A Sound Of Bells
                         Prologue
             116, Age of Arcadia, Late Spring
    They had permitted him- grudgingly- to come out this 
far. But now the guards drifted in front of him like black 
ghosts, scowling and gripping the spears they held and 
didn't need. They could kill him with a touch, with a 
single look.
    For a single moment, he considered summoning safire, 
turning them into zombies, and making good his escape. But 
he discarded the idea almost immediately. He had 
underestimated the abilities of these people once before, 
and it had cost him dearly. If he fled, they would pursue 
him- including one he had no wish to harm- for he was a 
valuable hostage.
    And he found it hard to doubt that they would catch 
him.
    "All right," he said wearily. "Here, then. But 
withdraw beyond earshot, at least."
    They hesitated for a moment, duty fighting with their 
innate desire not to intrude on another Elwen's prayers. 
Honor won, at least temporarily. They did withdraw, 
hovering beyond earshot but still able to see him.
    Sapphiro Azurefire, sapphire Elwen leader, member of 
the Council of Arcadia, until recently master of the 
Troublestone- and now a prisoner of the death Elwens- fell 
to his knees and turned his face upward to the stars. 
Hands clasped in front of him, he began to murmur what was 
among the most fervent prayers in his adult life.
    "My creators, I implore you, do something! A force is 
loose on Arcadia now that, if improperly handled, could 
harm many of your children. And though I thought I had 
chosen the right handler, it seems this is no longer the 
case. She plots to destroy what cannot be destroyed. I beg 
you, act!"
    He paused, expectant and hopeful even in the midst of 
likely disappointment. As he had feared, there came no 
answer from the silver diamonds twinkling gently above 
him. They had long ago withdrawn from the world, leaving 
their children to go about their own affairs, in 
accordance with the principles of independence and pride 
they had taught them. Only if someone threatened that 
freedom would they descend.
    Sapphiro bowed his head and uttered a ragged sigh, 
strong enough to swirl his uncut green hair around his 
face. He hadn't really expected an answer, he tried to 
remind himself. Still, that did little to rationalize his 
crushing despair.
    The stars were still shining softly when a hand fell 
on his shoulder, a shadow blocking out the light. Sapphiro 
slowly looked up, wondering how the death Elwens had 
sensed his prayers were done.
    But standing over him was one who shone luminously 
white in the mingled brilliance of the three moons, his 
hair just as white and his eyes silver. On his wrists 
gleamed golden bracelets, quickly revealed and just as 
swiftly hidden. Those were what told Sapphiro that this 
was a mortal, and not one of the starfolk, as the awed 
death Elwens obviously thought him.
    And, of course, he did recognize this mortal: Azajir 
Kalurtum, representative in the Council for the snow 
Elwens and a lord in his own right, of the ablasi, the 
governing body of the atagarni. It made sense that Azajir, 
who had participated in the failed war against the death 
Elwens and been briefly a hostage of the churni himself, 
would come to free him.
    Only one question churned in Sapphiro's brain. "So 
long!" he hissed. "Almost two months. Why-"
    Azajir's hand descended over his mouth. "There are 
things you cannot understand," he hissed. Then he relaxed, 
silver eyes shining with the compelling magnetism that had 
helped his election to the Council. "Come, come, Sapphiro. 
I know we have been friendly enemies for a long time. But 
does that mean you will not accept my help in teleporting 
back to the Tableland?" His hand went to the amulet around 
his neck, the amulet that allowed a Council member to 
teleport himself and several other people wherever he 
chose, an amulet the churni had taken from Sapphiro.
    "Not so friendly," the somak murmured. But he reached 
up and gripped Azajir's hand after only a moment of 
hesitation. The death Elwens had caught the hint of the 
truth and were coming forward at the gallop.
    There came a blinding flash of cold light, and when it 
faded, and with it the slight jerking sense of 
disorientation, Sapphiro found himself back in his own 
quarters. He swept his gaze over the room, narrow-eyed, 
and smiling tightly as he noted the soft blue glow of 
sprung magical traps about several of his possessions, 
glows invisible to anyone but him.
