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Gorrid stood watching the rest of them, a small troop of Derzhi some twenty or more race through the gaping doorway and onto a road that would take them straight to the customs house, where Farrol was waiting and where Aleksander would be joining him at any moment. Bastard! I screamed as I shifted. Traitor! I kicked the startled Gorrid in the face as I flew toward the door. He toppled to the dirt, blood spurting from his nose. I circled and swept my sword delicately across the back of his thighs, relishing his scream. Hamstrung, he could go nowhere until I came back to question him. Then I would kill him. For the moment, I had to stop what was about to happen. In less time than it took to think about it, I beheaded the first rider before he could signal the waiting soldiers to fire their torches. By the time I swept the second rider from his saddle with his spine severed, he had left three torches burning behind him. But either I had begun moving faster than I had ever moved or the three Derzhi sentinels were inexplicably slow, for they had not shifted from their positions when ! snuffed out their torches and their lives in the same instant. A quick circle from a greater height, and I saw the trap ready to spring. Aleksander was already crossing the bridge to the lower city, accompanied by only five men. He must have left the rest at the citadel. What in the name of the gods was he thinking? The troop of Derzhi would arrive at the front of the customs house at exactly the same time Aleksander reached the back. Weaving an enchantment that I had never before attempted, I sped downward toward the pillared customs house. I flew through the open galleries near the roof and into the vaulted vastness where the outlaw reserves sat mounted and waiting for some signal they were needed. Get them out! I screamed at Farrol, who spun and gaped at my sudden appearance as I touched earth beside him. Whatever you do, keep Aleksander out of here. I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Do you understand me? Keep him out! Seyonne, wait Farrol tried to catch my arm, but I shoved him away and shot upward out of his reach. Keep them out or they die with the black-hearted Derzhi. Already the stone walls were quivering as the enchantment flowed from my hands into them. Quickly Farrol yelled at his men to vacate the customs house and bar the Aveddi from entering. They needed no encouragement as I laid my hand upon one and then another of the columns that supported the roof, and cracks appeared in the massive stone cylinders. But the stubborn Farrol did not follow his men. Rather he stood in the center of the room and called up to me, a sturdy, round man of good heart, never temperate in either opinion or action. Seyonne, dont do this. Its all right. Hooves thundered up the road toward us from the city. Falling dust dulled the sheen of sweat on his round face. Gods of night, Seyonne, its his cousin Even as I touched the last pillar, as dust and shards of marble and plaster showered from the shuddering vaults, the word lanced through the storm of madness. The secrecy the strange plan the dangerous matters kill no one who does not challenge you Handling the garrison warriors will be easier than you believe Aleksander had known these warriors would be no challenge. His cousin Kiril. The Parassa garrison were Kirils men. What had I done? Kiril Aleksanders dearest friend, his brother in all but parentage, a piece of his heart and twenty others of his command racing here in laughter to greet their Prince, their Aveddi. And just below me was Farrol foster brother to Blaise and Elinor the man who had saved my sons life stubbornly risking his own to prevent my killing innocent men With an ear-shattering crack, one of the columns shattered, crumbling in a torrent of rubble. The roof and walls groaned in agony. The great doors at the front of the customs hall burst open, and I had to choosethe one or the twenty. Run, Farrol! For the gods sake, run! I spread my wings and dived for the doors, bellowing my warning. Another crack behind me, and another, and the roaring rumble of an avalanche. Before me rearing horses, screaming, men crying out in terror as I swept them backward and made myself into a wall of fire to keep them out. One man died, trampled by a frenzied horse, and then another when he was split open by a toppling cornice. At least two more lay on the ground when the living had retreated into the night. Only then did I summon the wind and turn back to the hellish scene of my creation. The sky was raining stone. One by one the pillars snapped as I dodged the toppling slabs and the unending cascade of brick and mortar. Only moments and the whole structure would collapse. My working had been excellent, a model of destruction. My own light reflected on the swirling dust was the only illumination, and to hear anything above the noise was impossible. But even as the sky fell, I searched. A jagged portion of the ceiling caught one wing, pinning it to a broken column. Rips in my wings were .excruciating, but I felt nothing as I yanked it free and left a ragged tear. The falling stones glanced off me like pebbles off a mountainside as I plowed through the piles of rubble, hunting for any sign of movement. Farrol! Sweet Verdonne, let him live. He lay beneath a slab of the ceiling, a curved panel painted with the likeness of customs officials offering tribute to the Emperor. I wrenched the massive piece away and gathered his broken body in my arms. As the wall beside us crumpled with a roar, bringing down the remainder of the roof, I soared upward toward the cold stars, crying out my agony of shame. I could not remember how to express human grief. My Madonai eyes seemed incapable of tears. CHAPTER 40 The storm raged over Tyrrad Nor, a howling, bitter wind stripping the garden to its twiggy bones, a driving rain turned to sleet with the night. The first harsh taste of winter had come to the mountain, although the lands beyond the black wall still basked in mellow autumn. Icy droplets rolled down my naked back, each one a lancet of fire on abraded skin. I knelt in the corner of the castle ramparts and fought to keep from crying out. Never had I known such pain, not even in the pits of KirVagonoth. One more try. Just one more say the word make the shift fly Youre wasting your time. The newcomer might have been deposited on the exposed heights by the storm. The whine of the wind and the howling protests of my body had disguised his coming, but I was so far gone in my misery, I felt no surprise. What man beset by demons is surprised when one of them appears in the flesh? Havent you learned enough yet? Kasparians expressionless comments came with a proffered towel and cloak. Ignoring his outstretched hand and its promises of comfort, I hauled myself up onto the gap in the stone wall overlooking the abyss of storm and night. Weak-kneed with exhaustion, I invoked my melydda yet again. I was determined to be away, to leave this place of seduction, of deception, of corruption. Yet, to my disgust, even though I stood at this point of abdication, I still craved the sensations of power. First the word. Then comes the first flush of enchantment, the breathless pleasure as blood and bone and muscle feel its touch, the stretch, the pulsing growth as the wings begin to unfold if is what I am meant to be But again my shoulders ripped apart, flayed, raw flesh on fire, exploding agony in every scrap of my being. In moments I was slumped in the corner once more, a quivering heap of wretchedness. Its the prisoning spells. He spoke as if I were a mewling child. Naked and groaning as I was, curled up in a ball, head bowed to the sleet and storm, anyone might think the same or recognize me as an arrogant fool driven to despair by guilt and horror. I could not even call upon my gods. I was dreadfully afraid that they, who had given me gifts beyond mortal imagining, had watched me turn them all to murder. Afraid that they would peer into my soul and see that I could not weep. Give it up before youre naught but an ugly mess on the garden walk. You can initiate no enchantment in Tyrrad Nor. Kasparians assertion made no sense, even to a mind dulled with pain and self-loathing. Of course I could use power in Tyrrad Nor. On the first day of my return I had called up a wind and after yes, Nyel and Kasparian had initiated the enchantments, but I had used my own melydda to shape them. I am not a prisoner here, I croaked through chattering teeth. I came here of my own choice. I can leave of my own choice. A foolish claim when I had been trying to leave for more than half a dayto climb over the wall, to shift my form and fly from the garden, from the mountain crags, or here in the rain from the ramparts of my nightmares, stripping the clothes from my back in an attempt to free the power that would not come. Always failing, each time left in greater torment than the last. Where is it you think to go? Away. Reason had no claim on me that night. Going had nothing to do with destination, everything with origin and movement and change. I could no longer travel my present course. For good or ill, for death or life, Gaspar had said, but the path of my choosing had led only to death and corruption. Warriors make mistakes. We have to live with them and accept our limitations. Guilt is self-indulgence. Nyel was not the only mentor who had tried to teach me that lesson. But the deaths at Parassa were more than a mistake. Enough was enough. Why cant I shift? No Madonai can initiate his own enchantments within these walls, save myself, who was considered too weak and useless to be a threat. Even I cannot cross the wall. The ice wind froze my hair and circled my limbs with its razor fingers, but it was the truth in Kasparians words that made me shudder. And truly, you have very little power as yet. What you have used in the human world is dross. My throat tightened. I am not Madonai. Weve not even begun But Kasparians unsmiling laughter told me differently. Was it possible? Nyel had repeated the question so often Id not heard it: Do you choose freely? Every time Id gone to Aleksander. Every time Id learned a new enchantment. Oh, gods, every time a step along the way. Thus, the lack of appetite, the waning need for sleep, the vanishing scars One of my hands flew to my face and felt the rough deadness of the slave mark, while the other clutched my side, and for once I was glad of the familiar ache. It is not done. Not yet. There had to be one more step, at least, one more offer that I would hear, knowing, and could refuse. So that I would not murder all my friends in frenzied madness. So that I would not become the thing I feared. So that I would not stand atop these ramparts and destroy the world. To inherit true Madonai power you must submit one last time. But your body is Madonai as much as it will ever be. For now, you, too, are bound by our prison. These last flaws are retained by your own weaknessyour human memoryand will fade with time. Once your journey is completehe shrugged you may have power enough to break the infernal wall or you may not. But then there is always dream traveling. The dagger of his bitterness twisted in my gut. He said that at every step I could choose and so you have chosen. He dropped the cloak over my hunched shoulders and the towel onto the paving. The servants will bring hot water to your room whenever you decide to leave off this pitiful display. My forehead rested on the paving. Perhaps the pressure of cold stone might ease the pounding in my skull. I thought Kasparian had left the ramparts, for the night felt empty, as if the wind and the darkness had devoured every soul in the universe. But as I wrapped my arms about my belly, words spilled onto my back, scarcely distinguishable from the freezing rain. I would recommend you seek advice before you refuse him the last step. Seek advice. Would that I could. Would that there was someone who might listen and understand and tell me what to do. But the only advice I heard was my dead fathers gentle remonstrance. Unfair, Seyonne. Unjust to raise your hand against one who cannot fight back on your terms. Did you even think? Even with such poignant memory, tears would not come. When a pale sun rose in a winter-blue sky, I was still huddled in the corner of the ramparts, sure of nothing but that I would throw myself wingless from the tower of Tyrrad Nor before I would accept another gift from Nyel. No more game playing. Oh, I did not blame him. If he had told me from the beginning that my participation in his enchantments was the mechanism for my change, I would have chosen no differently. Unjust. Unfair. To thrust the power of a Madonai into a human conflict. That was the sin of my arrogance: to believe that strength and honorable intentions justified such violation of the worlds ordering. Your strength will be your downfall, my demon had said. And so it had been. Nyel had warned me that the entangling of human emotions and Madonai power was dangerous. Now I had seen the consequences of detachment and could not stomach them. So, as I gathered the cloak about my clammy flesh and descended from the ramparts of my prison, I told myself Id best prepare for a lengthy stay in Tyrrad Nor. If the only possibility of escaping this prison was to follow my current path to its end, abandoning what scraps of my human self remained, then I would never leave. Clean clothes and a tub of steaming water were waiting in my room, as Kasparian had promised. I soaked for an hour and then fell onto my bed, forcing my body into a sleep it no longer needed. A full day passed before I allowed myself to wake. After bathing and donning the clothes that were laid out for me, I paced the castle corridors. I needed to get my blood moving. The day was uninviting. Windy. Dull. I did not avoid Nyel, but neither did I seek him out. Confrontation would come soon enough. He knew all that had happened at Parassa and how I felt about it. His attempts at comfort when I had first emerged from the disastrous venture had been quite sincere, voiced in his kindest and most reasonable tones. But I had desired no consolation, especially that which told me such mistakes were the result of my improper fawning over a race of liars, that by caring too much for those who were not worthy, I corrupted my own judgment. Innocent people had died at my hand. Curse the devils soul forever, I had murdered my friend. I wrenched my thoughts to present and future. What did it mean to be neither human, nor rekkonarre, nor fully Madonai? I tried a few enchantments as I walked through a courtyard of hissing fountains: summoning a wind, casting a light, shaping a minor illusion in the way I had always done it. But the words and spells I had learned in Ezzaria had withered away. Like dry riverbeds, their familiar courses were devoid of that which gave them life. The failure left me dry and incomplete, as I had been in my slave years. The gift of sorcery that I had carried with me since my birth had been transformed into something new, a furnace laid with glowing embers that pulsed with the beating of my heart and roared into life whenever I shaped wings. Knowing full well the likely outcome, I breathed upon the embers and tried the spells again and in moments I was clutching a fluted column, trying to stay upright until invisible bludgeons and axes stopped shattering my bones. The Madonai core existed, but was inaccessible. Nyel had insisted that I would wield my own power when I was wholly changed, but had promised nothing if I stopped short of that. And so what of my third part, the human part? I returned to my room, picked up the knife that had been laid out for me at every waking and dragged the blade across my left arm. I scarcely felt it. Blood welled from the thumb-length gash, but slowed to a trickle in only moments. By the time I grabbed a discarded towel to blot it, the wound was already half closed. It appeared that if I remained as I was, I could live a very long time with frustrated desire and limited occupation. A most dangerous combination. Where did Kasparian think I was to get advice? Certainly not from Nyel, who did nothing but confuse me. Nor from the bitter Kasparian himself or his silent servants. If I could not cross the wall, I could not question the rai-kirah, themselves victims of this perverse power, or make my way to the gamarand wood, where, so visions and the dying Kryddon had told me, enlightenment awaited. What of history, then? Was there some writing that might tell me what I was or how to reverse what had been done? My restless feet took me to the fortress library, a warren of rooms housing thousands of books and scrolls, maps and drawings. But a few hours flipping through brittle pages and unrolling fragile manuscripts only to find more spells I could not use and adventures I could not share left me with such craving for melydda I could scarcely breathe. I was so cold. So empty. And the embers within me pulsed, waiting to fill me with warmth and light. Only a few hours into my rebellion, and I was on the verge of capitulation. Weak-willed murderer! I threw an armful of ribbon-tied rolls to the flagstones. Before the dust and fragments of shattered parchment had settled, I was striding down the broad stairway and out of the front doors, inhaling deeply, trying to gauge the best path to set off running. Perhaps exercise would dull the hunger for today. Would it suffice for a thousand years or more? I started jogging toward the wall, thinking to take the longest path around the edge of the garden and up the track that ascended the mountain. The closer I got to the wall, the more unsettled my stomach became. Now I understood the sickness I had experienced on the night after the battle at Gan Hyffir, just as I understood why Nyel never walked near the wall. The prisoning spells, as Kasparian called them, would be designed to keep a Madonai away from it. But I continued on and ran the circuit of the wall and the mountain path three times before deliberately dropping to the damp turf at the base of the wall. Go ahead, I said, settling my back against the cracked stone. Do your worst. I expected to feel the full impact of the binding enchantments when I touched my back and head to the wall. Indeed a dull ache crept into my muscles and streaks of red light pierced my eye sockets, distorting the weak daylight. When I closed my eyes to will away the discomfort, however, I was distracted by more visions of the Twelve Friendsthose who existed somehow within the enchanted barrier. The images left me wondering again how they had crafted this prison and why. I ought to know. All of them had been my friends in that distant life. Had I helped design these very enchantments that threatened to tear me apart? A fitting irony that I had destroyed the part of me that might have remembered how to break through them. These considerations led me to think of Fiona and her discoverythe tower in the gamarand wood where the Twelve had planned this fortress. How had Fiona described itthe tower without a door? Smooth and warm stone that was alive This wall could be described just the same. I pushed gently, she had said. Eased myself through, using words of opening and passage. I leaped to my feet and faced the wall. Laying the flats of my hands against the warm stone, I pressed gently, and as before, the stone seemed to swell about my fingers. But when I tried to weave words of opening and passage, my throbbing discomfort exploded into agony. I held as long as I could, convincing myself that I felt some softening beneath my fingers, some movement, some release, but I soon fell to my knees, retching. Empty and sick, I gripped the edge of a deep crack to push away from the wall, mumbling, Im sorry, Lady. All of you, forgive me. And the stone swelled up around my hands and drew me in Eternal grayness daylight filtering through the pores of the black stone. Chill, airless solidity as when you walk into a tomb. The warmth of the wall was a sign of those who existed here; what they themselves experienced was unyielding cold. I reached out my hands like a blind man and felt the fluttering softness of their touch, like moth wings propelling me on my way through the grayness. Tell me who you are, I said as I moved through them. I cant remember. Can you show yourselves? Tell me what to do. I reached out to touch their minds, but discovered only living stone. So many years. So grim a duty. Voices long faded. Yet even in the cold and silent grayness, I felt no hatred. Not for me, not for the prisoner they were there to confine, not for the world that had forgotten their sacrifice. A last firm shove on my back. I would have sworn I heard the faintest echo of Vyxs laughter, he who had come late to his post And I opened my eyes to a small, neat room. The curved walls were undecorated, save for a single window that looked out upon a woodland of yellow trees, alive with the twitters and whistles of wrens and robins and orioles. The gamarand wood, and beyond it, the mountain of Tyrrad Nor. This was Fionas tower. Hello? My call was only for forms sake. The still air had already told me that no one was there. A table of pale wood stood in the center of the room, fifteen backless stools drawn up around it. Laid out on the table were pens and ink, a pewter pitcher half filled with fragrant red wine, fifteen wine cups, and the scrolls Fiona had transcribedthe drawing of the fortress and the manuscript. Language was no longer a barrier. A quick perusal of the manuscript told me nothing that I did not already know about Tyrrad Nor: its size and shape and accoutrements, its barricade of spells. The black stone was slightly more mysterious. I opened the wooden case and read the word scribed on the stone: Kerouan. Unlike Fionas experience, closing my eyes or looking away from the stone did not erase what I had just read. I traced a finger over the word, wondering, then dropped the stone in my pocket. If I found someone to ask questions of, I could ask this one, too. I descended the curving staircase. What would I do if I found no one in the wood? Though I had spent a frenzied night attempting to leave Tyrrad Nor, now I was beyond the wall, I had no idea where to go. Find my way to the gateway, I supposed. Or see if any of the rai-kirah survived; my bodys change might prevent me living in the human world again. As I opened the lower door, I laid my hand on the tower wall and closed my eyes. The warm stone softened at my touch. A lonely vigil, I thought, as I envisioned a sour old womans ruddy face. You dont even have the comfort that there are others beside you. But the birds are here, at least. Whoever she was, she had loved birds better than men or women. I greeted her and thanked her, and then stepped out into the forest of gold. Marveling, I touched a pair of the twining yellow trunks, one rough, one smooth, a single tree at root and spreading crown, yet always a duality. The smooth trunk birthed the dark green leaves that turned to yellow fire in autumn, as well as the white blooms of spring; the rough trunk curved about the first, protecting it, producing the liquor of life from water, sunlight, and its own nature to feed the crown and root. The branches were bare, the fading brilliance of leaves and blossoms a carpet beneath my feet. Through