blood—it shows already in the fact that you are almost man-grown at nineteen. That will slow as you get older, but look at Seregil, and Kheeta; three times your age, but not so far ahead. You are neither Aurenfaie nor Tirfaie, but a mingling of both. There are those who feel that more is lost than gained by such a breeding.

"But I think it's the Skalan wizards who concern them most of all," she went on, looking at Thero. "The wizards of Skala call themselves the Third Oreska. The First Oreska is my own race. The mingling of blood gave your people magic, but it also changed that magic over the years. The barrenness of your kind is only part of that change. You can move objects, even people, over great distances, some of you, and read thoughts, a practice strictly forbidden here. You have lost the power of healing, as well." Mydri touched the marks on her cheeks. "This is left to priests of other gods."

"The drysians," Seregil said.

"Yes, the drysians. The only vestiges of that gift seem to exist among the Plenimarans, who took the gift of Aura and mingled it with the black cults of Seriamaius to create necromancy, the perversion of healing."

"This was all being debated generations ago," Adzriel explained. "Corruth's disappearance was only the final puff of wind that caused the smoldering tinder to ignite. Our people still trade with lands to the south and west of Aurenen. The reason they were not included in the ban is that there is no magic among the ya'shel bred of their kind."

Thero blinked in surprise. "No magic?"

"None that they did not already possess," Saaban amended. "Thus, the existence of the Third Oreska itself remains an impediment in the minds of some, no matter how persuasive your argument. But to answer your original question, those who stand now against you are Viresse, Golinil, Lhapnos, and Khatme, four of the Eleven already."

"What about Ra'basi?" asked Alec, thinking of Nyal. "They border Viresse to the south, don't they?"

"Moriel a Moriel has not stated her clan's position openly, nor have the Haman, for whom the opening of Gedre would almost certainly work to advantage. They have withheld support out of loyalty to their allies in Lhapnos."

"And to spite Bokthersa," Seregil said quietly.

Saaban nodded. "That, as well. Ill will still clouds their judgment. The Silmai, Datsia, and Bry'kha are also elusive; as far west as they are, with trade to the west and south and blood ties mostly among themselves, they have little to gain or lose."

"Who among those three has the most influence?" asked Klia.

"Brythir i Nien of Silmai is the Elder of the Iia'sidra, greatly respected by all," said Mydri, and others nodded agreement around the circle.

"Then perhaps Aura is smiling on our endeavors, after all," said Klia. "We dine with him tomorrow."

The gathering moved indoors as the night air cooled. Alec overheard Thero, Mydri, and Saaban comparing spells and would have joined them, but found himself cornered by a succession of well-intentioned Bokthersans. Across the room, Seregil was just visible in a small crowd of well-wishers.

On his own for the moment, Alec soon gave up trying to keep track of the intricate family connections each new acquaintance listed off to him.

"If the ban of exile is ever lifted, you can be initiated into our clan as his talimenios, you know," a woman informed him in the course of one such conversation.

"That would be a great honor. I was also hoping to trace who my mother's people were."

The faces around him grew solemn. "Not to know your family line, that is a great tragedy," the woman said, patting his hand kindly.

"How long have you been talimenios?" asked Kheeta, coming over to join them.

"Two years," Alec told him, watching for a reaction.

But Kheeta merely nodded approvingly as he looked across at Seregil. "It's good to see him happy at last."

"Where are Seregil's other sisters?"

Kheeta made a sour face. "Adzriel brought only Bokthersans who accept Seregil's return. Don't be misled by what you see here.

There are a great many who don't. Shalar and Ilina count themselves among that group. I suppose it's understandable with Shalar; she was in love with a Haman and the match was forbidden after— well, the trouble. As for Ilina, she and Seregil were closest in age, but they never got on."

More discord; no wonder Seregil never spoke of his past.

"What about Saaban? Seregil didn't know that he'd married Adzriel, but he seems quite happy with her choice."

"They knew one another before Seregil was sent away. Saaban and Adzriel have been friends for years. He's a man of great honor and intelligence, as well as possessing a keen gift for magic."

"He's a wizard, you mean?"

"As I understand your use of the word, yes. Quite a good one."