    "You have been busy, I see," he remarked, turning on 
Azajir, who stared at him in astonishment briefly before 
recovering. "Evidently you didn't know that the map will 
open, and the nightcat respond, only at my command."
    He clapped his hands, and the sleek black statue of a 
nightcat standing along one of the sapphire walls came 
alive, stalking with the fluid grace of a living feline to 
stand before him. Azajir backed up, eying him grimly.
    Sapphiro laughed at him. "You'll get no gratitude from 
me. You rescued me for your own purposes, for the same 
reasons you do everything."
    Azajir spat at him, unafraid. Sapphiro did not flinch 
at the movement, but the nightcat crouched low, a growl 
reverberating like dull thunder from between the chest- 
length fangs. Azajir wisely backed away some more, but 
said, "Do you wish to hear the truth of my delayed rescue 
or not?"
    Sapphiro hesitated, then motioned for the snow Elwen 
to continue. Smirking, Azajir folded his arms and leaned 
back against the doorsill.
    What came at Sapphiro then was the unadorned truth, to 
his surprise and horror.
    "The Council decided that, valuable as a Council 
member is, they could not risk the lives necessary to get 
you back. And the ransom the death Elwens demanded was too 
high. They left you there."
    "Left me..." Sapphiro whispered, staring at his blue- 
skinned hands, though the nightcat's gaze never wavered 
from Azajir. He must have more political enemies than he 
thought.
    The atagarn read his mind and snorted aloud. "Hardly, 
Sapphiro. It was simply an example of the game you are 
always playing. What matters an individual, no matter who 
he or she is, when compared to the greater good?"
    Sapphiro gulped back bile. "No. It can't..." His voice 
slipped, then rallied. "I never meant it like this!"
    Azajir flipped an eyebrow upward. "Really? I must have 
missed something. You manipulated Meylona Darkhand into 
bearing the Lifesword, then made war on her people to lure 
her back to the mainland and hired a gang of assassins to 
kill her. With what action were you saying that an 
individual is worth more than the masses you purport to 
serve?"
    "If that's true," Sapphiro breathed, "if my politics 
have been perverted, why does it sound so natural when the 
Children of Dawn speak about it?"
    "They're dawn Elwens," said Azajir. "They have those 
infernal peace auras. It would probably sound natural for 
them to talk about murder."
    Sapphiro closed his eyes, but he was not seeing dawn 
Elwens dancing on the back of his eyelids. Instead, he was 
seeing Meylona Darkhand, standing beside the River 
Eluvorwave and staring into the night, telling him an old 
tale of her people.
    A tale about an Elwen who had killed the one who loved 
him most in order to protect his people- and learned in 
the end that nothing is worth losing one's soul for.
    Sapphiro had been working for over a century to 
preserve peace, and had at last achieved a delicate 
balance. The Lifesword that Meylona now carried threatened 
that balance, and so he had felt justified in destroying 
one person's life in order to nullify the threat. Besides, 
Meylona, said the songs that had led to discovery of the 
Lifesword, was destined to do something about the blade.  
What that something was, the songs weren't clear.
    Surely he had done nothing wrong by serving destiny? 
By serving peace?
    The door clicked shut softly. Azajir had gone.
    Sapphiro fell heavily into one of the room's two 
chairs, whispering, "We had better hope that I was right. 
Otherwise, we shall pay a price too horrible to 
contemplate."
    And he buried his face in the nightcat's fur and wept.




                        Chapter 1
                  No Rest For The Weary
    Meylona Darkhand skidded to a stop, spitting curses. 
She knew she had seen Azajir Kalurtum hovering over 
Sapphiro Azurefire for a brief moment before the latter 
lunged upward, catching a pale hand. Then both had 
vanished in a burst of brilliance.
    And she had come in too late to catch either.
    Casting a disgusted glance back at the guards, she 
lifted and shook out her long mass of dark curls. They had 
been troublesome lately, especially since the comb that 
had once bound them back so effectively was now anathema 
to her. Lately, she had only been able to rake her fingers 
through them, wash them occasionally, and hope for the 
best.