the tangle overhead loomed the mountains granite knee, and high above me sat the thin girdle of black stone that was the wall. The steep angle and lowering clouds prevented any view of the fortress behind it. Good. I didnt want to see it ever again. The forest had fallen still when I stepped out of the tower. No sound of bird or insect marred the palpable silence. The air was cool on my cheek, and the scent of old leaves and damp earth filled my nostrils. And more traces of intelligence pervaded the woodland, the unmistakable residue of sentience. The vibrant threads were so distinctive, I could name them neither human nor Madonai, but I could surely name them. He loved you, didnt he? My voice jarred the quiet. Youre the one. The mortal maiden chosen by a god. No one answered, and I walked on, the trees shaping my path. Though my instincts bade me flee, only one way was open to me, every other blocked by drooping branches or fallen trees. I would clamber around them only to find myself trudging uphill again, back toward the fortress and its cruel temptations. Let me go, Lady, I said to the wood, or give me answers. The breeze riffled my hair and fingered my cheek softly. I cannot grieve. I dont know how anymore. Somehow I believed that she was listening. Is it because Im neither one nor the other? He is Madonai, yet he still feels. He loves me, and he grieves for me as the sun mourns for the earth that it can never touch. Why? Ive let him blind me, cripple me, make me everything I despise, and yet I cannot hate him for it. If I dont understand, how can I know what to do? Silence. I turned downhill again, swearing under my breath. Faced with yet another blockage, I raised my hand and summoned melydda. but was instantly on my back with a stinging bruise on my face. The blast of power had been breathtaking and from no source that I could see. I mumbled an oath, making sure my hand was still attached to my arm. All right. AH right. I stumbled to my feet and followed the path chosen for me. Now, with every step, the sweet woodland smell became more tainted with the acrid scent of ash, of freshly charred wood and burned grass. A few more steps and I emerged from the trees. The Lady was seated on a rock overlooking a scorched vale, stark black skeletons of gamarand trunks. The steep rock face across the burned vale was stained dark red, as if some horrific carnage had taken place nearby, splattering it with blood. Wisps of smoke still curled from a few thick stands of trees, while the breeze stirred the hot ash and scattered it on the Ladys green gown and dark hair like gray snowflakes. When her luminous gaze came to rest on me, I sank to one knee and bowed my head. My Lady Verdonne, I whispered. Why had it taken me so long to understand who she wasthe one who stood between the god and the human world, the forest maiden who had been made immortal? Not a goddess, but a woodland, a boundary between light and darkness, trying to shield both humans and rekkonarre. My day within the oak had taught me of the immortality of a forestunless it burned so hot that its seeds and roots were destroyed, unless its home ground was made sterile by flames. Forgive my blindness, Lady. Help me see my path. Can I command you to be other than you are? Her chin rested in her hand, and her voice was as much a part of that woodland as the rustling leaves. Perhaps then this business would be easier, for I would not care what became of you. Her sigh was the breeze that shifted the layers of ash. For so long Ive believed that if you could but find your way here again, we could devise a way to hold him. But never did I think your journey would be so filled with pain. How can I ask more? She rose and came to me. Her hand touched my shoulder and drew me up, and another on my cheek lifted my head to look on her. Her bronze skin was shaped by fine bones, and her spare features, the burnished glow of her hair, and the faint lines about her eyes spoke more of mature wisdom than blooming girlhood. She reminded me of Elinor. Only the immensity of her presence named her far, far older than my sons foster mother. Ah, beloved, what am I to say to you? Ill stay here a prisoner if need be, I said. Or Ill walk back through the gateway and into the desert to live a powerless hermit. Ill take my place in the wall, if that is necessary. But I cannot take another step along his path, though I go mad with it. And I would go mad. I knew I would. Just help me understand, Lady. Command me. For so long I had tried to control my own future. Whatever life and fate had put before me, no matter what pain my choices cost me, I had insisted on shaping the event to my own design. Now I was tired of choosing. No more of it. She put her arm through mine, and we strolled along the edge of the burned forest. Weve so little time. Its enough to make one shake the Worlds Tree until its roots break loose! Jerking me to a halt almost immediately, she bent over to brush the choking ash from a young gamarand. As she wiped her gray-smudged fingers on her green mantle and propelled me forward once more, she shouted in the direction of Tyrrad Nor. May its fruits bruise your balls, Madonai, and its trunk bash your hard head! She punctuated her outburst with a bone-bruising squeeze of my arm. I jumped a little and gaped at her. She crinkled her lovely face into a rueful smile. What is it? Do our people no longer swear by the Worlds Tree? Swear In that crystalline moment, the name that I had bandied about for thirty-eight years assumed the shape of a human woman instead of a goddessa human woman who, after more than a thousand years of guardianship, could still rail in good-humored ferocity at what fate had brought her. I could not help but grin. My lady our people swear by your name! Amused resignation danced on her face. I suppose that makes as much sense as a tree. The powers who truly shaped the world must be accustomed to odd guises. So small an exchange, so trivial to ease a mans awe and desperation. Yet it drew me back to our business, too, for Ezzarians also swore by the name of her son the jailer. But it was with rational need and no longer with panicked frenzy that I phrased my request. Tell me the story, Lady. First, look up there. She pointed to the wall. Look closely. For the first time in a long while I called upon my Wardens senses, the human skills of far-seeing and sharpened hearing that were nothing of enchantment, only long training and practice. The entire outer surface of the wall was crumbling, as if someone had taken a battering ram to it. Three days ago the wall was almost whole, she said. It was an astonishing sight, for our enchantments have been on the verge of failure for many years. Even when Vyxagallanxchi took his place a year ago, his giftthe last of the Twelvewas quickly used up. But in the last few months the damage has been reversed, the cracks sealing themselves, the wall reabsorbing its broken pieces. She paused and fixed me with her gaze. Do you know why? I shook my head. Because of you. Because of his love for you. And perhaps because of yours for him. The day shifted, as if the suns great eye had blinked. But now its broken again, I said, swallowing hard to keep my nervous stomach in place. Whats causing it to fall apart? You know the exact events more than I, she said, resuming her pace, drawing me along in her wake as a ship guides a floating leaf. On the day of our wedding, my husband gifted me with the heartbond of the Madonai, and so I am one with his joys and sorrows, though I rarely know their cause. I know he travels in dreams, and I know what hes learned to do with themmy fault, Im afraid, for it was my suggestion to leave the breach in his bonds that has caused the world such distress. I can see the visions he creates, and so I learned of youthe cause of his great joy. I tried to reach you, to warn you, but Ive nothing like his power, of course, even contained as he is and I would not listen either to you or to this rai-kirah thats joined with me; I shut him out, silenced him before he could remember. I had destroyed him with weapons forged of my lifelong fears, of the need to control my own destiny, of my reluctance to allow anyonemy wife, my friends, and especially a powerful and angry rai-kirahaccess to my soul. Her red-gold cheeks deepened in color, and a wind of sadness wafted through the woodland, shifting the fallen leaves. You must not blame yourself. Never, never do that. There is too much weight in these matters to think they hinge upon a single pivot. Every deed we do, every happenstance, even our own sense about what weve done and seenall have their places in the great puzzle of the world. Just tell me whats happened in these few days, and then Ill explain more. To understand what must be done, you need to see the past more clearly. If it cannot be from your own remembrance, then it must come from me. And so we walked the forest paths, through the trees and out again into another desolation of ash and smoke, while I poured out the story of my bargain with Nyel and its terrible consequences. I told her of my inexplicable reliance on his good intentions and my foolish belief that if I could not save him, I would at least be able to kill him. But I know now that such a deed is inconceivable, I said. He has me in such thrall that my hand could never raise a weapon against him, even if I knew what one to use. I fear for my soul, Lady. And if I lose it, the world will suffer. Astonishing how the very act of speaking such perilous truth can soothe its mortal dread. Or perhaps it was only the Lady and my belief that she could forgive me anything, even to the destruction of the human race. We had come to a slow flowing stream, a ribbon of floating gold, and we sat on the leaf-strewn earth beside it. She drew up her knees and hugged them. He believes you will refuse him. Thats whats happened to the wall. All his hopes, both for good and evilfor he is truly mad and cannot see the differenceare bound up in you. And without hope, he is lost again, and we are all in danger. The wall will fail. I have been a naive fool, I said. To let him do this to me She laid her hand on my knee and leaned forward. No, no! Do not doubt your own mind, dear one. Everything youve seen of him, everything youve felt of his goodness, is absolutely true. When I waked beside my fathers fire to see the one from my dream sitting beside me, those glorious eyes gazing at me in wonder and curiosity and no small portion of lusty interest, I first learned the meaning of beauty and love and kindness. For twenty years I learned nothing other from him. Oh, we argued. Everyone would tell you of it. He was strong-willed and proud and used to having his way. And I was my fathers only daughter and very like. But our disputes were always rooted in good humor, and our delight in each other, both body and mind, soon mended them. Everyone who knew himMadonai, human, and rekkonarre felt the same. No one in any world has been better loved than he who dwells in Tyrrad Nor or more deserving of it. She withdrew her hand and laid it in her lap, staring at it as if it were a part of someone else, not quite belonging to her own body. Even when his people began to die, things did not change between us for a long while. He would come to me and lay his head in my lap as I sat beside our fire, telling me who had sickened that day and who had died, and of his endless investigations to discover the cause of their decline. I would wipe his tears and tell him news of the children. Seventeen of the rekkonarre dwelt within a days walk of my hearth fire. Though he came always in the night, he would often linger into the day, so that he could spend time with our own son. Son. The word was like a spark of lightning over distant hills, a portent of the coming storm. The children were the joy to balance out his grieving, she went on. Imagine the horror of this early death for the Madonai. Think of how we feel when a youth or maiden diesfar worse than for an infant death, because a youth or maid of twelve or fifteen summers has begun the journey, brought joy to her family or strength to his village, but has yet to realize the full promise of life. So many things undone, untried, unknown. Such was this for his people, for a Madonai who has lived only a few hundred years is but a youth. Now think of a plague that takes our young people one by one, the most generous and most joyful firstfor those are the Madonai who first mated with humans. When the younger ones were dead, the elder tried to make children, too, and then the elders, too, began to die. All in the matter of a heartbeat in the span of their long lives. Why did my love not die with them? He didnt know. Was it because he was the first? Because he was the strongest? Because he loved to travel through my dreams and had never stepped through the gateways in the flesh? More and more he remained in his world, pushing himself to find the reasons and the remedies, giving everything he had to make things right again. When he stopped coming to me, I tried to send messages, and I tried to go to him. But he would neither see me nor would he see our son, for he had found his answer and could not bear it. I dislodged a snag in the stream, where a charred limb had stuck in the earthen bank and caught the drifting leaves, holding them until the mass had turned black and clogged the flow. The rotting mess swirled and broke apart, moving away slowly until the golden stream ran free. He told me he planned to destroy the gateways, I said, and because it would have prevented the rekkonarre from spending time in both worlds, thus dooming them to madness, he was called a child-slayer. Kasparian told him that story when his mind was still quite fragile. To know the whole of it would have destroyed him again when he was only just recovering. Ive no way to know how much he remembers now. Verdonne clasped her hands in her lap. My husband was going to destroy the gates. Thats true. But the danger to his people still existed. He could not destroy the enchantment, the vietto that had brought the Madonai to our world in the first place, could he? And so the storm broke. He came to me in the night, said the Lady. Lay with me as he had not done in a year, weeping every moment even as he pleasured me beyond mortal imagining. When we lay sated beside my hearth fire, he reached for his tunic and pulled out a jewel, a diamond that could have been a star brought down to earth in his hand. His body would take fire with golden light when his power was flowing. On that night, the jewel grew golden, too, so that his tears reflected its light, and I asked what was this working that grieved him so sorely. It is the answer, he said as wailing rose from the forest, first from one direction and then another. The sky darkened with the sound as if clouds had covered the stars. The night bled. And he lay in my arms with his jewel and his tears, as the wailing rose from ever more distant settlements. What terror is abroad this night? I said. Why do you lie here weeping and do nothing? Never had he failed to answer our distress, giving everything of his heart, of his labor, and of his power to ease our human travails. But on that night he just gathered me in his arms and stroked my hair, and sobbed that no one suffered or was afraid. Hed seen to that, he said. I felt him quivering, cold sweat on his forehead and his breast. Soon he rolled to the side, groaning, still clutching the jewel, and I saw he was in terrible pain. Love, what is it? I said. Make it stop. I cannot, he said. I tried to find some other way. Truly, my darling one, I tried. But it is my people. Unless I do this, Ill have killed them all. But, of course, thats exactly what he was doing to the humans and the rekkonarre killing them all and taking their pain and fear into himself to ease their way into the realm of death. And who stopped him? I said, knowing the answer even before she spoke it. You did, my darlingthe son he cherished beyond all telling. When you woke from your sleep at my call and challenged him to end the slaughter, he could not bring himself to slay you. For love of you, he shattered his jewel before it was spent. And once he broke the spell to stop the killing, the guilt of his races ruin and the pain and fear of ten thousand dead tore his mind apart. CHAPTER 41 Nyel. The Nameless God. My father. Mine and not mine for even when my flesh and spirit knew and believed and witnessed to my mind that Verdonne did not lie, my soul clung to the gentle man of books and earth who had sired me in Ezzaria. Gareth of the line of Ezraelle was my souls father, not a proud, tormented Madonai who had tried to exterminate the human race. No matter that he had sought to ease their way into death, the Madonai had chosen slaughter to remedy a grievous tragedy. And because he had been a good and honorable man, he had gone mad from it. His son had become his jailer and lived on until the split that had sent the rai-kirah into exile and the human sorcerers back to Ezzaria. And though his physical body had died a thousand years in the past, that son still lived, an inseparable part of me. So what are we to do? I said. The days false warmth had fled, and I hunched my cloak about my shoulders, turning away from the rising north wind so I would not have to look upon the fortress and the wall and a future that terrified me. Give him back his hope. Such a simple, pleasant phrase to describe a nightmare. I turned on the Lady, such fear and anger rising up in me that my body quivered. Let him make me a monster to follow him? I cannot do it. For I could see his strategy now. Yes, he wanted his son strong and powerful, a true Madonai a god. But he also wanted me ruthless, free of the weakness that had caused him to fail. No wonder he hated Aleksander. No wonder holy stars of night, no wonder he wanted to know more of my own son. Youre telling me to give up my human soul. Dont you understand? Ive seen what Ill become. I cant do it. The Ladys calm reason was terrifying. You tried to contain his power with your enchantments, and for a very long time you succeeded. But the Twelve are tired, fading, and no Madonai are left to give themselves to the wall. Our friends paid a terrible price to allow him to live, hoping that someday his madness would heal and that he would again bless both worlds with his love. Verdonne laid her hand on my arm, trying to soothe my agitation, strolling through the yellow trees as if we were discussing the weather or the price of flour in the market. She told me how IValdishad no more been able to slay my father for his crime than he had been able to hurt me, and so I had designed a way to contain his power. Twelve Madonaiout of so many who loved him, Id had to choosehad allowed me to weave their essence into a wall, for pure Madonai power was all that could hold him. A thirteenth had become the tower guardian to provide the way in and out of the fortress. Verdonne had paid the price, as well, bound to this forest forever, giving it her strength and living with its pain. And then I had woven enchantment that stripped my father of his name. I had led him into the fortress and soothed his raving terrors, for it was to be a very long while until his mind regained any semblance of balance. Before many years had passed, the rekkonarre began to forget the prisoner, just as you intended when you took his name, she said. The Madonai were long dead, save for Vyxagallanxchi. Verdonne and Valdis and the Nameless God became the stuff of myth. But every day you saw the fortress was a knife in your heart, and as your father regained this show of reason, you were afraid the love you bore him would weaken your resolve. Thats when you and Vyx decided to destroy your own memories of him. You came here and told me what you planned, knowing that you would forget me, too. Time slowed to a crawl as my fingers wrapped around the black stone in my pocket. But I recorded his name, didnt I? So that if he were ever to recover Vyx wrote it. He put it under an enchantment so that no one but you could read it. Vyx had not been one of the rekkonarre, but my tutor, my protector, my mentor, a young Madonai devoted to mehis half-human attelle. Vyx had remained with me through the long years of forgetting, through the frightening time of the prophecy when I had been persuaded that if we didnt take drastic precautions, a winged shapeshifter was going to set the Nameless God free to destroy the worldnot remembering that the one we feared was my own father. After we who remainedthe rekkonarre, the buildershad worked the enchantment that split our souls, Vyx lived with me through exile in KirVagonoth, remembering only that someday he would have to return to a black wall in KirNavarrin to complete his life. Truth and awe had sapped my fury. If we cannot rebuild the wall, then what? The time has come for him to die, beloved. Let his devotion to you be our last remembrance of him. You could try to slay him now as you are, challenge him in some honorable combat or destroy him in his sleep. But we have no way to gauge his true strength save by the wall, which says he is stronger than we would wish. With Kasparian to aid him in taking power from these poor shadows that inhabit KirNavarrin, the risk of his victory is too great. But the only way he can make you fully Madonai is to gift you with his own power, weaving it with that which was born in you. He cannot create Madonai sorcery anew, only transfer it, and at the moment of his yielding, he will be at his most vulnerable. Nyel was not my true father. I did not owe him a sons loyalty. But Denas Valdis was a part of me, and if I was to live with myself, I needed to tread carefully in these matters. What if I dont kill him, Lady? What then? Our path had led us back to the tower. Verdonne pulled aside a vine and laid her hands on the stone, smiling sadly and murmuring something that was beyond my hearinga greeting to the tower guardian, I thought. Then she lifted her gaze to mine. Perhaps nothing. He may yield you his power and fade away in his fortress, content that he has done everything possible to redeem his sins. Perhaps with the strength you bring to this completion, you will then be able to leave the fortress and do as you will. But he has had a very long time to consider his plan, and my husband was the most intelligent, most powerful of his kind, which is saying a great deal. It is possible that he could revoke his gift if you failed to live up to his expectations and complete his dreadful work. She took my hands in hers. Fix this duty in your mind so that you will not forget your purpose amid the magnitude of your change. You must finish what youve begun. Accept his gift and take his life while he feels the joy of the giving. Truth weighs heavier than other words, my souls father had once told me. It bears a substance of its own, like an ingot that comes from the forge glowing, yet unmalleable. It rings clear like crystal when tapped, shines like silver beside lead. And if I do this, I said, scarcely able to form words for the constriction in my chest, who will contain me? You will find your way. You are a man with two noble spirits, one that I know as I know my own heart and one that I have only glimpsed. What my son could not do alone, you, the stranger, will enable him to accomplish. The true