Alec was just beginning to mull over the possibilities this new insight presented when they were interrupted again and he was drawn away to answer the same few questions over and over: No, he had no memory of the Hazadrielfaie; yes, Seregil was a great man in Skala; yes, he was happy to be in Aurenen; no, he'd never seen any place like Sarikali. He was scanning the room for escape routes when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Come with me. There's something I need to do and I need your help," Seregil whispered, guiding him through a doorway and up a back staircase.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."-

Seregil smelled strongly of turab, but his steps were steadier than Alec would have expected. They climbed three sets of stairs, pausing on each level to inspect a room or two. Seregil could usually be counted on to hold forth at length, telling him more than anyone needed to know about the history of a place or thing. Tonight, however, he said nothing, just stopped to touch an object here and there, reacquainting himself with the place.

Alec had a talent for silence. Hands clasped behind his back, he followed Seregil down a winding third-floor corridor. Plain wooden doors opened off the passage at irregular intervals, each one no different from the last as far as he could tell. A small village could easily have put up in the place, or an entire clan.

Seregil halted in front of a door next to a sharp turning of the passage. He knocked, then lifted the latch and slipped into the darkened room.

It had been a long time since they'd burgled a house, but Alec automatically took stock of the place: no light, no smell of hearth or

candle smoke, no coverlet on the bed. The room was a safe one, not in use.

"Over here."

Alec heard the creak of hinges, then saw Seregil's lean form framed against an arch of night sky across the room. Drunk or not, he could move silently when he chose.

The arch let onto a small balcony overlooking the guest house.

"That's our room," Seregil told him, pointing out a window there.

"And this room was yours."

"Ah, yes. I told you, didn't I?" Seregil leaned on the stone parapet, face inscrutable in the moonlight.

"This is where you sat listening to the city dream," Alec murmured.

"I did considerable dreaming of my own. Wait here." Seregil went back inside and returned with a dusty feather tick from the bed. Wadding it against the wall, he sat down and reached for Alec, pulling him down between his legs with his back to Seregil's chest.

"There." He nuzzled Alec's cheek, holding him close. "Here's one dream come to pass, anyway. Aura knows, nothing else has turned out the way I thought it would."

Alec leaned back against him, enjoying their shared heat. "What else did you dream about, sitting here?"

"That I'd leave Bokthersa and travel."

"Like Nyal."

Alec felt rather than heard Seregil's ironic chuckle. "I suppose so. I'd live among foreign people, immerse myself in their ways for years and years, but always return here, and to Bokthersa."

"What would you do on your travels?"

"Just—search. For places no Aurenfaie had seen, for people I'd never meet by remaining at home. My uncle always said there's a reason for every gift. My skills with languages and fighting—he guessed that all added up to someone who was meant to wander. Looking back now, I suppose deep down I was hoping I'd find a place where I was something more than my father's greatest disappointment."

Alec considered this in silence for a moment. "It's difficult for you, isn't it? Being here, the way things are."

"Yes."

How could a single quiet word convey such pain, such longing?

"What else did you wish for, sitting here?" Alec asked quickly, knowing there was nothing he could do to assuage that wound; better just to move on.

A hand slid slowly under his jaw, cupping his cheek as lips

brushed his cheek. The touch spread a tingle of anticipation down his whole right side.

"This, tali. You," Seregil said, breath warm on his skin. "I couldn't see your face back then, but it was you I dreamed of. I've had so many lovers—dozens, hundreds maybe. But not one of them—" He broke off. "I can't explain it. I think some part of me recognized you that first night we met, battered and filthy as you were."

"In that distant foreign land." Alec turned to meet the next kiss with one of his own. How long before someone missed them and came looking?

Time enough.

But Seregil only pulled him closer, cradling him without any of the usual playful groping that preceded their lovemaking. They sat like that for some time, until Alec finally realized that this was what Seregil had come here for.

They fell silent again, and Alec felt himself slipping into a doze. He snapped awake again when Seregil shifted his legs.

"Well, I suppose we should go back down," Seregil said.

Alec rose awkwardly, still sleep dazed. The night air felt cold against his right side where he'd lain against him. The sudden loss of physical contact left him disoriented and a little melancholy, as if he'd absorbed Seregil's sorrow through his skin.