    "My lady? Is something wrong?"
    Meylona turned to face Milmindeth Deepen, smiling 
helplessly. Though he had been hovering over and watching 
the sickly Dia, of course he would have come out 
immediately when he sensed, through the tentative 
emotional bond they shared, that she was upset.
    "Nothing major, Milmindeth." Meylona speared the 
guards with another glance from her golden eyes. "These 
dolts let Sapphiro escape, because they thought the one 
who came to rescue him was an aerifaerf."
    The akla'shoon started to ask another question, but 
the female death Elwen lifted a brow and shook her head in 
warning. They started back toward the ka'cheer of 
Deathwield Klaina, she walking with the easy stride of 
both a noble and a trained swordswoman, he gliding at her 
heels like a shadow.
    The guards fell back before them uneasily. Meylona was 
not sure who unnerved them more: herself, with the eyes of 
a Klaina not her own and two swords riding on her hips, 
one of them sentient; or Milmindeth, one-handed, starry- 
eyed, and with the walk of someone it would be wise not to 
challenge. Perhaps both of them together, she thought with 
a fleeting smile. Word of their scandalous devotion to one 
another, and their willingness to fight to protect that 
devotion, had spread all over the ka'cheer.
    The guards at Aprim's gates nodded to her, and only to 
her, ignoring Milmindeth as one would a decorative object. 
Meylona sighed disgustedly over that, and even more when 
they emerged into the courtyard of Aprim. 
    Though Deathwield was the most open of the Klainae- 
its members readily admitted their affection for one 
another, and filled their dark halls with light- it was 
also, in a way, the most hidebound. Though it had been 
nearly two months since the killing of the traitor Fimina, 
the former Heir to the Deathwield throne, people still 
went about on tiptoe and spoke softly, so as not to 
disturb the mourning of the Lord of the Klaina. Not even 
his son Cuenian, who needed to be Confirmed as Heir, had 
seen his father. It was expected, but in Meylona's mind, 
at least, enough was enough.
    He would want to know about Sapphiro's escape, anyway, 
she reasoned, striding across the death force flags of the 
courtyard and knocking smartly on his door.
    Her resolution faltered for a moment, though, when a 
voice, cold and dead and utterly without interest, asked, 
"Yes? What is it?"
    Meylona found her courage again by telling herself 
that this was the reason she had come. "I must speak with 
you, Lord Elshar," she said, trying hard to sound humble. 
What she sounded, she thought in disgust, was utterly 
silly. "A little matter concerning the escape of a 
prisoner, and who aided in that escape."
    Just weeks before, those words would have brought the 
lord mage bounding from his quarters. But now all that 
happened was that, after a long, considering pause, the 
door swung open.
    Meylona stepped into thick darkness, unexpected in 
light of the moons in the sky outside and her previous 
experience with Elshar's quarters. Lamps of cold fire 
should have been burning, and candles. Elshar was a lover 
of light, unlike so many death Elwens, and did not banish 
it from his home.
    But, of course, dark rooms were a sign of deep and 
desperate grief.
    Meylona's eyes made the adjustment swiftly enough, 
passing from daysight into nightsight. Pale radiance, 
auras cast by the force of existence, sprang into being 
about everything. But to Meylona, the shadowless, 
sourceless light was a pale thing compared to the 
remembrance of the fire in Elshar's eyes.
    The man who now sat hunched over in the one chair, 
playing at Lordship, was a copy of his former self, and 
not a particularly good one, either. Light fell on and was 
swallowed by lusterless black skin, dead-looking as a 
peeled blueberry. His hair, once tight curls of jet 
bouncing emphatically when he shook or nodded his head, 
now hung loosely, like a senile elf's gaping jaw. And his 
eyes, noble green of Deathwield Klaina, no longer held the 
starfire that had given him his name. That had died with 
his Heir, the daughter he claimed not to love.
    Meylona herself felt no such grief for the loss of the 
treacherous Fimina, and in any case, mourning periods were 
supposed to last a month at most. "Sapphiro has escaped," 
she said boldly, ignoring the small, startled movement of 
Elshar's akla'shoon, hiding behind the chair. "And he did 
it with the help of Azajir Kalurtum!"