powers of earth and sky have brought you to this place, forged you, shaped you, honed you. I trust them. And I trust you, my son and my friend. There was no more to be said. In only a matter of moments I had passed through the tower wall and climbed the stairs to the quiet room. I carefully placed the black stone back in its wooden box. Kerouan. The Nameless God. I looked out through the window at the bright woodland, and then stepped across the fathomless gulf. You confound me! Nyels hand was poised above his game board, halted in midmotion at my declaration. After your unhappiness of these past days, I assumed I would be grateful if you would stop assuming. I am not a child. You can allow me to make my own decisions, and you neednt hide the difficult bits. I understand the consequences of my choices, have accepted them freely, and will do so until the end. I was unhappy because I killed innocent men, forced into it because my friend Aleksander refused to trust me fully. And then I discovered that I cannot walk through these walls, because you have already begun my change. Clearly you dont trust me, either. What man, Madonai or human, would not be unhappy to discover that the two souls he trusted above any in the world could not reciprocate? I have been, perhaps, overeager in my gifting. An understatement of the case, to be sure, but as near to an apology as I was likely to hear. So will you do as I ask? I said. Nyel carefully replaced the game piecethe white warrior kingonto the black-and-gray board. He rose and walked briskly to the windows, clasping his slender hands behind his back. As you wish. I will send you to a new dreamer with the same conditions as before. But now to satisfy your need for truth: this venture, whatever your purpose, will be the last step of my working, save for the full gifting of power. When you return you will be Madonai, body and mind. Your human frailties will be eliminated, but not without cost. Certain portions of your past memories, feelings will have faded. As my scars have done? Kasparian says that even these two that remain may vanish in time. I helped myself to a glass of wine, marveling that my hand was steady. Perhaps youve allowed them to stay to remind me of human perfidy. Let him make what he would of my bitterness. I was interested only in his answer. Ah, you are indeed perceptive. These two blemishes rascally difficult to erase. Their roots delve so deep. Weve scarcely begun your educationso many, many lessons to be learned but weve no need to rush, and reminders will be valuable. He whirled about, his face alight as if the moon had risen in the southern sky beyond his garden windows. Everything of your human past will be altered in the moment of your change. Not lost, but made remote, as if it belonged to someone else, like a story told you in your youth. Without some mitigation, such a drastic shift of mind would be frightening, I think, and I would not have you feel that Ive stolen your life. So Ive allowed these last physical anchors to remain until you can release them yourself, along with the painful memories they represent. Gods have mercy, he was proud of his plan. He was doing me a kindness. I breathed a little easier and, behind my folded arms, kneaded the ache buried deep in my side beneath the blemish. A flimsy plan had come to me in the hours since I had returned from the gamarands. A dreadful gamble with incalculable stakes. And I would not be able to depend upon myself to make the proper moves; the very thought made me queasy. Good enough, I said. I just want to be done with the business. Leave me the reminders. Id rather not be drawn into stupid plans like this last one gods, their ignorant, foolish schemes. All it would have taken to prevent this disaster was for Aleksander to entrust his plan to the intermediary I had chosen. What arrogant stupidity. I thought he had learned better. You are a tool they use for their own purposes, said Nyel. What friend forces his comrade into violating his conscience? Night settled on the mountain, the days clouds scattered with the north wind. The clearing weather left the air cold, and the stars that popped out of the blackening sky were hard-edged like glass. As Nyel summoned Kasparian to send us into the world of dreams, I paced and fidgeted, grateful at the Madonais occupation that allowed my thoughts to focus on my dreamer and what I was going to say. Before I had composed half the words I needed, Nyel returned with Kasparian in tow. The bullish Madonais dislike burned steady as he arranged the chairs about the game table. Verdonnes revelations had explained Kasparians hatred and jealousy. How bitter to see your master bestow his gifts upon your jailer upon one who was not born Madonai upon the son who had not loved his father as well as the attelle who had given up everything to share his masters exile. How unjust must fate appear to such a one. Kasparian lit a candle as we settled around the table. A spider crawled up the pillar of wax. Nyel, his lean face eager, had the enchantment poised on his tongue, and before the first drip of wax had slumped down the candle, engulfing the struggling spider, I was floating above the sea of dreams. She was only dozing. The trail of her dream was so faint and so quickly passed that I came near missing it. But explosive enchantment had possessed me from the moment of Nyels touch, and I would not have failed to take the path of my desire had her dream been the length of a snowflakes life in desert noonday. Seyonne! Elinor pressed her back against the lemon tree, sleep startled from her dark eyes. What are you doing here? Her aspect was wary, but not cowering, which spoke everything necessary about her courage. To wake from an afternoon drowse and see a man standing over you clothed in naught but a sword belt and garish light could be nothing but disconcerting, especially when the last youd heard of him was that he had brought down a building to crush your foster brothers head. Unfortunately I was not going to ease her mind on that afternoon. Ive come for my son. Its time for him to live with me. I might well have struck her. She leaped to her feet, face flushed, all uncertainty dismissed. You gave me your word! Things change, I said. You said you would suffer anything to keep Evan safe and loved and happy, she said. I believed you. And so I will do. Where is he? Look at yourself, Seyonne! Youll frighten him. You frighten all of us now. Do you doubt me, too, Mistress? What more must I do to prove myself? We stood face-to-face on the steep, dry slope overlooking the crude tent settlement where I had last visited my child. The sun angle was low, the world streaked and splashed with red-gold light that no one would mistake for darkness. I will not discuss this. Its time Evan learned of me and of his rightful place in the world. Her graceful jaw grew hard. And what would he learn? We dont even know what you are anymore. Even the Prince fears youve changed into something other. How can I hand over my child to one who? Evan is my child. He should be with me, not running about the desert with a band of miserable outlaws in the middle of a human war. With your stupidities and your ignorance, youll all be dead within the year. I gathered a wind to fill my wings and took a step toward the tall woman. Do not doubt my intent, and do not test me. Remember Parassa. Her bold flush had faded, but she neither backed away nor withered under my glare. None of us will forget Parassa. Was it not Parassa where your blind blood thirst killed my brother Farrola man who called you friend and crippled Gorrida man of honor and faith who has sacrificed his personal vengeance to serve your Prince? Where seven of Lord Kirils men fell at your hand because you would not lower yourself to speak to the Aveddi? What makes you think you are fit to care for a child? True. All true. Her accusations stung like the tail of a whip. And now I was to violate the one vow I had thought inviolable. I was to put my child in danger. But I knew my friends, and nothing else would make them believe Tell me where he is, or Ill burn every tent in this camp to find him. My voice thundered through the dusty air, threatening to crack the rocks and split the trees. Ill wring the necks of your people one by one if you try to keep him from me. Fires of heaven. At last she began to believe. I swept my wings and took flight, circling about her like a vulture over carrion, shouting so that all in the settlement below would hear me. Where is my son? All right, Ill show you. She picked her way down the slope, stumbling a few times in her hurry. However, she did not stop thinking. Youll take him to KirNavarrin? she said, calling up to me. It is his home. His right. Youll need someone to care for him. Hes so small I can conjure servants to see to his needs. I swept my wings again, swirling the dust around her. Conjure servants She squinted up at me as if trying to see through my skin, and then she shook her head. Dont you understand? Hes afraid of strangers. Its usual for children of his age. You cant Hell learn. She slipped on a patch of loose rock and almost lost her balance. Her breathing ragged, she stopped for a moment to test her footing and scan the slope for a safer route. The people of the encampment had started to gather, shading their eyes against the last sunbeams and staring up at us. No matter what youve become, you cannot be cruel enough to take a child away from everyone and everything hes ever known. Do not tell me what I can and cannot do! Am I still a slave? Everyone tries to set my course, telling me do this, do that, hold back, take care, you must, you must not. But things will be different now. I have found my true home, my true form. I have inherited such power as you cannot imagine and will have scarcely come into my prime long after you and these human creatures are dust. I wish my son to inherit my fathers legacy. And I will have the boy out of danger. Damn your insolent And are there no dangers in your new realm? She interrupted my bellowing, her gaze unwavering. An arrow of fear pierced my wits as if shot straight from Elinors eyes. Careful. Careful. I had planned to say these things to make her fear me. But power was swelling my shoulders and my chest and my loins, was stretching my wings, threatening to distract me from my purpose. I was ready to lash out at her in ways I never intended. Brutally, I forced myself to concentrate. I would be changed only when I returned to Nyel, when my dreamer slept again. Keep to the plan. Nyel is watching I am not unreasonable. You may send one person with him. Unless I could make this plan work, my child was safe nowhere. I soared upward before she could answer and flew toward the settlement. As Elinor ran the last steep descent, I furled my wings and touched my feet to the dusty road a few hundred paces from the gathering crowd. I folded my arms and turned my back to them. Behind me, shuffling steps and low murmurs gave way to a firm tread and familiar voice. Speak with me, Seyonne. Aleksanders footsteps stopped at a considerable distance. I fixed my eyes on Elinor and said nothing. Only a few moments later, when the woman ran breathlessly down the road to join him, did I turn to the Prince. The crowd had parted to let him pass, and he bore himself as a king confronting a messenger from an unknown realm. Feyd stood behind, his head bowed where I could not see his face. Was the Suzaini youth shamed that I had come to someone else or was he hiding his relief? Beside the Prince stood a stone-faced Blaise, holding my son. Evan was looking at me curiously, a finger stuck in his mouth as he clung to the bony Ezzarian. I forced my attention to Elinor. Who will accompany the child? I said, taking up as if there were not a hundred new witnesses to our conversation. Elinor looked from me to the others and back, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead. Seyonne has come for Evan, she said to the others. He wants to take the boy to safety in KirNavarrin. Her words spilled out quickly, shutting off the protests that Aleksander and Blaise had ready. He is adamant so theres no use arguing. Please dont fuss. And someone must go with them so Evan wont be afraid. Im going to go. Linnie, you cant, said Blaise, biting back his fury. You heard Fiona tell us of her sickness. You wouldnt survive for more than a few months. Well face that when it comes, she said. Ill go, said Blaise. The boy is comfortable with me, and I can Elinor shook her head. Youre needed here; the Aveddi depends on you, and the future of this Empire is more important than any one of us. Besides, Seyonne charged me with Evans care. I will not abandon my child. As you wish. I nodded to Elinor as if the others had not spoken. Make what preparations you need. I will require your brother to escort you through the gateway of Dasiet Homol to the tower in the gamarand wood. Once there, he will open the way as Fiona described it, but only you and the child will proceed to the room at the top of the tower. Be warned that I will permit no deviations from my commands. In the tower room, you have but to request entrance to the fortress, and you will pass through. Is all clear? Elinor nodded, and I continued. This is for the childs safety. For his future. Fathers must do what is necessary for their sons, and sons must know their fathers and remember them. Linnie Blaises plea was to no avail. Elinor kissed him and said he needed to see to horses and water while she gathered up Evans things. I walked away from the crowd to wait, deliberately ignoring them again. Their hostility was like a bitter wind, and I felt the furtive movements of hands to knives and swords. When the first boot moved in my direction, I whirled about and snarled, filling my wings and shooting fire from my fingers. Off with you, said a quiet command. Youve not skills enough to face him. When the crowd withdrew, I turned away again, watching the moon climb off the eastern flank of the valley. Soon only Aleksander stood behind me; I felt his eyes hot on my back. Talk to me, Seyonne. Or must I call you some other name? Where is my friend my brother the man who saved my life and my soul and taught me how to use them? There are things I would tell him, news he would be glad to share. I made myself stone or as near to it as a shapeshifter dares go. I need to know if my friend intends to return, for I sorely need his help and his wisdom. But only his. Steps brought him closer. I understand what happened at Parassa. Everyone understandseven Blaise. Holy Athos, Seyonne, I hold no blame to you that I dont hold to myself. More live because of you than died because of you. But it cant happen again. Please, let me know that you hear me. But I did not turn, and I did not speak, and, after a while, he walked away. Within half an hour, Blaise brought the horses. While others loaded bundles and waterskins on the saddles, Aleksander stood to the side. Soon Elinor came to me, carrying my wide-eyed son in her arms. Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to wait awhile? she said. Until he is a little older and can understand whats happening? Only if you can assure me that this war ends today. I paused for a moment, glaring at her. I thought not. I made sure my voice could be heard by all. You may inform any who are interested that since he cannot trust my judgment, I no longer serve your Aveddi, but only my own purposes. You are correct that I am not as I was. But Ill not abandon this world to chaos and confusion. I will continue to aid in this conflict as I promised, and I will expect all agreements and compacts with me to be similarly upheld. Humans are renowned for breaking faith. I still wear two scars that remind me of it every hour. I pointed to the two that remained. I believed I felt a change in Aleksander a caught breath a stiffening back a grave surety. But I was not looking at him, so I could not be certain. Faith. I flew high, watching as Elinor and Blaise held a last hurried conference with Aleksander, made hasty farewells to the rest of the assembly, and set out riding through the moonlit desert, their forms blurring on occasion as Blaise worked his magic. Elinor leaned forward in the saddle as if riding into battle, the wind catching tendrils of her long hair and whipping them across her face. Evan rode in front of Blaise, the mans body a shield around the sleepy child. Near moonset the weary horses plodded up the hill to the Place of the Pillars, the twin ranks of white stone that stretched moon shadows across the grass. Blaise built a small fire. As her brother began the work to open the gateway, Elinor wrapped Evan in a blanket and held him in her lap, rocking him slowly. I sat atop a distant pillar and watched them, weaving an enchantment of drowsiness and casting it over the woman. My choice was made for Evans safety. For all of them, so I told myself, though the cold sweat that trickled down my spine spoke of doubt. For Evan to be secure, I must put him in danger, trusting Elinor to shield and comfort him through whatever was to come. But I had been wrong so many times, had misjudged so sorely, and my craving was so great that it could be clouding my judgment. These seeds I sowed could be the very kernels of destruction. The prophecies that had shaped my peoples history had described a dreadful ending. A square of stone from a mosaic portrayed one possible future of my deeds as unrelieved blackness, and to touch that palm-sized square was to feel the despair of the world. But I clung to Gaspars words. You must walk the path youve chosen. For the light to triumph, there must be darkness. An old mans rambling was my hope. Not my sword arm, not my senses, not my insights or intelligence or experience. Only a desert-born vision, a womans courage, and a princes strength and faithfulness. Elinors head began to droop. I inhaled the clean, sweet air of the human world, and as the woman settled beside her child to sleep, I turned away and embraced the darkness of my dreaming. What must it feel like for the shore when the oceans tide rolls out? Teeming life withdrawn. Ceaseless activity stilled. The lands edge washed clean, only flotsam and jetsam remaining to be withered by sun or picked at by birds. Ponderous weight removed, and the essence of sand and rock left exposed to bask in the days warmth. Glorious simplicity. So I felt when I stood up from Nyels game table no longer human. I stretched out my arms and examined them. Both hands present, forearms ridged with sinew, elbows, broad shoulders nothing to disturb the eye. Nor anything to restrict further examination, for I stood halfway between the fire and the garden window, unclothed save for my sword belt. Outdoors it was snowing. Legs whole and well formed. I did not glow golden in this realm. Chest. Little hair Id never had much. The knotted white line just below the ribs on my right side speaks of unfaithfulness, mistrust, betrayal, ignorance. Belly. Loins. Yes, still male, too, all parts intact. Wings a thrill in my gut when I felt them tightly furled against my back. Was I to be winged forever? Everything accounted for. My hand touched the left side of my face brutality, cruelty, despair. These scars were like drips of acid touching pleasured skin. I would be rid of them as soon as I knew how. And I knew by all the worlds wisdom, I knew so much already, now the tide of pain and ugliness had receded and left me Madonai. Other eyes were examining me. Young old eyes alive with exultation. The old man stood beside the frosted window, his face reflecting the hearth fire. Not smiling yet, for there was still the final gifting to accomplish once he was sure of me. His hair seemed grayer and his lean face dry and soft, as though the robust flesh beneath his skin had already turned to dust. I spread my arms wide and bent my knee. My lord father, I am as you have made me. Teach me as you will. You know my hunger. No longer could we maintain secrets of the heart. His joy and triumph were as exposed to my viewing as my own desires were bared to him. Yet I was in the more vulnerable state. I was an artwork newly created from a malformed original, and the artist yet maintained his control over my shaping. Indeed, as he walked across the patterned carpets of dark green and red, his midnight eyes locked to my own, I felt his breath blowing on the fire within me, nurturing the white-hot flame that was scouring my soul and memory, cleansing me of the impurities of my hybrid birth. I was starving for fuel that only he could give, the power that would transform this flame into a holocaust. I gave no consideration to what was being destroyed, only to the magnificence that would remain. From behind me came a loud crack. Kasparian had snapped a stick as thick as my wrist and thrown it on the hearth fire. He snatched another stick from the basket and then drew his knife, and began to shave long slivers of wood from the dry stick with the ease of slicing cake. The splinters fell onto a pile on the clay-colored hearth tiles at his feet. My fathers eyes never left me nor did my own stray from his face for long, though the image of Kasparians hungry knife now lay atop my mind like a thin coverlet, a distraction. My own dagger, sheathed in finely tooled leather, lay heavy against my bare flank. Ironic that Kasparians interruption should remind me of it. The devoted Madonai would be appalled. So at last you have answered your own question, said my father. When I first discovered you among the shadows in such bitter exile, I wanted to tell you then of your true identity. But you were so full of angerrightly soand you had so little memory of your heritage. Not enough to build on. And I refused to dream in KirVagonoth, I said, gasping for air enough to speak beneath his smothering attention. I hated taking on flesh, and so you had no way to speak to me. No matter. I was so proud of your strength and grace. And then you found the other, your human partner, your match in every way. How the powers of the universe have blessed us, my son, after so long an agony to send this good Warden to save us both. When I learned how you planned to join with him, I decided to do whatever I could to bring you here, giving you some hint of your rightful place in the world. You needed to understand that I bore you no ill will. Far from it. I wanted to give you everything. My father laid his hand on my cheek, leaving every nerve, every muscle, every fiber of my body awake and quivering as if a knife blade had traced their shape. Still, I could not let myself believe you would forgive me, and so I laid these petty traps and snares. Youve seen more clearly than I. And now I am humbled by your trust to bring this child of your body to live here. He withdrew his hand, and I leaned forward trying to hold the connection. But he folded his arms across his green-shirted chest and did not seem to notice. And so we come to the culmination. You are a vessel, prepared to receive a gift unlike any given since Please, Father. I could scarcely hear his words for my raging hunger. Without his power to complete my own, I was little more than a withered husk, incomplete, unviable, an aberration, born not of nature but of enchantment. He laughed and opened his arms, spreading his cloak wide as if he had wings of his own, transformed in that instant to the