Seregil was looking at the guest house again. "Thank you, tali. Now when I look over here from there, I can remember this as more than just a place that isn't mine anymore."

They replaced the tick and were almost out the door when Seregil paused and turned back, muttering something to himself.

"What is it?" asked Alec.

Instead of answering, Seregil pulled the bedstead to one side and disappeared behind it.

Alec heard the scrape of stone against stone, followed by a triumphant cackle. Seregil popped into view again, holding up a grappling hook and rope.

"Where did that come from?" Alec asked, amused by his friend's obvious delight.

"Come see for yourself."

Alec climbed onto the dusty bed and peered over the edge. Seregil had pried up one of the polished stone floor tiles, revealing a dark space underneath.

"Did you make that hole?"

"No, and I wasn't the first to use it, either. The grapple was mine,

a later addition, and this." He lifted out a clear quartz crystal as long as his palm. "I found the loose tile by accident. These other things were already here. Treasures." A pretty box of Aurenfaie inlay work followed the crystal, and inside Alec found a child's necklace of red and blue beads and a falcon's skull. Seregil placed a painted wooden dragon with gilded wings beside it, then a small portrait of an Aurenfaie couple painted on ivory. Finally, with great care, he lifted out a fragile wooden doll. Its large black eyes and full-lipped mouth were painted on, but the hair was real—long, tightly curled ringlets of shining black.

"By the Four!" Alec touched a finger reverently to the hair. "Do you think this is Bash'wai?"

Still kneeling behind the bed, Seregil touched each object with obvious affection and nodded. "The doll is, and perhaps the necklace."

"And you never told anyone?"

"Just you." Seregil carefully replaced everything except the grapple. "It wouldn't have been special if anyone else had known."

Standing, he tilted Alec a crooked grin. "And you know how good I am at keeping secrets."

Alec uncoiled the grapple rope. It was still supple, and knotted every few feet for climbing. "It's too short to reach the ground."

"I'm disappointed in you, tali," Seregil chided, carrying it out to the balcony. With one easy toss, he threw the hook up and secured it on the edge of the roof above. Giving Alec a parting wink, he shimmied up and out of sight.

Knowing that he'd just been issued a challenge, Alec followed and found Seregil waiting for him in the large colos there.

"I used to sneak out of my room this way, then use the back stairs over there to get out of the house. Or Kheeta and I would meet up here and trade sweets we'd nicked from the kitchen. Later on it was beer, or turab. Actually, it's a wonder I didn't break my neck one of those nights on the way back down." He looked around a moment, then laughed outright. "One time six of us were up here, pissed as newts, when our lookout heard my father on his way up. We all went down the rope that night and hid out in my room until dawn."

Alec smiled but couldn't quite suppress another jealous pang, especially at the mention of Kheeta. Tagging along after his nomadic father most of his life, Alec hadn't had a real home or many friends. Thoughts of the rhui'auros flashed to mind, and he silently vowed that before this journey was over, he was going to learn whatever he could of his own missing past.

Seregil must have sensed this roil of emotion, for suddenly he was close beside Alec again, pressing a turab-scented kiss to his. lips. "It's one of the few memories I have now that doesn't hurt," he offered.

"Shall we go down the same way we came up?" Alec asked, passing it off lightly.

"Why not? We're practically sober."

Back on the balcony, Seregil gave the rope a neat flick that unseated the hook. Coiling it up again, he returned the grapple to its hiding place with the other toys.

"Leaving it for the next child who discovers your secret cache?" Alec asked.

"It seems only right." Seregil set the tile back in place and pushed the leg of the bed over it. "It's good to know something around here hasn't changed."

Alec pondered the toys hidden in the dark as they returned to the gathering. Somehow, they seemed to fit into the strange, complex mosaic of Seregil's life, a tiny model of the treasure-strewn and equally hidden rooms they'd shared at the Cockerel, or the unexpected bits of his own past that Seregil doled out like precious relics.

Or perhaps precious wasn't the right term.

It's one of the few memories I have now that doesn't hurt.

You never told anyone?

Just you.

How many times had someone looked at him in surprise when he'd mentioned something Seregil had shared with him? He told you about that?

Humbled by this realization, he steered Seregil back to Kheeta and went off to find Beka.