    "Why should that matter to me?"
    Meylona snorted, at last ready to release the words 
propriety and lack of opportunity had prevented her from 
releasing before now. "You are the Lord of the Klaina, or 
at least you were the last time anyone bothered to check. 
Sapphiro tried to hurt your people once before. He could 
do it again. Are you not the least bit worried about 
them?"
    The akla'shooni started and flinched as though 
Meylona's words had been flaming whips hurled at the Lord, 
but Elshar sat still, staring at the floor. His only 
reaction was to bow his head a little, as if he believed 
he deserved the words and wanted to encourage them.
    Meylona opened her mouth again, but Milmindeth put his 
hand on her arm and shook his head. Following his gaze, 
Meylona saw Elshar's akla'shoon flowing to her feet with 
lithe grace. Her steady, bright eyes did not waver from 
Meylona's face, and the warning in her stance was 
unmistakable. It was the right of an akla'shoon to defend 
her or his lord or lady, a right not even a noble could 
gainsay.
    Meylona had never been a believer in caution, but 
before she could continue this needed tirade, the door to 
Elshar's sitting room opened. "Forgive me for disturbing 
you, Lord-" a familiar voice began.
    Meylona's father, Tumerin, halted as he took in the 
tense scene in the room. Shaking his head slightly, he 
gave his daughter the same look Milmindeth had.
    The former Darkhand noble ignored both silent critics 
and said, "Lord Elshar, this is a serious matter, one that 
might have repercussions we cannot foresee. We need the 
guidance of the Lord of the Klaina now. Will you deny us 
that guidance?"
    There was a long moment during which Elshar continued 
to sit with head bowed, like a beaten dog. Then the worn 
voice said, "What do you wish me to do? Sapphiro has 
already escaped, you said."
    "Only you can quell the rumors that will surely spring 
up-" Meylona began.
    "Excuse me, Daughter, but there is something you 
should know," Tumerin interrupted in a tone that Meylona 
had learned from childhood on not to question. "The 
deathtrotter healers asked me to tell you that Dia has 
gone into labor."
    The female death Elwen's annoyance lasted only until 
the impact of the announcement struck her. Her eyes 
locked, wide and incredulous, on Milmindeth's, even as she 
reached out with her mind for the deathtrotter mare's.
    The pain and chaos swirling there convinced her that 
Tumerin was right, though that did not dim her anxiety. 
Deathtrotters usually had easy births, but Dia, small and 
slender, had known from the moment she became pregnant 
that she would have trouble bringing this child into the 
world.
    And it was too soon! Deathtrotters usually carried 
their children for five months. This little one had timed 
her arrival fully two weeks before the expected birth 
date.
    Meylona launched herself back through Elshar's door, 
Milmindeth readily moving out of her way. Though his 
stallion, Skim, was Dia's mate, he did not follow her; 
only females were permitted to attend birthings. But the 
former noble felt the whisper of his mind across hers, a 
silent wish for good luck and a promise to lend her 
strength through the complicated bond the foursome shared.
    Meylona smiled in spite of the strain she could 
already feel. That was Milmindeth: willing to obey what he 
must, but still finding a way around the prohibitions.
    One thing nagged at her until she burst into the 
stable where ailing trotters were housed. Why had the 
healers sent Tumerin to inform her, instead of contacting 
her telepathically the moment the labor began? But when 
the wooden door closed behind her, she wondered no longer. 
The air was thick with the smell of blood, and with the 
silent strength that comes only from intense mental 
concentration.
    The healers were crowded close around Dia, who stood 
on legs as wobbly as a foal's in the wide stall she had 
been given. She managed to raise her head and nicker a 
weak welcome to her rider, but her white mane rained sweat 
on the floor, and the glow in her ruby eyes flickered and 
smoldered instead of flaring. And this was with all the 
healers and mares that could be found pouring inner 
strength into her, Meylona thought grimly.