young god who had sired me. Open your heart, Valdis my son, and receive what you need of me. The sight of his broad chest, exposed and vulnerable, led my hand to my knife hilt. Somewhere beyond the tumultuous madness of my desire lay the certainty that this was a moment that would never come again, a moment of safety, of necessity, of duty. But I could not kill him. The being named Kerouan had once been beautiful and holy, and even now he wished me only good. He was my father. I loved him and could consider no demand of duty that would do him harm. A fading voice within me affirmed this resolution, insisting that violating this conviction would be my own surest road to corruption and madness. Faith, said the voice. It all comes down to faith. And so I let the moment pass and fell into a blue-black sea. The Nameless God embraced me, and I was filled. CHAPTER 42 Theres three persons come to the garden, said the conjured servant, a plain-faced woman who looked as though she might dissolve in the storm wind that raked the castle ramparts. They say theyre here at your command, Lord Valdis, though they do not address you by your proper name. I stopped in mid-stretch. My shoulders were tight after three days of nasty winter weather, and though I had no intention of flying off into the howling wind and sleet, I had come to the open heights where I could extend my wings and flex them properly. I could shape the wings at will, and thus had no reason to retain them all the time, but I felt unsettled, cramped, incomplete when I went too many hours without. Wings were the outward expression of my power, the first enchantment that I could initiate on my own. Three? That wasnt right. I commanded that a woman and a boy pass through the tower portal. Indeed, my lord, they are a woman, a male child, and a man who claims to be their protector. Master Kasparian says that the man, like the child, carries a true being within him. Blaise. The name came instantly. One of the rekkonarre. A good man, but disobedient. I had no use for him here; he did not think my child belonged with me. Take the woman and the boy to the quarters Ive had prepared. Make them comfortable with food and dry clothing, and bring them to my fathers study an hour from now. The man may stay in the garden and freeze or return the way he came, as he chooses. He is forbidden to shapeshift here or to proceed beyond the garden. Have Kasparian see to it. Kasparian knew my orders. He was to prevent interference by my human acquaintances, but he was not to harm them. Once I could command my own power in this world, I would rethink the prison and its barriers and its occupants. And that time would come very soon. Only three days since my father had transferred his power to me, and already I could feel it swollen like a snow-fed torrent in spring. For the moment, the binding spells I had created so long in the past left me unable to initiate any Madonai enchantment, save my own bodys shaping. I, too, was dependent on Kasparian. But, unlike my father, I could do very much as I pleased once the first spark was struck even by so dull an edge as my fathers attelle. Only crossing the wall was impossible. Any enchantment that my father could teach me, I could shape and wield once Kasparian had given it life, and I had confidence that I would control the wall itself once my strength had grown enough. I had plenty of time. I would be released from this confinement. As for my father I wasnt sure what I was going to do about him. He was still mad. Humans and rekkonarre had rightly feared him all these years. I understood his power, his deeds, and his reasoningand the flaw that had torn him apart. He had done his best to cure me of that weakness, not so that I could carry out his slaughter as I had so foolishly feared, but to enable me to make reasoned judgments without going mad. Free of human sympathies and confusions, I would be able to sort out problems that only a Madonai had the power to address. Time would tell how well he had done. I finished my stretching, watching the ice crystals form on the leading edges of my wings, pleased to note that even the sensitive membranes were not bothered by the cold. Just as I started down the tower stairs to my apartments, a loud screeching broke out beyond the battlements. Retracing my steps and peering over the wall, I saw a large brown-and-white bird struggling to fly toward the fortress from the direction of the garden. Its valiant efforts were doomed to failure. Besides the constant buffeting of the wind, the bird was caught by a rope of light tossed from Kasparians hand. The harder the bird fought, the tighter drew the noose about its neck. I told you that you are forbidden to approach the castle in any shape whatsoever, shouted Kasparian above the bluster of wind and the indignant squawks of the bird. With a few snaps of the rope, he had the bird back on the ground, where it quickly reshaped itself to a bedraggled man who knelt clutching his neck and gasping harshly. I jumped up and onto the merlon. Perhaps we need to illustrate the penalties for disobedience, I called down to Kasparian as my wings filled and my cloak flapped and billowed. Stake him out in the garden until tomorrow midnight. The man Blaise gawked stupidly as I stepped off the ramparts and spiraled downward on the storm wind to stand over him. Ive no wish to harm you, I said to the kneeling man, touching Kasparians hand and casting the spell that would prevent the captive rekkonarre from shapeshifting throughout the coming day. The man groaned a little as his bones felt the binding of my enchantment. But I am not to be trifled with. You will tell your fellows when you return to your world. Blaise tried to speak, but Kasparian jerked on the rope and left him choking. I caught the air and soared upward. The man seemed very small as Kasparian dragged him away. I returned to the tower stair and my own business, shaking off the damp while unshaping my wings. Once in my apartments, I donned gray breeches, boots, and a loose shirt of black silk, and I tied back my hair with a silk ribbon. A short time later I joined my father in his study. So your boy is come, said my father, using one finger to move a piece on his game board. He had scarcely stirred from his chair by the fire since my change, claiming that the years weighed heavy on him now that his essence was so diminished. Not wishing to seem greedy or presumptuous, I had not pressed for a clearer estimate of his condition. An undeniable peace had soothed his edgy humor, though indeed the transfer of power seemed to have left him vulnerable to his declining body. But the threads he cast into the world and into my soul even now were no weakling wisps. Any who discounted my father from the game of power before he breathed his last would rue the miscalculation. Does the child know you at all? he asked. No more than I knew you when first I came here, I said. But that will change. By the time he is grown, he will remember nothing but his true home and family, unusual as we are. I bowed slightly and smiled. You need to find some way to placate Kasparian, he said, chuckling. He threatens to step on the mite without remorse if the boy gets in his way. Ive already spoken with Kasparian. Weve come to an understanding. In exchange for his tolerance, I had promised the Madonai that he could stay with my father no matter how I chose to control Nyel in the future. From the hallway sounded footsteps and a quiet whispering. A servant held the door, and through the opening we could see the boy hanging back, clinging to the womans dark blue skirt. She stooped down to speak to the child for a moment, and then straightened, took him by the hand, and led him into the study. Neither showed any sign of fear as they crossed the room. I nodded my approval to the woman. The child gaped about the spacious room with its shining lamps and ornaments, his dark eyes growing wide at the sight of the black and white game pieces that glittered in the lamplight. May I present my son Evan-diargh? I said, bowing first to my father and then to my son. A proper introduction will have to wait until I know him better myself. The child, paying no mind to either of us, pulled loose from the womans hand and wandered forward, stopping halfway between the womans position in the center of the room and the alluring game table. He eyed my father, judging, I supposed, whether to risk proximity to the stranger in order to gain access to the intriguing shapes so near the old man. Here, lad, said Nyel, taking one of the small rounded warriors from the game board and rolling it across the carpet to the boys feet. The child snatched it from the floor, smiled shyly, and stepped a bit closer to the table. Evan, said the woman softly, and the boy quickly retreated to her side, poking one finger in his mouth while clutching the ivory warrior. And this is Mistress Elinor, I continued, who has cared for my son since his birth. One of the rekkonarre, said my father. But lacking her true being. Pity. And who and what are you who presumes to pity my birth, sir? said the woman. She spoke quite boldly for one whose hands were clenched into bloodless knots at her side. In this place I am called Nyel for lack of anything better, said my father with a great sigh. The names given to me in the human world, you know better than I. As for what I am, a tired old man is the most accurate description. One who has seen his fondest wish fulfilled and is deciding what lesser pleasures to enjoy for his waning days. You have clearly done good service in the nurture of this child, and so have no need to fear me or my son. Nyel laid his hand on my arm. Your son The woman glanced sharply from Nyel to me. The matter is too complicated to explain, I said, clasping my hands behind my back. And is none of your business. Are your quarters adequate? For a prison, she said, emboldened, no doubt, by my fathers gentle air. The more fool she, if she underestimated him. You are not confined to your rooms, I said. My son may roam where he pleases in the castle and grounds, excepting only the private apartments of my father and his companion, Kasparian. Kasparian also has a sparring arena just below this center part of the fortress. The arena is a dangerous place for a child. I have commanded Kasparian to keep it locked, but it is your responsibility to keep the boy away from it. You will accompany the child as is necessary to teach and care for him. You will find no dangers here beyond those of any house with stairs, towers, and windowsfar fewer than where you were. Fewer than in any human dwelling of my experience. She would not be cowed. Yet you cannot deny that we are confined. You may leave KirNavarrin at any time, Mistress. That silenced her impudence for the moment. She knew very well that she would leave alone. The boy was tugging at the womans skirts, whispering, Mam. Mam. Can we go home now? The woman laid a hand on his head, quieting him. I beg you excuse us, good sir, but I should put Evan to bed. Weve traveled a long way. If you will accompany us, Seyonne, Ill show you how he likes to be put to bed. If youre to care for him in the future, youd best learn. My father chortled in delight and rocked back in his chair. Indeed, my son, I believe youve brought a determined spirit into this house. And I thought the child would be the most interesting visitor weve seen in a millennium. He waved his hand at the three of us. Go on. Go on. Indeed, lad, you should learn what she has to teach. When she sickens or dies or decides that her loyalties are to her own kind instead of this boy, well not wish the childs habits disrupted. Irritated by the womans presumption and my fathers encouragement of it, I bowed curtly to my father and gestured the woman toward the door. The woman murmured quietly to the child as we climbed the curved stair, pointing out the bird-shaped carvings on the staircase, telling him not to scrape the game piece on the polished wood, and dragging him away from the fountain on the landing before he tumbled into it. Her words and actions were directed to the boy, but her eyes kept flicking to me until I was tempted to see if some unsightly growth had appeared on my forehead. When she hesitated at the convergence of four corridors, I indicated the way, and we soon arrived at my sons apartments. The main room was large and would command a fine view of the gardens. Shelves lined one wall, filled with toy ships and balls, books and paper, and sticks of coal to draw with. Under the wide casements stood a clothes chest stocked with new shirts, breeches, undergarments, and boots of the proper size. A conjured servant was just laying out a supper of cold meat, apples, and toasted bread on a small, low table. While I stood in the doorway watching, Mistress Elinor sat on the rug beside the bedroom fire and helped the boy change into a well-worn nightshirt pulled from a traveling bundle. I considered leaving. I had no interest in bedroom rituals; servants could learn such things and carry them out when the nursemaid was dead or gone. Yet I stayed, listening and watching. But this is your new house said the woman, when the child popped up from her lap and tried with pokes and shoves to stand her up, demanding to go home. and it is a very nice house with many new things to see. Here, have some supper. Youve not eaten in ever so long. She pulled the boy onto her lap, coaxing him to try a bite of cold fowl. He shook his head, but accepted a square of toast, watching the servant make up the small bed that stood against one wall. The bed prepared, the plain-faced serving woman picked up several cloth-wrapped bundles that lay by the outer door and pointed to a smaller doorway off to one side. Ill put your things in your room, she said to Elinor. Leave them, please. Ill be staying in here. Your room is next to this. Not so large, but sufficient. The servant was of Kasparians creation and bidding, and so, of course, quite expressionless and unintelligent. As I said, Ill be sleeping in here with my son. But youve no bed here for sleeping, and Ill not be moving any furniture without Im told by Master Kasparian. The human woman shrugged and shifted her attention back to the child, picking up the dropped toast. Clearly the argument was concluded, though the simpleminded servant who disappeared through the door with the traveling bags did not understand who had won. I admired strength in a woman, though I knew better than to trust the one who possessed it. As I crossed the room to join the woman and boy by the fire, my hand rubbed the nagging reminder on my side. This woman must be taught to bend; she claimed my child as her own. Hello, Evan. May I join your supper? I said, bowing to him slightly. The child buried his face in the womans breast. Of course any child was fearful of new circumstances and unfamiliar faces. I seated myself in an armchair a few steps away from the two, thinking that perhaps he would be less shy if I were not so tall. Taking an apple and a knife from the table, I cut off a thin wedge and offered it to the boy. Im pleased youve come to live with me, Evan. Ive been waiting a very long time for us to be together. A very long time. I looked into the past to review the course of our separation and was appalled at what I could remember of ita legacy of rampant ignorance and fear, injustice and cruelty. I recalled an image of this woman staring down at a crippled man who had been dreadfully mutilated and other humans hacked into bloody refuse, and her face as she blamed me for the carnage The boy snatched the piece of apple from my hand. Say thank you tothe woman looked over at mewhat should he call you? He still thinks of Gordain as his da. Gordain. A human man, not even rekkonarre. You will speak no more of Gordain to my son. I would not have him mourn a human. In a Madonai house, the male parent is addressed as Fyothe. The closest human word would be Papa. The woman nodded, burying any retort, as well as the questions that came so clearly to her tongue. She would not even know the term Madonai. Evan, say, Thank you, Papa. The boy squirmed and murmured something like, then buried his face again while beginning to nibble at the bit of apple. I cut off another wedge. I will not tolerate your teaching him to fear me. I made sure my tone was nothing that would frighten the boy. Seyonnethe woman lowered her voice, glancing sidewise at the doorway to the adjoining roomwe need to talk privately. With regard to ? She examined my face carefully, perplexed and hesitant, all her bravado fallen away. Give me a sign, Seyonne, she whispered, pleading in a most pitifully human way. We thought The Prince was sure After what you said about promises and faith The servant returned and began to bank the fire for the night. The woman glanced at the servants back and spoke in a normal tone again, though her face had not lost the probing worry. Your somber manner surprises me. Prince Aleksander says you are prone to telling bad jokes at awkward times such as these. I could not understand her strange manner. I find little humor in anything human, Mistress Elinor. My experiences in your world belie any inclination toward it. The servant left again. I jumped up from my chair, unable to sit still. The womans comments unsettled me, as if a spark had shot from a too close fire and stung my forehead between my eyes. I hated the sensation. And do not presume. As Ive told you before, I am not the man this human prince knows; I have discarded that part of my existence. You are a servant, remaining here by my forbearance, and I would advise you to remember it. You should address me as Master Valdis. A certain brightness deserted the womans face, as when the last vestige of the suns disk slips below the horizon, leaving the actual daylight little changed, but its quality irrevocably altered. She began to rock the boy slowly, laying her cheek on his dark head as his heavy eyelids sagged. Valdis, she said. The name of the Ezzarian god. I thought you disdained the role of god. Ezzarians have no concept of what or whom they speak. Then tell me, Master Valdis, why is it so important that Evan should be moved here now, and so quickly? Weve tended him well, kept him from harm, loved him as is a childs right. The war has moved farther from our settlement, and so there is no immediate threat to his safety. Youve had little time to spend with him in the past, and if you continue your participation in the Aveddis war, that will likely not change. What do you think is going to happen in the human world that you no longer trust us to protect the boy? I tossed the knife and the remains of the apple onto the table. I wish my son safe. I dont remember exactly why I felt it necessary to move so quickly. You dont remember? Her head popped upright. Four days ago you threatened to kill two hundred people if I didnt get him here immediately! But that was before. Before what? The woman was a morass of impertinent questions, but I knew that daily life would be easier if we remained on reasonable, if proper, terms. So I answered her. Before my change. Before I became wholly Madonai. Explaining would have been easier, of course, if I had known the information she wanted. But, as with so many pieces of my discarded existence, the logic behind my actions was hazy. I believed quite urgently that my son should be here with me, but I dont recall the entire chain of reasoning that led up to that belief. I was still human then. Human reasoning is inextricably entangled with human emotions, and such convoluted paths are difficult to recapture now that my body that generated and supported those emotions has changed so radically. Your body has changed not human Her bewildered expression was but another annoying question. I am now Madonai, as are my father and Kasparian, although they were born and I was gifted transformed. The rekkonarreyou and the rest of your raceare the product of human and Madonai mating twelve hundred years ago, a grievous mistake that has corrupted the world. In me, my father has remedied that mistake. Do you see now? Im beginning to understand. And now you are changed in this way, you remember only facts from the pastevents, decisions, namesnot how you felt about them or why. Whatever else was involved in my decision, I will likely remember it later. Not that it matters. My sons proper place is with me, not in some human war camp at risk of slavery or mutilation, or cruel, wasteful, useless deaththese damnable human plagues. He will be raised as Madonai, and when the time comes, I will give him the gift that my father has given me. The woman pressed her lips together, stroked the childs hair, and shifted him onto her shoulder. Her gaze did not leave my face. Now that her questions were mercifully silenced, I took my leave. The child sleeps. Ill see him in the morning. I felt her eyes still fixed on me as I walked out of the door. Disliking the murky confusions the woman raised, I returned to the ramparts, shaped my wings, and leaped into the air. Unfortunately, battling the storm wind and the annoying limits of the cursed wall did not silence the fool womans question. Why had I brought the boy here so soon and so fast? Indeed I had told her one part of the answer. My soul revolted at the thought that my son might someday wear scars like those on my face and my side. And the boy was rekkonarre, thus would need to spend time in both worlds. But not yet, so why was his presence so urgent? A second part of the answer was surely that bringing Evan here would convince my father of my intent to complete my change. And so it had done. But a fortress prison housing a mad Madonai and his two companions was not a rational choice for raising a child. Until I could break the wall and decide what to do about my father, having the boy here held its own dangers. Which meant there was a third part to the answer, and that one, to my head-bursting frustration, I could not remember. And so I twisted and dived in the wind over the mountain, letting the storm batter my body and monopolize my attention. When morning came, cold and overcast, I bathed, dressed, and resisted the urge to make my way immediately to my sons chamber. He was still half human. He would be sleeping or breakfasting. I needed to go dream traveling, and so I met Kasparian in the library, the room I had chosen for my own study. But no sooner had the sullen Madonai sat down at the worktable and begun his enchantment, than I pushed his hand away and dismissed him. Well do this tomorrow, I said. I need to reconsider my objectives in this war. Before a quarter of an hour had passed, I was watching from a tower window as the woman and Evan walked out into the winter garden, bundled in cloaks and scarves. The child ran from pond to statue to frozen fountain, laughing and teasing, climbing and hiding and running. The woman was always there to pull him away from the frozen ponds, to brush the snow from his clothes before it could melt, to help him down when he had climbed too high, to laugh with him when he bumped a tree trunk and showered the two of them with snow. Soon they wandered deeper into the garden, where I could no longer see them. Before I could decide whether to go out and join them, I heard a terrified wailing. I sped through the castle, shaping my wings and taking to the air the moment I