    "What's the trouble?" she asked Dia gently, putting 
one hand on the ebony neck. Her fingers slipped almost 
immediately; Dia's fur, usually cold, was lukewarm and 
slick with foam.
    -I'm not sure- Dia gasped, in the voice of a 
deathtrotter- not quite physical or mental, more as if she 
had rearranged the past to fit her words in. -I think the 
baby's turned somehow, so that she's caught, but I can't- 
Her words faded into a miasma of pain that nearly buckled 
Meylona's knees and did buckle the mare's, sending her 
slamming into the straw.
    Meylona knelt beside her, ignoring the ugly feel of 
blood-matted straw against the leather she wore, and 
concentrated on their bond. She soothed the pain as best 
she could, mostly with memories. The taste of blood in 
Dia's mouth was replaced, at least briefly, by the crisp 
crunch of an apple. The mare was not lying down, Meylona 
managed to half-convince her, but racing across the 
Falchian Plains at a speed that made even the wind fall 
behind her. And the baby was born, a perfect little 
deathtrotter filly, running beside her mother and looking 
up at her with love...
    She felt Milmindeth and Skim join her, singing a 
chorus of hope and support to the mare with whom Meylona 
had bonded over five centuries ago. Meylona herself felt 
her eyes blurring with tears, and she leaned her brow 
against the steaming neck. It was so easy, sometimes, to 
forget the strength of her love for this mare.
    After a long, timeless moment of support, one of the 
healers said, "The baby's turned. Trying to come out the 
wrong way." Her voice wavered and blurred, but Meylona 
could not tell who was the weary one, the healer or 
herself. "I can see the hind hooves now. Tangled up with 
the birth cord, I think."
    Meylona shuddered. Deathtrotter foals came out head 
first in all successful births. The chances of Dia's baby 
surviving had just plummeted.
    Dia lifted her head suddenly, neighing and pawing the 
ground with one foot. -No! I will not let her die! I will 
not- But resolve and power both seemed to collapse, and 
her head dropped limply to the straw.
    Meylona worked her way around Dia's flank, wincing as 
she saw what the healer meant. Two delicate hind hooves 
and part of the slender hind legs were visible, almost 
touching the floor of the stall. But they did not move, 
and were wound with something thick and glistening that 
did indeed look like the birth cord. And no matter how Dia 
pushed and labored, no more of the baby would emerge.
    Meylona hesitated barely a moment before reaching up 
to catch hold of those tiny legs. Though not green-eyed, 
she had inherited the mage-Gift which was passed 
throughout the Deathwield line. In her, it took the form 
of speaking with animals. Though she had never tried, in 
these past few months, to speak with one technically 
unborn, she was willing to risk it if it meant Dia's life, 
or the filly's, or both.
    Can you hear me, little Sister? We are waiting for you 
to be born. All waiting most impatiently. She did not 
speak in words, but in images that would be translated to 
the baby as words.
    Not coming! The thought was surprisingly well-formed, 
quick, and agile. Whatever the smallness of her body, this 
youngster was already as swift in mind as her mother. Dark 
and warm in here. Bright and cold out there. Stay here. 
Dark and warm. Not want to be born!
    But you must, Meylona coaxed. She paused for a moment, 
then continued, hoping heredity was what she thought it 
was. Do you not want to taste an apple?
    Wary interest flickered. An apple? What is an apple?
    Meylona replied not with words, but with an image of 
the glossy red fruit, the crunch it made when bitten, the 
fragrance of apple blossoms in springtime, the sweetness 
and fresh taste exploding in one's mouth.
    As she had suspected, the filly was very much Dia's 
daughter, and had inherited her weakness for the fruit. 
There came a sudden sense of slippage, of breaking free. 
Opening her eyes, Meylona saw that the filly was now free 
almost to the withers.
    However, the birth cord had coiled tighter, wrapping 
itself so firmly that it might cut the baby in half, or 
strangle her, before she could be freed.
    Want out of here! the small, bright voice complained 
in Meylona's mind. Want apples! Why not out?