was out of doors, following the sound to its source. The woman stood on a snow-covered knoll, clutching the sobbing Evan. Though I saw no blood, no hurt on the boy, no evidence of broken limbs, the womans cheeks were also streaked with tears. Only when I touched earth beside them did I grasp what distressed them. Down a short incline the man Blaise lay on a flat section of the lawn, faceup, his limbs bound and stretched between four stakes. His garments were stiff with ice, his hair and brows frosted, and he was shivering violently. The rope of light still circled his neck, preventing him from speaking. He will not die, I said. His punishment lasts only until midnight. He will be very cold, but perhaps he will remember to obey my commands. Snow drifted from the heavy clouds. Pressing the sobbing child to her shoulder, the woman walked slowly down the slope until she stood only a few paces from the prisoner. How can you do this? Blaise is your friend. He helped save you from despair. He has loved and cared for your child and I have saved Blaise from madness and preserved his life countless times. But does that give him leave to violate my home? Does appreciation for past deeds oblige me to allow him opportunity to steal my child away? Why was reason so alien to human thought? Seyonne is truly dead, then, she said, shifting her gaze from the shivering man to me. This change that has transformed your body has also destroyed your heart. Indeed, I said, looking down at the man and feeling nothing. I believe that was the point. The weather worsened all through that day. I had Kasparian watch to ensure the man did not die or lose a limb to frostbite, and at midnight I went myself to set him free. What pain he suffered was likely the result of restored circulation and cramping muscles. But the discomfort was evidently considerable, as his eyes glistened with tears as he watched me unbind him. Unfortunate, but necessary. I gave him my hand, and he stumbled to standing. Tell your fellows, I said. He nodded, pressed his bony hands to the black wall, and vanished. Evidently the incident served warning enough to still the womans combative nature. Her font of questions dried up, and her attempts at familiarity ceased. Only her unrelenting observation was left to irritate me. Unfortunately, the child was bothered enough by the memory of Blaises punishment that he would neither leave his room, nor engage with anyone but Elinor. In order to confront this distancing before it festered into fear and to ensure the woman did not encourage it, I spent most of Evans waking hours with the two of them, delaying yet again my return to the human war. For a day after Blaises release, the boy would pursue no activity, no matter that I had a set of gaming pieces made for him, and some magical toys: a small wooden horse that galloped about his chambers, and a palm-sized sailing ship that flew upon the air. I had the woman stay back while I gave him his food, but he would not eat. By evening I deserted their company, exasperated. But after a glass of wine and an hours running, I regained my perspective. Gods teeth, the boy was not yet three years old and had witnessed a close acquaintance in considerable discomfort. He was not afraid of me, only of the harm that had come to his friend. I climbed the stairs again, thinking to bid him good night. A quiet voice came from the room, and I paused in the doorway to watch and listen. He would carry his boy on his shoulders in the bright mornings, and they would walk through the green forests, and over the green hills, and into the fields. The woman was sitting on the edge of the small bed, and the child was curled up in his blankets listening. And there the man would dig in the soil and teach the boy of plants and roots and growing things, of worms and mice and what else? Rabbits! said the child. Rabbits, indeed. And as they worked the soil and planted seeds, the man would tell his boy stories of rabbits and their life in their burrows What tale is this you tell? I blurted out, feeling a sudden pain like a knifes point behind my eyes. The woman tucked the blanket around the child, not taking her eyes from the small, worried face. Her answer was spoken in the soothing rhythm of the storyteller. It is the story of Evans family, of his grandfather, I believe. But perhaps I am incorrect about that. I learned it from my brother, who learned it from one who knew it well. It has been Evans favorite since he was a babe, the only tale sure to quiet him when hes upset. I could not stay. I was near blinded by the pain in my head, and it was all I could do to keep my voice steady. Tomorrow. Ill come again tomorrow. Once back in my own chambers, the pain receded quickly. After all, I was Madonai. The morrow was little different. The woman watching. Evan skittish. Myself playing the fool to gain the favor of a child. Ludicrous. On the next day I returned to my studies in the library. My father taught me enchantments to control the movements of water. Much more satisfactory. I looked in on the boy in the evening, and he bowed quite properly when I entered his room. I returned his small courtesy, and then sat with him while he ate a reasonable portion of broth and bread. I sailed his wooden ships on the air, but he did not try to play with them. None of the three of us said much of anything. When the woman began preparing the boy for bed, I bade him a good night and left. On the next day I went traveling in dreams and found the human war quiet. Forces were mustering in northern Azhakstan, near Capharna, the Empires summer capital in the mountains. Capturing Capharna was a logical step for the Prince to take, but a massive one, requiring considerable preparation. Disappointing. I had been hoping for a fight. For the remainder of that day and through the next, I could find no occupation to settle me. Was I already going mad from my confinement? The air felt brittle, the shivering world on the verge of crumbling. I could neither sleep nor concentrate on studies or enchantments or exercise. My fathers concerned inquiries were constant irritation. Is it not enough that you made me? I snapped. Must you think and feel for me, too? I screamed at the woman to stop staring at me or I would strangle her, and then cursed myself for losing my temper at a nursemaid. What was I waiting for? On the afternoon of the fifth day from Blaises departure, I learned the answer. As I paced an inner courtyard, Kasparian brought the news that a human man was waiting in the garden, demanding to speak with me. As if the key had been fitted into its proper lock, all the jarring edges within me settled into place. The red fire of sunset shot through the lowering clouds like a crack in the sky as I took wing and settled upon the ramparts of my fortress. Of course he would come. The wheels of inevitability had turned, shifting us all into position. My lord, I said. What can I do for you this evening? He looked up, the amber of his eyes visible even from my high perch, his red hair taking fire with the dying sunlight. Ive come to keep my promise, Seyonne. Shall I come up there to kill you, or do we finish it down here? CHAPTER 43 Tell me who you are. He leaned against a barren ash tree in the snowy garden, appearing as easy as a shengar settled under a tar-bush in desert noonday. I was not deceived. His hand rested on his sword hilt. Can you not use your vaunted skill to judge me, Prince? I had flown down from the tower, unshaping my wings once I stood on the steps that overlooked the garden. I did not wear a weapon as yet. My visitor hardly frightened me. His vest and breeches of thick, padded leather and the boots that reached to his thigh spoke of serious caution on his part; he hated such protective garb. I knew a great deal about this man. He shook his head. For this matter I cannot trust instinct. Nor even Blaises word. Not when it is Seyonnes life in the balance. I laughed and swept a broad bow. I thank you for your caution, my lord. But I can put your mind at ease. I have Seyonnes knowledge, memory, and form, but his body is now Madonai, not human, and I am no longer subject to his emotional confusion. The part of him that served youI touched my left cheek that scrubbed your floors of vomit, wrote your letters, and guarded your back, is no more. I drew my cloak about my shoulders. Without the wings I felt the cold. Tell me, what is Seyonnes crime that you, who purport to be his friend, would slay me? Has he mislaid your crown or failed to wipe your feet? Perhaps he has shed too little blood for you that you thirst for his. What kind of fool is so beguiled by strength and charm and leadershiptruly Aleksander had those in abundancethat he translates them into the kind of bondage I had served? How stupid I had been to think this prince could bring reason and order to the human world. Why are you here? I said. Kasparian appeared at my side, my sword belt laid across his arms. The Prince did not move, but I felt the subtle shift in readiness ripple through him. I made Seyonne a promise, and I never break faith with a friend. Do you not remember? From the time I had run to Zhagad to warn Aleksander of assassins, my thinking had been clouded. I owned all of Seyonnes memories, just as I remembered my thousand years in KirVagonoth and the pitiful smatterings of my life before the split that sent me there, yet I could not remember half of my dealings with Aleksander for the murk of human sympathies that surrounded them. But enough was clear. I recall a number of promises. A promise to disembowel me if I failed to deliver a message to your guard captain. A promise to slaughter every Ezzarian should I attempt to return to my home. And once, I think, vou swore to cut off my hand if I did not drop my eyes from your face. Ill not drop my eyes, Prince. He cocked his head. So tell mewho was it came to my camp eight nights ago and stole away my counselor and her fostered child? Ah! Is that my offense? I took my sword belt from Kasparian and leaned toward him in mock severity. Summon the woman immediately, Kasparian. We need her sharp eyes to bear witness to my good heart. The Madonai bowed and disappeared inside the fortress doors as I buckled on the wide belt of soft leather and strapped the scabbard to my thigh. Ask her who I am, I said to Aleksander. She can vouchsafe that I have maltreated neither her nor the boy, and then you can explain why you would kill me for claiming my own child. I recall you mentioning a number of times that I should leave you to your own fate and spend more time with him. Was there some promise involved with that? Though I quipped and cut at him, I searched my mind for reasons. Yes, on my visit to retrieve the boy, I had reminded the Prince of promises and faithfulness, but as a warning against this very kind of perfidy. Aleksander had called me his friend and brother, and now he was here to kill me. Humans knew nothing of faith. This vow is of longer standing, he said. Kasparian soon reappeared on the fortress steps with the woman. The boy was not with them, a wise choice on Kasparians part. I would commend him for it later. At the womans arrival, the Prince sloughed off all pretense of ease. He moved toward the steps, his eyes fixed on the womans grave face. How fare you, Mistress? And the boy? Master Valdis and his father are all courtesy, she said, dipping her head to me. Evan and I are well-provided for. No further words were exchanged, but she shook her head slightly and, for one fleeting moment, the Princes ruddy complexion lost color. So be it, he said softly, and shifted his gaze to me. If you plan to use your sorcery to prevent me, Master Valdis then do so now, for I do swear that I will take your life this day. Watching him and listening, one might almost believe he could do it. Your time and place are well chosen, I said. At present, unless I carry Kasparian here in my scabbard, sorcery profits me little in this realm. But I do not fear to face you on mundane terms, Madonai to human. As youve brought no war steed, I will even forego my wings. Whatever the mystery of this determined blood lusthow did he think to benefit by slaying the one who had brought him to the brink of a new kingdom?I relished the prospect of a fight. Too much concern with children and women threatened to sap my developing strength. So where shall we test ourselves, my lord Prince? We can duel here in my garden and my fortress, but my knowledge of the terrain would give me unfair advantage. Kasparian can create us any venue we choose in his sparring arenadesert, forest, wilderness, familiar to us both or strangemuch like the portal landscapes Ive described for you. And you neednt fear that he will build me an advantage. I am the only being he despises more than human princes. I dont care where we fight. Only that I fulfill my bond. I considered the problem. Perhaps we should start where all this began I drew Kasparian aside and described what I wanted, allowing him full access to my memory of the place. He departed, and I motioned to the Prince and the woman. Come along then. By my childs head, you have nothing to fear until I draw my sword. And you, too, Mistress. I would have you witness that I fought him fair. As I led them into the heart of the fortress, they followed at a distance, talking quietly. I did not eavesdrop. Their concerns were none of mine. To begin a duel cold is an awkward thing. In my Wardens days I had entered combat in a state of studied calm, but always imbued with the fire of righteousness and duty. Of late my arm had swung with vengeance and anger and other feelings that my mind could name, but no longer comprehend, remote sensations, like an unpleasant taste lingering in my mouth. Blood should be shed for reason, not passion. And yet, when I jumped lightly onto the square wooden platform in the barren courtyard of Kasparians devising, reason was not enough to draw my hand to my blade. Kasparian had done well, even conjuring the bitter wind that had broached the gray walls of Capharnas slave market courtyard on the day I had stood naked and chained on display for my new master. The ground was pitted and puddled with frozen slush, and the iron loops set into the walls for attaching slave chains still spoke of degradation. I could see neither Mistress Elinor nor Kasparian. Somewhere in the fortress they would be watching as would my father, too, I guessed. All his feelings about humans had coalesced in his hatred for this prince. He would not wish to miss my triumph. The Princes demeanor was admirable. He wasted no time and lost no focus at walking from a buried passage in Tyrrad Nor into the replica of a long-ago winters day in his empires summer capital. His face was as stark and barren as the walls, and his gaze was only for me. He drew his sword and dagger and attacked. Reluctantly I drew my weapon. You must explain this vow you service, I said, countering his first blow and shoving him away after a brief closure. My father has freed me of human weakness, which means that even this despicable venue gives me no lust for personal vengeance. Another brief, violent exchange. Every sinew of Aleksanders body was prepared. Every part and portion of his being was intent on his movements and mine, but he was not yet fully committed. His strokes were quick and light and precise. He was feeling me out. Was he not yet sure of his purpose? In the center of the wooden platform was a post and crossbars to which the living merchandise at auction was bound for inspection. I danced backward, using the structure to separate myself from the Prince. A matter of honor is it not, to tell a man why you plan to kill him? But then, what do human princes know of honor? Aleksander moved slowly to his left, leaving the post out of the way again. I promised Seyonne that if ever he became the dread being of his visionsthe monster he believed would destroy our worldI would slay him. I hoped the changes we saw in you were but for show, some tactic in a war we could not see. I prayed that you knew what you were doing, and that at any moment you would tell me a bad joke and show me how you had saved us all yet again. But then you took your son brought him to this place you feared into this danger and I knew He circled slowly to his left, and his fingers shifted slightly on his sword grip. The curse of Athos be upon this fortress and whatever power dwells here who has done this to my friend And with a savage cry he fell on me with a blow that could sever a thousand-year oak. Madonai though I was, the bones of my right arm came near shattering at the meeting of our blades, and I dropped backward off the auction block to give myself a moment to recover. But I had scarce swiveled into position and yanked my dagger from its sheath to join my sword, when he leaped across the wooden platform and unleashed his steel on me again. One blow and then another and another, not a hearts pulse between them. Around the wooden block, up and over, from wall to wall we foughtor rather he attacked and I defendeduntil I was backed against the rusty iron gate. To my salvation, the gate swung open, and our battle moved into the cobbled slave market, surrounded by cheerless walls, low roofs, and guard towers that mimicked those of the Derzhi mountain city in all save living inhabitants. The afternoon was gray, the heavy clouds pregnant with winter. A dirty blanket of melting snow lay over the deserted stocks and pillories, and long icicles hung like frozen daggers on the ragged awnings and stone facades. The Prince drew me into a high counter, then spun about and aimed to take vicious advantage of my vulnerability, but I retreated once again, saving myself from a blow that could have sliced through my rib cage. I stumbled backward through a blacksmiths shed, tripping over a pile of leg irons and chain. Reluctance and curiosity fell victim to necessity as I countered Aleksanders ferocious assault again and again. Through the slave market gates and into the city streets we circled and scrambled, and only when we reached a wide bridge over a half-frozen river did I have an instant to consider strategy. The Princes thickly padded vest was restricting his movements, a flaw that I had already exploited. A scratch on his neck was bleeding, and another on his forearm. And so he yielded the advantage of his relentless fury by pausing at the bridge gate to remove the vest. He should never have done it. When he came after me again, I was ready. Aleksander was strong, and his skill, speed, and endurance were legendary among his warrior people. Our fighting skills were well matched; either one of us could prevail. But my Madonai body would not tire, nor would minor woundings deter me. Aleksander was young and fit, but he was human. And so I would let him continue to attack for as long as he could stand up, but I would lead him and tease him and bleed him, and when he was half dead from it, I would kill him. I turned and ran across the bridge, taunting him, shouting to be heard over the ice-clogged torrent of the river. Come, human, take me if you can! He gave chase, splashing through the ankle-deep slush of ice and filth in the narrow streets of the poor quarter. Every few hundred steps, I would halt and allow him to engage me, not too close, but yielding him five hits for every scratch I put on him. Then I would duck and dodge his next blow and run away, up and down the refuse-strewn alleyways. By the time I stopped again, my nicks and scrapes had faded, while the Prince looked as though hed run through steel brambles. I laughed and let him come at me again. At one stop, as we circled like two dogs eyeing the same piece of meat, he started talking. Elinor says you answer to the name of your god Valdis. Is it so? I spun to meet his lunging step, left a dainty blood streak on his cheek, then stepped back. I am everything that remains of Valdis and his memories, and I possess the power that has been waiting for him since his birth. If humans view Madonai power as the sign of a god, then that is their own limited vision. Circling. And this prisoner youve feared this sorcerer you call him father the Nameless God He feinted left, then swept another powerful blow to my right. My counter drove him backward. His back slammed into a tenement wall, loosing a small avalanche of ash-grayed snow upon his head. My father was once the greatest of the Madonai, I said. He has made me Madonai, too, gifted me with his power and his hatred of humans. You told me of that. He brushed his face with his sleeve and spit the snow from his mouth, never lowering his guard. I do not hate humans. Neither do I care for them. I have been freed of such weaknesses so I can make reasoned judgments. I lunged forward and pressed him with a series of intricate moves that left him bleeding in ten places. But he did not lose focus. He beat off my attack until we both stepped back. Yet your care, your compassion was always more effective than your sword. Dont you see that? Fiona could tell you. Blaise, too. He waved his sword to the scene around us. Here in this very place you once stopped me from razing the poor quarter of Capharna. You were always watching me, and on that day I began to see things through your slaves eyes. I hated you for forcing me to see. I glanced at the ramshackle warehouses and mean dwellings on every side of us. Indeed I recognized the place. A Derzhi heged had wanted to burn out the quarter and all its poor inhabitants to build a palace. Aleksander had refused them. On that same day in this street, the Prince had commanded a servant to give me a cloak and shoes against the freezing wind. For one brief moment, I thought I had missed a move, and his dagger had caught me behind the eye. But I had no wounding. Why did my head keep hurting so these past few days? Was some spell carried by the woman and the Prince? Nonsense. They have no power. I tried to concentrate. Do you think to distract me with sentiment, Prince? Remember, I have none. Dismissing the piercing discomfort, I lunged, staved off his dagger with my right foot, and ripped my knifepoint across his chest. His quickly muted oath punctuated our conversation, and blood stained the ragged tear in his shirt. I smiled and danced away. He resumed his attack. I dodged a ferocious strike and took off running. We had been fighting for two hours, but I felt as fresh as if I had just stepped onto the field. Through the streets and back across the great bridge I led him, up the causeway toward the palace where I had been his slave, and then back toward the city marketplace. Our clashing steel and grunting efforts were the only sounds in the ghost city save the river and the wind gusting weakly from the heavy clouds. I began to question his tactics. He would feint a blow at my legs, his favorite target when dueling, but strike at my neck and shoulders a reasonable ploy, but becoming predictable. He was tiring, perhaps not thinking clearly. I led him and teased another bloody hole in his sleeve. He looked like a juggler in his tattered garments, striped with red. Blood flowed freely from the shallow chest wound, a deep cut in one leg, and another gash in his left forearm. A flurry of blows and another chase through the gloomy afternoon. The Prince drove me backward into Capharnas vast central marketplace, through abandoned stalls and into a potters booth, knocking over tables stacked with bowls and cups and painted jars that shattered on the ice-slicked paving. I backed away into the center of the square, beckoning him as a drover calls his mule, only to be brought up short by some obstacle, a pedestal of stone. I tried to slip left around the shoulder-high block of marble, but a wood-vendors wagon was in the way, piled high with sticks and logs and staves. Before I could go the other way around, Aleksander attacked again. Why do you bring me to this place of all of them? he said, panting with his efforts. Yes, he was tiring at last. But still foolishly confident. He closed the gap between us, sweeping my sword aside, closing in and aiming his dagger at my heart. For one moment we grappled, a knot of straining muscle and damp skin and edged steel. Even tired and bleeding, he was as strong as a Makhara bear. Oh, gods, where are you, Seyonne? I dont want this. He was too close; his left hand was pressing my right arm up over my head, exposing my side. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I gathered my strength and shoved him away. I was Madonai. No human could best me. As he stumbled backward, crashing into the wood wagon, I kicked his sword out of his hand. It skittered under the wagon. I dodged about the pedestal and backed away yet again, taunting him to charge me, daring him to turn his back on me and crawl under the wagon to pick up his sword. He held back for one moment, bent over, his fists on his knees, and breathing harshly. My shirt and hands were sticky with his blood. Soon I would take him. Soon. I gave him a moment to recover. No need to run too far ahead now. No need to rush. While he caught his breath, I glanced up to the bronze statue that topped the pedestala dying Derzhi warrior, slumped beside the corpse of a mythical creature called a gyrbeast. In the counterpart of this very statue, back in true Capharna, had my people hidden an enchantment that had led the two of us to their place of exile. At the feet of this dying warrior, Aleksander and I had begun a journey My eyes fell to his blood on my hands. Like the glowing iron that had seared the slave mark on my face, so came the white-hot pain behind my eyes once more. The wounds of my flesh were already closing, but this one oh, gods of night this one a journey through a frozen forest a steaming pool and a white-haired man with a staff a lion shape streaking through the woodland, bloodied torchlights flaming in the night four slave rings broken, lying in the grass a fortress of strength in the midst of desolation the life-giving waters from a fountain of joy and light Like the gasping Prince, I could not breathe, could not speak. What weakness had been left beneath my skin? For that moment I felt powerless, and I staggered backward, trying to focus my vision through the glaring ferocity of pain. Powerless when I needed strength Powerless. As if one ray of dying sunlight pierced the lowering clouds, as if the knife blade behind my eyes ripped open a pall of darkness to reveal one spark of life, so came a shattering truth. Tell me who you are, the Prince had said, and for that single moment, I knew the answer. I am my fatherthe cry burst from me as the Prince snatched a thick branch from the wood wagon, heaved a ragged, sobbing breath, and chargedand his father before him. My sword was high, ready to slash through the human warrior that rushed toward me, bearing death in his hand. But my weapon did not fall not for the moments breath that made it too late, when the wooden club smashed into the scar on my right side, and I could no longer move. Nerveless cold radiated from the fiery explosion in my side until half of my body was numb. My arm fell limp; my sword clattered to the paving. My right leg folded underneath me, and, even had I the strength to do it, there was nothing to catch hold of. When my left elbow struck the ground, my knife went flying, and then my executioner was kneeling at my side. Through the haze of shock and pain and flying snow, I could see his dagger poised above me and the white blur of his face, anguished, as if he were preparing to cut off his own flesh No! The mountains root beneath us shook with Nyels wrath. If I could have sharpened my blurring eyesight, I would not have been surprised to see the earth crack and molten rock spew forth in that moment. But as it was, I saw only the nauseating result as the stones and structures of Capharna sagged, shifted, and reshaped themselves into the stone floor and columned vault of Kasparians torchlit arena. Three forms took uncertain shape a few tens of paces awayNyel, Kasparian, and the woman. Only Aleksander was held motionless, a solid center to the blurring universe, as unmoving as the bronze statue, though his eyes were living, and tears rolled down his blood-smeared cheeks. I lay crumpled in the dirt below his abruptly halted knife, fighting for breath, not sure my heart was still beating. No human will touch this misbegotten weakling, this sniveling creature I have called my son. Nyels face appeared in the spinning maelstrom, his skin flushed, his mouth contorted, and his eyes the gods save us all his eyes wearing the hard glitter of madness. What are you? He was near spitting with disgust and loathing as he stood leaning on Kasparians arm looking down at me. Youa Madonaihave allowed a human to defeat you. Whether from intent or your own incapability, it is all the same this shame all my hopes our history. I gave you everything. You were to bear the glory of the Madonai upon your shoulders, and now you lie here groveling before this human worm. You have ever been his slave, groveler, and only an old mans foolish desire saw you else. The clouds had gathered again. The pall had sealed itself. I could not say what I had done or why, but I tried to assert control of my body, so that perhaps I could still determine my own fate. Wait, Fyothe Father But one half of me was dead, the other lost to weakness for the moment. I could not yet move, and Nyel would not listen. You are unworthy of my gifts. Vile, human-tainted flesh I knew what was coming. Nyel had only one answer to raging disappointment, and it had ever been death. Fear had no power over me, and so it did not much matter which of them, human or Madonai, did the deed. Regrets without shape flitted through my head as Nyels quivering hand snatched Aleksanders knife. I closed my eyes, reached for clarity, and awaited the cold steel But the harsh cry that echoed from the vaulted ceiling, that pierced the shadows behind the ranked columns to either side of us, that shook the foundations of the world, was not mine. I blinked open my eyes to discover a stone-faced Kasparian lowering Nyel gently to the earth. What have you done, attelle? whispered Nyel. You were going to kill your son in anger, Master. The deed would have destroyed you. Necessity overcoming incapacity, I struggled to my knees and saw the knife hilt protruding from Nyels chest, and Kasparian rising to his feet. Kill Valdis? Never never could I do such a thing. Nyels voice was weak, but did not quaver. How could you think it? I gave everything to spare himmy freedom, my life, all the othersevery Madonai dead. I have made him a god. Never before that hour had I seen such clear evidence of Nyels madness or the subtlety of it how he could shift from virulent loathing to reasoned hurt with no deception, no contrivance of manner. Far, far more dangerous than a monster is the honest madman. And I had once thought to set him free. His hand reached out weakly. Valdis? Where are you, lad? Remove this traitors knife. It pains me. Im here, I said, dragging the weight of my half-dead body to his side. I knelt over him and considered the weapon. The knife had been carefully positioned. Once the blade was removed, even Madonai healing would not be fast enough to stanch the flow of blood. The Nameless God would die. I laid my hand on the dagger hilt and looked into his old young eyes, no longer wild and dangerous, but bleak. Resigned. He knew the consequences of his death. He had no name. No one in any world would remember him beyond this day. I wanted to teach you more, my son. So much for you to learn. He laid his hand on my arm, searching my face. I have loved you beyond all others in the world. You will remember me? But what he asked, I could not give. Even those who had lived with him and talked with him would forget. I would forget. As I am, I can neither love you nor grieve for you, I said. You have cured me of it. I will leave you behind as I have forgotten my human loves and griefs. My head was clear again. I was as Nyel had made me. Nyels hand gripped my bloodstained shirt. But you will be strong, free. You can do as you wish. Force Kasparian the traitor to help you remember; surely hell not forget me. He is Madonai, my attelle. Command him. Kasparian was standing behind me like one of the stone columns. At this he walked away. He kicked Aleksanders knife, fallen from Nyels hand, all the way to the wall, and, with a ferocious snap of sorcery, he freed the Prince of his paralyzing enchantment. Aleksander sat back on his heels, coughing and shaking his head. The woman hurried to his side, knelt beside him, and began to bind his injured arm with her cloth belt. His blood still smeared my hands. I watched the two of them and felt nothing. No pain behind my eyes. No gaping wound. No comprehension of the determination that racked the Princes face or the hand the woman laid softly upon his shoulder. Only reason served me anymore. Only reason. Forever. I turned back to the dying Madonai. Perhaps I can offer something that will serve us both. I have a bargaining chip you cannot imagine. I bent down to his ear and spoke my terms. No! His weak protest was almost unhearable. Dark blood welled from around the knife. We did not have long. I will not. I had no passion with which to beg. Only reason. As you have loved me, Madonai, love me now, I said. Each of us will get what he desires. I will be as I am meant to be. You will not be forgotten. My good and glorious Valdis, do not ask me But I did not relent, even to this pleading, and at last, as the death rattle robbed him of speech, he gave in. Kasparian, I said. If you please. One last service for your master. It seemed, at first, as if the old sorcerer might refuse. But he was incapable of denying Nyel for long. So he knelt on the dirt beside us, and when I told him what was required, he showed the first sign of astonishment I had ever seen from him. When it is done, you will set the Prince free, I said. He may take the woman and the child and go about his business. Kasparian nodded, laid one wide hand on Nyels head and one on mine, and then struck the spark of Madonai enchantment as only he could do within the precinct of Tyrrad Nor. When the deed was done, I imagine that he leaned toward the dying Madonai and spoke softly, saying, My good master Kerouan, rest well and know you will be remembered and honored until the end of my days. But I could not claim truthfully that I heard him say it, for I was screaming with such pain as I had never known, as my power was stripped away, my mind turned inside out, and my body forced to remember what it was like to be human. CHAPTER 44 I longed for the flame. It was so tiny, a wisp of gold flecked with blue, so distant from the dark and lonely place where I existed, but I had such hope that it might warm me. Sometimes it grew larger, and I would hear hissing, sputtering whispers that tickled and teased at my hearing, but refused to shape themselves into words. Patience. Patience. Listen long enough and you will hear if they are truly words and not just the echoes of dying dreams. A fearsome thing, that flame. What might its light expose? Perhaps darkness, cold, and silence were better. Sometimes it winked like a cats eye. And though I dreaded the revelations of its light, each time it flicked out, I cried out in despair that it might never shine again. My cries made no sound, of course. My voice had been used up long ago, screaming. For a very long while, I had known nothing but chaos. Profound darkness. Rootless terror. Agony without form or focus. But at some time I had crawled onto this desolate shore, and here I sat, shivering, hoping, afraid, bereft of sense and memory, watching the distant light. Patience. If we could just take him home, where theres sun, and life, and food with substance that is not enchantment. I can get so little down him; hes wasting away. We darent take him out of here, Linnie. He could die from it or worse. Stars of night, its only your word that prevents the Aveddi killing him. If we only knew what really happened, what he was, what he is. Will this Kasparian tell you nothing? I think he grieves. He sits by that game board day and night, never sleeping. At least he sustains us. I believe that if he chose, the servants, the food, everything would disappear I could not open my eyes for the brightness. And though the whispers had at last taken form, their shapes were drawn with such pain, I could not bear listening. Nor could I decipher the meanings as yet, only that I did not want to know. I turned and fled back to the darkness. Why wont he wake up, Mam? My ship wont fly anymore. Hell make it fly. I dont know, child. Perhaps he needs to sleep for a while yet. Hes very ill. He said he would teach me to make it fly when I was bigger. Will you teach me? I wish I could, but I need more teaching myself. Here, come sit with me beside him. No, its all right. He would never hurt you. He loves you very much, more than you will ever know, I think swear hes better. Closer. His left hand moved yesterday when Evan started climbing on the bed. Linnie, youve got to go back. Your cough is worse, and I see no change in him at all. Ill stay. Or Gorridhes offered to take your place. Weve discussed this before. I wont leave without Evan, and Im not taking Seyonnes son away from him. I stood at the brink of the light again, undecided, shivering. I could come now, of my own will, to the place where the veil of fire filled my vision and the darkness was behind me. Patience. The heat is still too intense. But as I turned to leave, something small and soft reached through the veil of fire and touched my cheek, smearing a spot of dampness. Dont cry came the whisper. Mam will take care of you. Go back to sleep. I went, but not quite so far as I had thought to. My lord, you must persuade her to go back. I dont know where in the name of the stars she came by this infernal stubbornness. Perhaps it runs in the family. Youve got your own measure of it. You say shes well? Kasparians concoction has helped her a great deal, but I dont trust it or him; he still refuses to speak with us. And she wont leave without Seyonne. I had learned to recognize the difference in the voices, to think of them as different minds expressing themselves. A very basic concept, but the best I could do. Athos balls, hes naught but bones. The newcomer stood very close, smelling of sweat and horse and leather. It surprised me that I could picture horses and leather and know what they were used for. I could almost visualize the speaker himself. His every word was packed with images, as if he were an entire world all unto himself. Youve seen no sign of change? Im no good at looking. I see what I hope to seea twitch of an eye, something I think is a smile, especially when the boy is close. Linnies worse than me about it. Thats why I dragged you here. Youre the one to say if we dare take him out. This speaker came often. Kind. Worried always. He loved. I was waiting for the other voices, the two that were with me all the time. The ones who spoke to me, sometimes with words, sometimes with touch, strong and sure or soft and teasing, prodding me to move, beckoning me to venture farther into the flame. Aveddi! Its been too long. There. Better. Just the sound of her made me wanner. And he would be nearbythe small one who told me stories, who whispered secrets that made even less sense than the other talk, who bounced and jostled until the woman told him to settle or she would send him away, but in a tone that told me and him that she would never send him away. The small hand slipped into mine. Its Uncle Blaise has come, he said, tickling my ear, he was so close. And hes brought the veddi Zander. Do you want some milk? Mam said not until shes talked to Uncle Blaise and Zander. Its very important. Milk was good. Cheese would be better. But I was happy to listen, too. Perhaps this time something would make sense. Mistress! Im glad to see you well, said the horseman. Every day for two months Ive wanted to come, but Capharna would not lie down for us. But now youve won it, all gods be praised, and Blaise tells me that your cousin has taken Vayapol. I want to hear everything, and I would guess Seyonne does, too. Seyonne! Has he? Hes not spoken, no. And hes not yet opened his eyes. I felt her move close. A scent of winter air and wood smoke. A cool hand on my brow for one brief moment. Sweet breath feathering my skin as she spoke. But I watch him as we talk, and I believe theres sense in him. And if hes here with us, then he cares about what you have to tell. The one who smelled of horse and leather came closer, too. A massive presence. And you truly believe he is Seyonne and not the other? My lord, did you not feel him with you on that day? I hoped for it until the endof course I didbut what I felt was his sword. Ive got the scars to prove it. There was no mistaking his intent, Mistress. It was no friend I fought. Certainly youre right. The change I saw was only for a moment. But for that moment, it was so clear. If youd not been half dead yourself, you would have noticed. Secrets were bursting from this woman. I clung to her voice, believing she held the key to my future. He let you take him, Aveddi. Im sure of it. The child began tugging at my hair. Damn! A painful, scraping yank indicated an inexpertly wielded comb. Sorry, he whispered, and began again. No one seemed to be paying him any mind. He gave himself the name of the Ezzarian god, said the horseman. But Blaise saw himI saw himas the very image Seyonne described to me from his dream, the sorcerer who despised humans and would see us all in tormentthe one he feared. And he was that sorcerer. No mistaking it. But he was Seyonne, too, no matter what he claimed or believed. Remember what he said just before you struck him down. Think of the words. The exact words. I am my father, and my father before him The horsemans voice trailed away. I wanted to retreat into the darkness, to run from the wounding, but the child had taken my hand again, and I had not the strength to pull away. The woman broke the silence. He was staggering as he said it, and holding his head. I had seen him do that once before, on the night he heard me telling Evan his fathers stories. And then, what did he do? He raised his sword against you, and every law of combat, every evidence of that dayyour condition, his strength, his skilltells me that you should be dead, Aveddi. Only youre not. Which father was he was invoking in that moment? I need to think on it, Mistress. I swore to him The child bounced and jerked away. Mam. Mam, were hungry. We want cheese and milk. The talk changed after that, first to food and drink, and then to tales of war. The horsemanthe Aveddiwas preparing for a dangerous battle, and I found myself drawn into the complexities of the plan he laid out. The names of places and people appeared as small gray voids as his voice led me through the map of his tale, but as the time passed I saw them take shape in the landscape unfolding in my mind: Kiril, Gorrid, Bek, Naddasine, Mardek, Capharna, Vayapol, KarnHegeth, Parnifour Zhagad. Aleksander. But even if I can take Edik alive and put him on trial, as Blaise suggests, who can I get to sit as judge? Who has the strength, the power, and the neutrality to make it honest? I wont see this new world birthed in vengeance, but everyone is caught up in the war The new world. Someone was needed to mete out justice to end the old order so the new could take its place. Such a one would need to be fearless, stubborn, above reproach, uninterested in the spoils of power and able to convince the weary thousands of it. I knew someone like that, if I could but remember the name The talk went on around me, the easy talk of friends in hard times, the subdued laughter that makes no attempt to mask the sorrow and worry that exist alongside it, but only to balance and soothe and witness to ongoing life. The woman spooned milk into my mouth and shooed the child away, lest he bounce it all out again. But my mind was off racing, hunting for the name and considering the consequences. Yes, that was itthe answer he needed. I was bathed in fire. Come on out. I imagined the boy just behind me, shoving me forward. It wont hurt. I promise. Mam will take care of you. Evan, what are you dreaming, child? Eat your supper. The talk went on. The clatter of dishes, a soft laugh. The small hand nudged me again. Come on, Papa. Fiona. The room fell silent, and I had to force my eyes open to make sure anyone was still there to hear. The effort to speak was so great that I saw no use in wasting it. But they were there, the four of them sitting at a round table lit by candles. I was propped up in a chair by the hearth, a red blanket laid over my lap. What was that? The three adults spoke as one. Did you say something Blaise Linnie Aveddi? The child was intent on carving a block of cheese into giblets with his small knife. You need Fiona. To judge. My voice was little more than a whisper, but it might have been a lightning bolt, for it loosed such a storm of words and questions and solicitations that no hurricane could rival it. Aleksander reached me first, leaping over a chair and then kneeling on the floor in front of me, the better to examine my face. Seyonne? he said. His gaze was raw. Bleeding. My father is Gareth of the line of Ezraelle, I said, reaching deep for the right words, able to push them out only slowly with long gaps in between. And if you dont stop mooning about, my lord, these people will start to think you have a heart. A very bad joke. One might have thought the sun had taken up residence in that cold room. I was infernally weak. And no wonder to it. Nyels changes to my body and mind had taken almost four months of enchantment to accomplish, and all had been undone in a single instant. So devastating was this reversal that for more than eight weeks I had lain in unmoving stupor, losing almost a quarter of my weight. Aleksanders blow to my side had taken its toll as well. My right arm remained almost useless, only a slight prickling in my fingertips hinting that the limb was alive. I had to hold it close to my belly with my left hand to prevent it dangling at my side or flopping on the bedclothes like a dead fish. It would take some getting used to. As for my mind, both knowledge and memory seemed intact, though distant, which left my speech slow and hesitant, and my thinking easily confused. From that first night of my awakening, Elinor seemed to understand what I needed, shushing Blaise and Aleksander every time they began to question me and insisting that they allow me some breathing time. Come back in seven days, she said. Ill have him ready to go home. After much argument to which I was not