    You're bound, Meylona sent to her, trying to keep her 
thoughts as calming as possible. If they cut the cord, the 
tie between mother and child, too soon, she might die; if 
they cut it too late, she would die. If no happy medium 
could be found, they would have to chance it. But Meylona 
didn't want the little one to sense that.
    Well, get rid of bond! Out, out, out. Stuffy in here. 
Too hot.
    Meylona disconnected briefly from the tiny mind and 
looked up at the healer. "She wants out now. But I don't 
think she can do anything to help herself. Do we cut the 
cord, or leave it on and perhaps watch it slice her in 
half?"
    Dia snorted at that, and swiveled to regard the 
healer. -This may be the only child I bear. Do whatever 
you must to save her, even if it costs me my life-
    They felt Skim's horror at that, then hesitant 
agreement. He respected his mate's decision, but he 
sincerely hoped it would not cost her her life. Any 
alternative, save his daughter's death, was preferable to 
that.
    The healer, though, was shaking her head, eyes pitying 
but mercilessly hard. "The child will die no matter what 
we do. The labor has been too long. The best thing for us 
to do is cut the tie and hope that we may yet save the 
mother's life."
    No member of the foursome would accept that, whether 
or not the healer thought they would. Dia lowered her head 
with a soft, determined snort and pushed harder than ever. 
Milmindeth and Skim fell again into their roles as 
supporters, lending their different yet complementary male 
strengths to the effort. And Meylona made contact with the 
filly again, ignoring the healers' efforts to dissuade 
her, trying to persuade the baby that everything would be 
all right as well as monitoring her health.
    A little of the tiny body slipped free, but then the 
cord tightened so roughly that the baby became afraid. 
Meylona, dimly aware that she was the only death Elwen 
left in the stable, reached out, asked the stars and gods 
for the best hope possible, and snapped the cord.
    It flopped into her hand, slick with blood and other 
thing she hoped never to learn the names of. Dia uttered 
something that sounded like a sigh of relief and pushed 
with more determination still. The baby slid free, encased 
in a slick sac and lying very still.
    As if she had been doing it all her life, Dia pivoted 
to her feet and bent to nip her daughter free of the case. 
Meylona, able to feel something other than sheer 
exhaustion at last, eyed the filly with quiet worry. 
    Not that she was deformed; in fact, at least through 
the sac, she looked perfect in every way. Her head, bowed 
between hooves the size of Meylona's fingertips, had the 
delicacy of her mother's. The liquid ice curls of her 
short white mane wrapped her head like cloth- not a 
shroud, Meylona thought with ferocious determination. She 
had the sable tail common to deathtrotters, but a coat 
closer to gray than black, mimicking the coloration of her 
sire.
    But her eyes were closed, and there was no sign of 
movement, even to breathe, as Dia's teeth and tongue freed 
her of her confinement. Dia stood patiently, waiting for 
her daughter to stand and head for the milk-laden teats 
hanging invitingly near.
    Meylona had almost given up hope when the tiny lashes 
fluttered and the tiny head lifted. In breathless wonder, 
she watched as gleaming rubies of eyes were revealed, 
darting from her mother to Meylona and back again.
    -Hungry- said a faint but very distinct voice, a real 
copy of the voice Meylona had heard in her head before the 
birth.
    Dia nickered and swept her head down, nuzzling first 
the still blood-slick filly, and then her rider. -Thank 
you so very much- said the beloved voice in Meylona's 
mind. -I knew I made a good choice in partners-
    By now, Skim was knocking on the door with his hooves, 
impatient to see his daughter. Watching as the filly 
climbed to her knees, and then her feet, rocking as the 
stable was from her mate's pounding, Dia said absently- 
Meylona, would you please tell that great brute that he'll 
see my Nia when I'm darn good and ready for him to do so? 
He's making a racket-
    Meylona did as she was told, passing mares who were 
turning aside in their stalls to give mother and daughter 
a bit of privacy. The name Dia had chosen for the little 
one didn't surprise her. Nia was Primal for "thankful," 
which the mare must be. 