privy, the two men returned to their war and Elinor went about her own business. In the next days she spoke to me only of mundane things: Was I comfortable, was I hungry, did I wish her to continue exercising my arm as she had done when I was insensible? She had seen such weakness mended, but only if the limb was not allowed to wither. Now that I was awake, she said, I could move everything else myself. Somewhere I found the words to say that I would appreciate her help very much. Ive not been truly asleep, I said, unable to look beyond her scuffed boots. I know all youve done for me She would not let me continue. Rather she straightened my blankets and went off to call the servants to bring supper, dismissing my verbal fumbling. Time enough for such talk later. And so, other than feeding me, exercising my arm several times a day, and providing me the means to wash and relieve myself, she left me very much alone with my thoughts. I needed that, but II looked forward to the hour of our exercise. I had grown accustomed to her touch. Evan, whether warned by Elinor or following his own intuition, played quietly with his ships on the floor at my feet, making noises of ocean, birds, and sailing men. I never tired of watching him. I spent a great deal of time in a chair by the window, looking out on the snow-covered garden and the ring of black surrounding it, not thinking so much as gathering thoughts for future consideration, letting the events of the past months and years ebb and flow around me. Outside of this room, this small island of vibrant life that Elinor and Evan made for me, the fortress was silent and empty. I could grieve for Kerouan now, and for the universe, which had lost such beauty and grace and power as he had once been. On one winter afternoon, a great slab of the wall gave way and collapsed into the snow. So the Twelve, too, knew their long vigil was ended. I wept on that day. Though unable to articulate the sorrows that welled from me, I would not suppress or discount them. They were mine as surely as was my grief for Ysanne and Farrol and all the others. By the day Aleksander and Blaise returned, I could stand up without immediately toppling over and even take a few shuffling steps when supported. Youre not going to carry me, I said, fumbling with the fastening on my cloak, wishing they would look away and not see how awkward I was left-handed. I will walk out of this place on my own feet. And if we should find you in a heap on the path, will we be allowed to scrape you up? said Aleksander, slipping his shoulder under my dead arm just as my weak right leg wobbled, threatening to give way. Blaise hefted one of Elinors green cloth bags and scooped up Evan, who had managed to escape Elinors hand and climb onto a table. Elinor took the other bag and led us out of the room and down the stairs, past the two expressionless servants who had brought us food, drink, and whatever was needed for more than two months. When I looked back over my shoulder, the man and woman were fading out like morning haze. Aleksander was all for heading straight out the front door, but I shook my head. He saved my life and has seen to our care. I cant leave without a word. The Prince waited at the door while I stepped into the sitting room, supporting myself with a table edge. As Elinor had said, Kasparian sat at the game table by the hearth fire, his elbows propped on the table beside the gleaming black and white game pieces, his head resting on his hands. His long brown hair, threaded with gray, hid his face, while the carved figures supporting the mantel gazed down at the room in solemn unconcern. Ill not thank you for my life, I said, concentrating to find the words I wanted and get them out in a reasonable time span. I dont deceive myself that you did any of this for me. He did not acknowledge my presence. I didnt expect it. I do thank you for sustaining my child and his mother. That was driven by your own goodness of heart, not by your love of Kerouan. Even so, I know you would rather not hear anything from my lips. No disagreement from the still figure. But I wanted to ask you one more boon. Someday, when I can get about again, and Ive had time to think about whats happened, Id like to come back here and speak with you. I was foolish and destroyed the memories of this lifeValdiss lifemy life. I want to remember. As I promised my father. May I come? After a long stillness, he spoke, still not looking at me. Youve naught left, do you? Not a scrap. Glancing behind me to see no one listening, I answered. No. Youll go mad with what youve done. Perhaps. But at least I wont be dangerous. May I come? Ill be here. I turned my back on the last of the Madonai and hobbled to the front door, where Aleksander waited in a beam of winter sunlight. Are you all right, Seyonne? he said. Blaise, Evan, and Elinor were already halfway to the wall. I nodded toward the black barrier. As soon as Im past that, Ill be fine. They took me to one of Blaises hidden settlements in the thick forests of the Kuvai hills, an encampment of some fifty war refugees, none of whom knew me. I shared a ramshackle cottage with a deaf-mute named Kesa, and I learned how to speak with gestures. As I could use only one hand, it was good he was not talkative. I felt as though a castle tower had fallen on me, scattering the bits and pieces of mind and body across the worlds landscape. Every human engagement was a journey to find the proper pieces and fit them together again. Fiona came to visit me in Kuvai as soon as she got word of my return. She wore the gold Queens Circlet that I had last seen on Ysannes brow, though she snatched it off as soon as the cottage door closed behind her, leaving the two of us alone. Put it back, I said. It fits you well. Gaudy thing, she said, twirling it in her fingers. You dont mind? I did not speak, but only shook my head, not wishing my voice to betray some lingering sentiment that might put the lie to my true belief. Fiona would be a worthy queen. Sitting beside me on my bed, she told me how they had recovered Drych and Hueil and poor lifeless Olwydd from KirVagonoth, of her acceptance of Aleksanders offer to sit in judgment of Edik and the Derzhi, and of her belief that it was time for Ezzarians to reveal ourselves and the history of our demon war to the worlda monumental step and irreversible. I think youve infected me with your disease, she said. Here I am, risking everything I know, just because I think it right. A number of our countrymen and women think Im mad to do it. I kissed her hand and told her that Ezzaria was blessed to have her. Our old charge was not donethe mad Gastai still took soulsbut Drych and Hueil had come back with ideas of joining forces with Vallyne to control the demons in KirVagonoth, making our demon battles a thing of the past. Ezzaria would need to change. Fiona did not stay long on that visit. I still tired easily and was not yet ready or able to explain all that had happened to me. But before she left, I asked her to examine me, to look deep with a sorcerers seeing so that all might knowand so that I might be reassuredthat naught was hidden. Though hating to intrude on me in that way, she did not hesitate. She knew her duty. When she was done, she embraced me fiercely. Welcome back, my friend, she said. Your demon is still a part of you and will ever be, but your soul is entirely your own. For the first night in more than two years, I slept easy. Elinor took up residence in a nearby cottage, and Evan spent most of every day running back and forth between us, hiding, climbing, teasing, an everlasting exasperation and delight. As I grew stronger, Elinor and I spent a large part of every day together, making shoes and clothes for him and nursing him through scrapes and scratches. Our relationship was awkward. I tried to let Elinor know that she need not feel obliged to spend further time in my company. If she was worried about leaving me alone with Evan, I would accept whomever she might select to be with us. She dismissed my offer, saying that she preferred to see to things herself. And then she added that, as long as we were spending time together, she might as well continue to exercise my arm. Over the winter months, the prickling in my fingers spread to the whole limb, and I began to hope that I might regain its use. In truth I had no greater pleasure than watching Evan and Elinor together. Indeed, I took equal pleasure watching the mother as the child. Elinors countenance was a subtle canvas, a background of intelligence, illuminated by patience and compassion, touched lightly by her moods and humors. The left corner of her mouth twisted upward at a childish folly. Her brow dipped and her eye widened slightly when listening to a small boys tale of wonder. Her red-gold coloring deepened just a bit when she chased him laughing through the Kuvai woodland. At first I held back, content to watch them, scarcely even speaking, save in answer to a direct question. My speech was halting and awkward, and I would often come across dead spots in my memory, causing me to stop in mid-sentence while I groped for a word or idea. Elinor noticed this, of course, and after a few weeks, she quietly insisted on a new exercise. I think you should hold an hours conversation with me every day. How will you ever be able to teach Evan the things he needs to learn from you, if you cant get out five words in an hour? We met every afternoon while Evan slept. She would work my arm, and we would talk of ordinary things. Of food and weather. Of people in the village. Of the war. Of Evans needs and behavior. Occasionally of our own childhoods. Safe ground. By midwinter I was so much improved, she had me teaching Evan the lore of trees and forest, saying that he should learn from me those things that were of such importance to Ezzarians. Even then we did not give up our hour. Though I wondered where words might take us if our conversations were ever to wander farther afield, I held to the familiar and mundane, refusing to risk her discomfort or displeasure. The imagining was pleasant, though. Very pleasant. Beyond this, I ate and slept and walked when I was strong enough, and ran when I was stronger yet. As soon as I could manage, I helped the villagers haul wood and water and clean the meager kill their hunters brought in, and I listened to their music and their god stories as they sat by the fire on the long winter nights. I shared their hunger for news of the Aveddi and rejoiced with them at the tales of his safety, his valor, and the victories he won. The vicious heart had gone out of Edik and his henchmen, so the fireside gossip said, the turning point having come soon after the victory at Parassa. The despicable Emperor was holed up in Zhagad. It was only a matter of time until the war was won. Even the gods saw victory at hand, so an old woman told me, for they no longer felt it necessary to send their winged spirit to aid the Aveddi Aleksander. Aleksander came to me as often as he could throughout that winter and spring. Blaise would bring him whenever events allowed the time. While Blaise visited with Elinor and Evan and his other friends in the settlement, Aleksander would lean back on the rough walls of my house, drink wine, and ask advice or talk about his plans and strategies, his commanders and troops. Once or twice, he fell asleep. On one spring midnight, as he applied ground yellowroot to his feet that were tormented by boot-rot, he spoke of his uncertainty as to his place in the world once the war was won. With the lands of the Empire returned to their rightful owners, he believed his day as a ruler was over and that his best hope to escape vengeance would be to seek the protection of one of the old kings. Ive thought to offer service to Yulai, he said. DSkaya has said she would have my arm in Thrid, but the jungles would grow mold on me, I think. Look what a wet spring in the northern marches has done to my feet! Manganar has deserts and will likely occupy a good share of Azhakstan after the war. And Manganar warriors ride horses, while the Thrid fight afoot. My legs dont like marching. Your destiny still awaits, I said, smiling as I passed him another packet of the powdered roots. Youll find your way. I have faith in you. More than ever. He knew exactly what I meant by this, and as ever when he thought of our duel, he grew somber and tried to ask forgiveness. I did my best to reassure him. He had kept faith as I had counted on him to do. In the end he had not needed to kill me as I had intended, but if things had fallen out differently, the world would have been glad of his service. As to any further explanations, he knew better than to press. Always he would ask how my healing progressed, and I would say, Improving. He would look at me and judge, and then make some pointed comment: You need to drink more nazrheel, or A woman in your bed would be the best exercise for your arm, or Ill expect a footrace to that oak and back on my next visit, and this time Ill trounce your sorry bones. We would laugh, and he would go, promising to come again when the war permitted. The light still shone in him, brighter than ever. CHAPTER 45 On the day of the spring equinox, the Aveddi of Azhakstan, the firstborn of the desert, rode down the Emperors Road toward Zhagad. A white cloak billowed from his shoulders, and his red braid was wound with wooden beads. He wore no adornment that might signify rank, and indeed, he claimed no rank, not even on this, the day of his triumph. On his flanks rode Yulai and Magda, the King and Queen of the Manganar, and their son Terlach; Marouf, the Palatine of Suzai, and his five sons; and WOsti, the Thrid chieftain and his war leader DSkaya. On the Aveddis immediate left rode his cousin Kiril zha Ramiell, leading the first lords of more than fifty Derzhi families, along with the Yvor Lukash, his face painted black with white daggers, and a tall woman, her face painted likewise. On the Aveddis right rode his wife, Lydia, carrying their infant son on her back as the women of the desert have done since ancient days. The child was yet unnamed, for his father was at war, and Derzhi custom forbade naming a child in wartime, lest the child be marked with death. And, yes, just behind the Aveddi rode a man in a gray cloak, a slender man that few could name, his black hair showing signs of gray. Though he wore no weapon and seemed quite ordinary, many of the Aveddis company watched him warily. I had asked to observe the days events from the gate tower, pleading lingering illness, but Aleksander would not hear of it, saying that any man who was running three leagues through the Kuvai hills every morning could not claim weakness. He wanted me with him. Behind this noble vanguard rode five thousand men and women from every corner of the land. Uncounted thousands more stood along the roadside, hung over the city walls or out of windows, or lined the streets within the royal city. No musicians or jugglers or dancers were performing. No hawkers or vendors plied their trades with paltry tokens of celebration. This day was solemn a day of judgment and witness. Awaiting the Aveddi on a hurriedly built dais at the gates of Zhagad stood a small figure dressed in a green gown, a circlet of gold banding her forehead and her short dark hair. I smiled as I noted her almost imperceptible fidgeting. Fiona had worn mens clothing for most of her life; she hated skirts. On either side of her stood a man dressed in a dark blue cloak trimmed in silver, each carrying a silver knife sheathed at his sidethe two young Wardens, Drych and Huiel. As the Aveddis party approached the gates, Fiona stepped forward and raised her arms. Slowly, from the sand to either side of her, rose twin white poles, and from them banners unfurled, white, sewn with the likeness of a dark green tree, a silver dagger, and a small oval mirrorthe Queens banner of Ezzaria, which had never flown in view of the world outside our borders. Tears pricked my eyes. Greetings to this noble assembly from the Queen and the Mentors Council of Ezzaria. Her voice could be heard by every man and woman presentstriking even deeper awe into the onlookers. What seek you at the gates of Zhagad? Tidings of justice, gracious Queen, spoke Aleksander, and our lands peace. Then hear me, honored petitioners, said Fiona. The tyrant Edik, whom we have judged guilty of crimes too numerous and too terrible to speak on this fair day, is dead by our device, as are the First Lords of Hamrasch, Rhyzka, Nyabozzi, and Gorusch, who have carried out the tyrants wickedness upon the people of your lands. Seven and forty lower-ranking commanders and nobles we have judged to have deliberately and murderously executed the tyrants will, and upon these accused we have placed a bane of sorcery. They have been sent forth upon the roads of this land impoverished, forbidden to have contact with their kinsmen, forbidden to settle in any place for more than a day, their magical bonds preventing all speech and hearing until the day they are adjudged repentant for their deeds or they are dead. Those who wish to see them punished should refrain from a moments pleasurable vengeance. Rather watch them live and learn of what theyve done. As you have recommended, Aveddi, the remaining nobles and common soldiers who have participated in these crimes have been dispersed and given our parole, enjoined to seek the forgiveness of their countrymen by word and deed, lest they too be subject to our penalties. We have marked their names and will be watching. Fiona spread her arms and touched the shoulders of her Wardens. Know this, petitioners, she said. For a thousand years my people have given of themselves to ward human souls from demon ravaging, yet we neglected the true demons that live here in our world, even those who tormented our own brothers and sisters. Never again, Aveddi. We swear to you and to this mighty assembly that from this day forward, we will be vigilant. As the crowd murmured its wonder and approval, Aleksander nodded and motioned Yulai and Marouf and WOsti forward. Then my mission is done, Lady, and I yield the leadership of these forces to those whose rightful place it is. He held out his hand to his wife, and they withdrew their mounts behind the three rulers. But Fiona held up her hand to stay him, and silenced the swelling voices of the crowd. You have come here today as a war leader, Aveddi, forswearing all state beyond victory in the name of these who follow you. You have raised the banners of these rightful rulers as they reclaim sovereignty of their own lands. But what of Azhakstan itself? For five hundred years, the Derzhi kingdom of Azhakstan has perpetrated crimes against these brother kings and their subjects. And before the sun sets on this day of judgment, the matter of your own history must be considered. You were once the voice and hand of a cruel empire, sharing in the miseries it created, heir to its tyrants throne, and so you, too, must submit yourself for sentencing. What say you all, noble kings and princes? Shouts of agreement rang out from every side. Fiona gave Aleksander no opportunity to protest. If you accept your culpability in these matters and yield your future to the wisdom of this company, then dismount, Aveddi, and stand before me, as a sign to us that you indeed abjure rank and privilege and right of birth. Aleksander hesitated only long enough to lay his hand on that of his wife and on the head of his sleeping son. Then he slipped gracefully from his steed and walked forward, only the set of his jaw and a slight flush betrayed any ruffling of composure. The crowd gasped as one as he unsheathed his sword, and breathed again when he laid it across Fionas outstretched hands. Though his head was unbowed and his lean form towered over Fiona, any observer would know which of the two was supplicant. The young Queen nodded in satisfaction, and her voice soared through the bright morning. The Ezzarian Council has considered the matter of Aleksander, once heir to the Derzhi Empire, and has taken counsel from these assembled lords of Manganar and Suza, of Thrid and Kuvai and Fryth, and all the lands that the Empire once claimed, and we have spoken with these noble Derzhi who have pledged life and honor to right the wrongs of the past. Aleksander Jenyazar Ivaneschi zha Denischkar, have you anything to say in your own defense? Aleksander shook his head. Fiona nodded and continued. Because the Derzhi have broken the ordering of the world, so must the Derzhi repair it. Because the Derzhi have stolen their neighbors wealth, so must now the Derzhi return their good service to these same neighbors. And as the Derzhi have assaulted their neighbors, so must they now stand in their neighbors defense. To repair and serve and defend, so must Azhakstan be strong and capable of bearing such responsibility. Therefore, the Council has decided that the Derzhi Kingdom of Azhakstan will stand, with boundaries as writ in this map from ancient times before the bloat of empire. As repair for past injustice, the Kingdom of Azhakstan shall claim no seat of power, no royal capital; Zhagad and Capharna will now be as any other city, with no restriction and no preference in trade or residence. The imperial palaces will be sealed by my hand, their continued existence a reminder of greed and tyranny. And to rule this kingdom, an Azhaki king or queen shall be named by the Derzhi tribes good counsel and serve with the consent of the neighboring rulers, the candidates own strength and wisdom to be his or her only recommendation. Fiona pointed toward Kiril and the Derzhi, and so forceful was her query, I thought flame might shoot from her fingertip. Noble lords of the Derzhi hegeds, who say you all should be the First of Azhakstan to lead you in this service of redemption? As one voice, the Derzhi lords cried, Aleksander! Then Fiona swept her arm across the multitudes and cried out, And you who are owed this service and defense, would you have this Aleksander, the Aveddi, firstborn of Azhakstan, become your Protector? And the ayes rang out in thunderous splendor, echoing across the desert, joined with shouts of Aleksander! and Aveddi! Fiona nodded. So be it. We render this judgment: Aleksander zha Denischkar, at dawn tomorrow, if you be willing, you shall be anointed and crowned King of Azhakstan and Protector of the Living Kingdoms, charged to spend your remaining days, not in aggrandizing your own realm, but in rebuilding and defending these which you have helped rebirth. She offered Aleksander his sword. Will you serve, Aveddi? Aleksander reclaimed his weapon, and in a voice as clear as the desert morning and as strong as a paraivo, gave his answer. I will. By mighty Athos head, I will. The cheering could have been heard all the way to KirVagonoth. And so came the time for me to look to the future. In the mild evening of the day of judgment and witness, Aleksander asked Fiona and me to accompany him to Drafa, where he would keep vigil in the holy city on the eve of his coronation as had been the custom of the ancient kings of Azhakstan. Qeb stood waiting by the tamarisk grove, unsurprised as we rode out of the desert, his sightless eyes as brilliant as the starlight. As he led Aleksander to his cave, a solemn, wide-eyed girl-child of six or seven years guided his steps. After Sarya and Manot had their fill of smiles and weeping at our return, and a quick approving assessment of Fiona, the two old women took up a guard beside the cave entrance, and Fiona and I strolled through the ruined city. We talked of Catrin and Hoffyd and their child, expected any day, of old Talar and her new school of forest lore, of friends and pairings, weather and trees. But Fiona was not one to shy away from more personal conversation. As the hour grew late and we crested the rise, dragging our fingers over the fallen stone lion, she looked up at me expectantly. And now of you, my friend and mentor. How are things with you? Improving overall, I said. In most ways, at least, that was true. Time and quiet living had done me a world of good. Having the chance to be with Evan has been the best medicine. And his mother, too? I glanced quickly at Fiona to see what she was asking. Few things could make my face hot anymore, and I kept telling myself that Elinor should not be one of them. Despite the pleasantries of the last months, some things were impossible. I could ask no better loving for Evan, I said. And she has helped me immeasurably. Did you note that I can hold a wineglass now? And speak a whole sentence without forgetting who and where I am? To my relief, Fionas question was innocent and quickly past. Its fine to see your arm stronger, and that youve put on enough weight to cast a shadow. But back in Kuvai, when I examined you, you said that you might need something from me later, and I had the notion that it might be something important. Is there anything I can do for you before I go home? My steps slowed with a burden I had explained to no one and wasnt sure if or when I could. Only one thing. Someday Id like to come back to Ezzaria. She burst out laughing, but sobered quickly when she looked at my face. Why ever would you need to ask? Last time I heard, I was forbidden on pain of death to return. Youve seen for yourself that I am demon-joined. And you dont yet fully understand what I was those months in Tyrrad Nor or what I could have become. She pulled my head down and kissed the top of it. Gods above, foolish man, I trust you beyond anyone I know. Ezzaria is your home. We will be honored by your coming. I was gratified by Fionas trust and acceptance, but I came to the conclusion that I could not take advantage of it. Not yet. I yearned for Ezzarias green embrace, the peace and healing I believed existed in its hills and forests. But I could not abandon my child and his mother. This decision was not based solely on my desire to remain near Evan, but on hard reality. The world had changed from top to bottom. Aleksander was a king without a palace, and would need to learn how to live and work within the bounds of his new role. He would spend a great deal of time outside of his own kingdom, seeing to the borders and the safety of those he served. His wealth was now limited to his personal holdings in Azhakstan, and he had already asked the lords of the Mardek to determine how to divest him and other Derzhi of the houses and lands they could no longer afford. Kiril was to be the commander of the young Kings troops, charged with retraining Derzhi warriors to be defenders and not conquerors, and Blaise was no longer the Yvor Lukash, but Aleksanders First Dennissar, the Kings personal representative to the adjoining kingdoms. Blaises outlaws were returning to their towns and villages; everyone who had depended on the outlaw band for sustenance was going to have to find a place to live and new means of support. That included Elinor. Our refugee encampment in Kuvai was already half deserted, so Id heard. On the road from Drafa to Zhagad on the morning of his coronation, Aleksander had asked me to remain with him as his First Counselor. Athos knows, I need someone to help me figure out how all this is going to work. Its not exactly the living I offered you four years ago, but youll never want. And as its all your doing, it seems only fair that you should haul about with me to see it finished. I told him I would think about it. And so I had, and about Evan and Elinor and Ezzaria as well. On a late afternoon, five days after Aleksanders coronation, I knocked on the door of a modest dwelling in the outer ring of Zhagad with a brace of chickens hanging over my shoulder. Blaise, Evan, Elinor, and several of Blaises outlaws were temporarily housed with a dye maker, the father of one of the outlaws, who still wept with relief every time he saw his daughter walking openly about the city, wearing a badge of valor granted by the new Azhaki king. Ive brought dinner, I said when Elinor opened the door, courtesy of Yulai and Magda. Elinor expressed surprise to see me. Blaise staggered in an hour ago, she said, pointing to the body sprawled across one corner of the hot little room, snoring profoundly, but he fell asleep while taking his boots off. He said hes been talking for five days straight, and that the King looks to go five more without stopping. I assumed you were with him. Gingerly she took my proffered fowl. Shall I cook these or are you going to join the snoring? Chickens are hard to come by right now, I said. It would be a shame to waste them. But first, Id like to talk with you a bit about Evan barged into the room just then, insisting on showing me a new sling that Roche had made him for his third birthday. Mam said that you will show me how to use it properly. I am to use the very smallest stones, and call out before I let one go, and never, ever, ever use it inside a house. His blue-black eyes were wide and solemn as he pronounced the rules. Elinors wry expression, along with a pile of broken pottery sitting on the table, told me the source of his solemnity. Those sound like very good rules, I said. And it looks to be a fine sling. When the day cools a bit, well go out and try it. While Evan regaled me with unending chatter about Roche and the sling and his small disaster with Dyanas favorite pot, Elinor shrugged and took the chickens out into the courtyard behind the house to clean them. All through the cooking and eating, as I held Evan on my lap and showed him how to hold his sling, as I listened to the exuberant conversation of the dye maker and his family, and laughed as they made jokes about Blaises trumpeting snores, I watched Elinor move through the noise and heat of the cramped house with quiet humor and grace. When the shadows were long across the city, the dye makers family set off for the market to drink nazrheel and listen to the days gossip. I took Evan into the courtyard and spent an hour laughing and dodging his small leather pouch as it whirled about his head and showered us with pebbles. When the boy and I had collapsed on the paving, spent with our efforts and good humor, I noticed Elinor standing in the doorway of the house watching us. You wanted to talk, she said. Evans head was bent over his pebbles as he began arranging them carefully by color and size in the cracks of the paving. Though he took no notice and concentrated on his private game, I stroked his dark hair. I heard this morning that Aleksander had asked you to travel with Blaisea dennissar in your own right but that you had refused him. I assume you understand what it meant for him to offerthe respect he has for you and that Im a woman. Yes, I understand. And I was honored. But I told him I wished to live quietly for a while. A child should not grow up knowing only war and politics. She said nothing more. Just stood there. Waiting. She didnt make things easy. Yes. Exactly so What was it I had come to say? It seemed so feeble. So presumptuous. and so I thought youll need some way to live wherever you plan to settle and I could find work as a scribe, perhaps, now my hand is working better so I could be close by But the Aveddi relies on you. His First Counselor, Ive heard. Will you not roam the deserts with him? Her manner was impassive, curious, while my face was surely as hot as the aforementioned deserts. He can come wherever I happen to be or call on me as he wishes. Ill always answer his need. But Ive no more yearning to roam the deserts than you do, and some things are more important even than Aleksander and his kingdom. I pushed a pile of black pebbles toward Evans hand and watched his small fingers place them in the cracks. Unless you tell me not, Ill go wherever you go. And what if I say I choose Parnifour or Hollen or some other place far from Azhakstan far from Ezzaria? Would you truly go there and do scribes work to keep us? I will do whatever is necessary. I told you that before. It has not changed. Aye, so you saida change in her voice drew my eyes upward to meet her ownand so you have done. So much spoken in those simple words. Faith. Trust. Understanding. A generous spirit waiting. Her utterance opened a door in my heart and gave me a glimpse of possibility. I searched her strong and lovely face and saw nothing to contradict my hearing. Quickly I packed Evans fist full of pebbles, hefted him onto my shoulders, and stood up, praying he would stay occupied and quiet for a little while. Mistress Elinor, would you honor me by walking out this evening to the market for a cup of nazrheel? She tilted her head as if giving the matter due consideration. Then she nodded. Perhaps we need to take up our conversation exercises again. This would be a fine evening for it. Her mouth curled ever so slightly at the left corner. Before I could so much as get across the courtyard and take Elinors arm, a barefoot, yawning Blaise walked out of the dim house behind her and, without a single word, snatched a giggling Evan from my back and disappeared back into the house. One might have thought he was standing there waiting for the opportunity. Our conversation exercise wandered slightly farther afield that night; Elinor wanted to know all about Ezzaria and what it might be like as a place to raise a shapeshifting child. We would need to discuss a great deal more as the days passed, but the evenings conversation was pleasant. Exceedingly pleasant. Seven days after the Day of Judgment, and six days after Aleksanders coronation, I stood in the evening light at the top of a towering dune awaiting the King of Azhakstan. He had sent word that he was determined to ride out on this evening, to take one hour away from advisers, petitioners, stewards, and job seekers, and that he would appreciate the company of someone who didnt want him to do anything. I was smiling when he rode up the dune, his red hair flying, for I had just spent an afternoon with Lydia and young Sovari Lydiazar Aleksandreschi zha Denischkar. Life would never be dull for the royal family of Azhakstan. The tiny boys hair was fiery red, and after giving me a toothless grin charming enough to melt stone, he took up yelling louder than a chastouain prodding his balky beast through the desert. Aleksander slipped gracefully from his white horse and whispered whatever command ensured the beast would stay patiently where it was left. Part of his own special magic. Holy Athos, I had to threaten everyone with hanging to get them to stay behind. You havent let anyone slip you a petition just in case you saw me, have you? Not a one. Perhaps I could come up with something, though. He groaned and motioned me to walk with him across the crest of the sand until we were out of sight of the haffai-clad guards clustered at the base of the dune. The empty desert stretched out before us, splashed with purple and gold. As we slipped and slid our way to a second crest where we could see no one and hear nothing but the quiet stirring of the wind, his shoulders relaxed and he sighed in pleasure. Here, lets sit for a while. I need this. He spread his cloak on the sand and settled there, leaning back on his elbows. He cocked his head as I sat beside him. Youre not going to stay with me, are you, Seyonne? I laughed and shook my head. How can you tell so quickly? We havent spoken in almost a week. And I only just decided. This time I cheated. Fiona told me you were talking of going to Ezzaria. And somethings been troubling you since you came backno wonder that. So, will going home remedy it? Of course Aleksander would be the one to notice. I scooped up a handful of the warm sand and let it trickle through my fingers. I hope. Tell me, Seyonne. You owe me that. I came a gnats eyebrow from killing you, and you insist that you intended it, though you knew it would be a deed that would haunt me the rest of my life. You took your son to that place not knowing how things would fall out. That tells me the magnitude of your fear, and that you have accomplished some dreadful task that we ordinary folk will likely never comprehend. Whatever happened between you and the old man before he died brought you back safely, and I thank the everlasting gods for it. But you are my friend and brother, and I would know what grieves you. He was right. I owed him everything, and so, against all intent, I told him everything. As the purple shadows lengthened across the dunes, I spoke of Kerouan and Valdis and Verdonne, of traveling in dreams and the bargain that allowed me to participate in his war, of the crumbling wall and my unquenchable craving for sorcery. I told him of my dilemma: how I could neither allow mad Kerouan to keep his power nor risk him recouping it from me in displeasure, how I could not slay the old sorcerer and keep the power myself without ensuring my own corruption, certain that if I violated my demons warnings while I possessed the unfettered melydda of a Madonai, I would become the tyrant to end all tyrants. and so I had to take the power and die with it. Your promise was my only hope, and dragging Evan into danger and trusting Blaise and Elinor to witness to my change were the only ways I could think of to convince you. Thanks to Kasparian, we were given another choice. And in the end seeing you and Elinor there thinking of Evan I had enough memory of my true life and enough reason to know that I did not want to continue without feeling. I could see no point to such an existence, no matter how long. Unlike Kerouans expectation, I would have felt no satisfaction in killing you or any human. So I told him I would give him back his name, if he would take back what he had given and die with it My voice trailed away much as the sunlight was fading from the sky. And you were left Oh, mighty gods, Seyonne. You have no melydda. I brushed the sand from my hands and from my boots. Not a scrap. I tried to smile it away. It feels a bit more final than before, when I was a slave. But you never know. The loss itself was bearable. I had lived powerless for many years. But it was very hard that I would never be able to show my son how to enchant a light with his fingers or to fly with him through the heavens and catch him if he fell. I appreciate your concern, but you mustnt worry. My father lived a blessed life without melydda. Ill not spend the rest of mine mourning a gift that most people never dream of. Like lost empires? I grinned. But youll not rot in some Thrid jungle, either. Indeed. He sighed and twisted his face into a rueful grimace, still laced with worry about me. Only one sure path to get him off this morbid sympathy. I had told him so much; I might as well tell him the other thing. As long as you are dredging up my deepest secrets, Ive one more to confess. Which is? I walked out with a woman last night. Just walked, talked a bit, nothing else. But last summer you made me promise to tell you whenever the great day came. Aleksander stared at me in wonderment and then exploded into laughter, flopping onto his back and clapping his hands to his head. I didnt think it was all that unlikely, I said, a bit miffed at the level of his hilarity. Athos be praised, he said when he finally regained control of his humor. She finally got you to look at her and not just the boy. Gods, you didnt take him along with you when you walked out? Blaise watched him, I said, wondering if I would ever be able to surprise Aleksander with anything short of the destruction of the world. And what do you mean got me to look at her? Shes despised me for a year. We talked into the midnight hours, Aleksander shooing his worried guards away with a message for his wife and another for his aides, saying that business could wait until sunrise. At last, as the moon settled onto the silvered desert, our conversation slowed, and, knowing our hour had long passed, we stood to go. I watched from the crest of the dune as he sprang onto his horse and started down toward his kingdom. He looked back once and raised his hand. Be healed, my guardian, and happy. And I called after him. Be wise, my king, and glorious. Before another week had passed, Elinor, Evan, and I set out for Ezzaria. Blaise left us at the border, the rocky cleft that would lead us over the mountains and down into the green and sheltering forests. He would have led us all the way to my destination, the nameless settlement where my mother, the Weaver, and my father, the farmer, had taught me how to live, but I wanted to savor every step and introduce Elinor and Evan to every rock and tree along the path. We took a week to travel the rest of the distance, and never had I known days of such peace and delight. Now midsummer has come and gone, and on this starlit night I sit alone beside a steaming pool, deep in the forests of Ezzaria. The pool is very like the one in Dael Ezzar, where my old mentor helped me rediscover the melydda I believed lost in my years as a slave. Today I tried to step into the scalding water, calling on my senses to protect me long enough to endure immersion, a good first lesson in preparation for true sorcery. For the fiftieth time, I failed, though I think perhaps this failure was slightly less abject than the previous forty-nine attempts. Faith links the senses to ones power, so Galadon taught me. And so I must have faith that someday the rains will fill the dry watercourses of my soul, allowing that part of me to live again. Tomorrow Ill come back and step into the pool once more. Or perhaps the day after. Meanwhile my days are filled with quiet joys. Ive begun to teach my people of our beginnings and to write down the story, so we will always remember. Come autumn, Ill return to KirNavarrin and have Kasparian tell me more. Blaise reports that some of the rai-kirah who remain in KirNavarrin are shaping bodies again, though a number have bade farewell to their comrades and walked into the gamarand wood. The rai-kirah say that these have unshaped even their light-drawn forms and returned their true being to the land. The tower has crumbled to dust, and no one has seen anything of the Lady. The woodland thrives. Catrin and Hoffyds black-haired daughter, Chloe, was born demon-joined. Two more Ezzarian children have been born since Chloe, and they, too, are whole. Elinor looks to become our newest mentor, telling these parents stories of Blaises and Farmis childhood, and preparing themand meto manage childish shapeshifting. Elinor and Evan remind me every day of the richness of life, and I regret no choice that I have made. But after my experiences of the past few years, a man cannot but consider Had I given up the chance to be a god, to learn answers that those of us born in the human world have yearned to know since the beginning of time? Was Kerouan himself a god in the days before his madness? And if not Verdonne and not Valdis and not Kerouan, then whose hand has shaped us? And if not in Tyrrad Nor, then where are the gods and how are we to learn of them? I contemplate these things as I walk these beloved hills and forests and struggle to learn again from the beginning. I have found no answers as yet. But, of course, in the end, the exact truth of it doesnt matter. My child and his mother hold me fast in their love, and I am set free to think and remember. I think of Blaise, sharing his sublime and passionate wholeness with the hungry world. I remember Sovari and Malver, WAssani and Galadon, Farrol and young Kyor, and, yes, Ysanne, too, offering life itself to sustain us. I watch Fiona, determined and stubborn, guiding my beloved Ezzaria into a new service. And I imagine Aleksander, riding his desert kingdom, bearing the weight of our lives and safety upon his strong shoulders, sheltering us all under his mantle of light. It is, after all, tales of strength and honor and purpose that reflect the true glory of the gods, no matter who they are and where they may reside. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Verdonne was a beauteous woodland maid, a mortal, who caught the eye and heart of the god who ruled the forest lands of earth. The lord of the forest took Verdonne to wife, and she bore him a child, a fair and healthy son named Valdis. And the mortals who lived in the lands of trees rejoiced at the alliance between their own kind and the gods. The forest god grew jealous of the love the woodland people bore for Valdis, angry at the thought that this boy half mortal might someday steal his throne, and the god plotted to kill the child and all the mortals who loved him so. The grieving Verdonne, unable to persuade her husband of Valdiss guileless nature, sent the boy into the sheltering trees to save him, and she herself took up a sword and set herself between the god and the world of mortal men. Verdonne battled with the god all the years as their son grew to manhood. The cruel god stripped his wife of her clothes to shame her, melted her sword to taunt her weakness, and burned the fields and forests around her so that she would have no sustenance. Yield, bellowed the forest god. I will not sully my sword with mortal blood. But Verdonne would not yield. The elemental spirits, who ordinarily care nothing for the affairs of gods or mortals either one, watched as the mortal woman challenged the mighty god. They marveled at her courage and took pity on Verdonne. They gave her sunlight as her cloak when the god took her clothes, and thunder and lightning for her weapons when he melted her sword. They gave her rain to wash her wounds, wind to bear her up, and fire to sustain her. Yield, bellowed the forest god. You are mortal, and when you die I will have my way. You have no hope. But Verdonne would not yield. Then came the day when Valdis reached his manhood and laid his strong hand upon his mothers shoulder. Verdonne smiled and stepped aside, and Valdis wrenched his fathers sword away and stripped his father of his power. But instead of keeping these things for his own, he laid them at his mothers feet. You have shown your people the selfless strength and faithfulness of a true sovereign ruler. These are rightly yours. Verdonne ruled the sweet forest lands until she grew tired, for her body was mortal. But Valdis honored her and made her immortal, and even unto this day she rules the forests of the earth and he remains her strong right arm. Valdis built a magic fortress, a prison furnished with beauty and comfort, and because Valdis would not be a father-slayer, he locked his immortal father away in that fortress. And the young god took his fathers name from him and destroyed it, so that no man or woman could invoke it ever again. But woe to the man who unlocks the prison of the Nameless God, for there will be such a wrath of fire and destruction laid upon the earth as no mortal being can imagine. And it will be called the Day of Ending, the last day of the world.