    It took Meylona and Milmindeth several minutes to calm 
Skim down, even between them, and the stallion didn't stop 
pawing the ground sullenly until Meylona provided him with 
several detailed descriptions of his firstborn. Even then, 
he kept his nose by a crack in the stable door for a long 
time, trying to locate the delicate new scent, before 
giving up and retiring outside the walls for the night.
    Meylona and Milmindeth exchanged smiles. Meylona 
noted, half-absently, that Milmindeth's was his shadow 
smile, dark, fleeting, and just for her.
    "Exhausting," Milmindeth remarked, indicating the 
horizon. It had been nearly midnight when Sapphiro 
escaped, but dawn was dancing in the east now.
    Meylona nodded, then grimaced as she became aware how 
covered with blood and mucus her clothes and hands were. 
Milmindeth understood without being asked, and loped 
quietly across the courtyard, toward the bathhouses. The 
former Darkhand noble followed, scrubbing her hands 
futilely against her equally coated legs and hoping she 
wasn't leaving soaking footprints behind.
    "Meylona!" The voice was genuinely shocked. "What 
happened to you?"
    Meylona looked up, grinning. "Nothing bad, Thaloth, 
though it could have been. Dia has been safely delivered 
of a daughter, Nia. Of course, I had to help her."
    "Somehow, I don't think it would be wise to mention 
that in her hearing," her brother remarked dryly, stopping 
before her. He bowed deeply before she could ask him not 
to, but after a moment, she realized it was only a bow of 
sincere warmth and congratulations. "May little Nia grow 
as strong as her sire and as swift as her mother."
    "Thank you," Meylona replied softly, catching her 
brother's black eyes in a look of intense gratitude. Since 
she had been forced to flee her native ka'cheer, Holin, 
with the Lifesword nearly a year before, she had been 
uneasy in her brother's presence, but lately they had 
settled their differences.
    "I suppose you will be leaving soon?" Thaloth asked 
abruptly, his black eyes tight on the alicorn hilt of the 
sentient sword that had once nearly snared his soul with 
greed. "After all, the Forces of Death did give you a holy 
task."
    Meylona, rubbing the silky, warm hilt of the sword, 
shuddered absently. "Yes, they did." She smiled at her 
brother as she returned to the present. "We've had to wait 
until Nia was born, but I guess that's not an excuse any 
longer. Though she's extremely delicate, and it will be a 
few days before she's strong enough to run beside her 
parents..."
    Her voice trailed off as Thaloth gave her a look at 
once both understanding and pitying. He understood why she 
was trying to delay the task, but he did not think it 
wise.
    Meylona looked down, rubbing her fingers over the 
pommel of the sword that had now ridden at her side for 
nearly a year. Outwardly, there was nothing abnormal about 
it, except the ancient make of the hilt and the disturbing 
color of the blade, black swept by tantalizing hints of 
silver and crystal and red.
    But inwardly, the Lifesword was an enigma. It had been 
forged from materials that contained the life essences of 
four races- Elwens, elves, unicorns, and dragons- and so 
had enormous power. Its creator had also given it the 
ability to do things from bringing light into darkness to 
resurrecting the dead. It should have been a tool of good, 
and indeed it often proclaimed itself so.
    And yet, the Lifesword needed vital energy to fuel the 
tasks it felt destined to perform. That vital energy came 
from its wielder, who over time was slowly possessed by 
the Lifesword. In time, anyone who claimed the weapon 
would be only a mindless husk, a body for the Lifesword to 
manipulate at will, in effect wielding itself.
    Meylona's golden eyes and altered perceptions of the 
world were only some gifts from the blade. She no longer 
knew how many tiny scraps of life-force still held out 
against domination, and suspected the changes in her had 
gone too deep to be noticed on the surface- until it was 
too late.
    Thaloth clasped her arm a moment, eyes sympathetic 
without a trace of other emotion, then whirled and walked 
away, green curls bouncing. He wiped the hand that had 
caught her wrist absently on his leg, covered with 
shapeless and intricately wound strips of black leather.
    As if on cue, Meylona remembered their interrupted 
journey to the bathhouses. She hurried forward, using her 
desire to be clean as an excuse to deflect many of the 
questions she saw on Milmindeth's face.
    The bathhouses were places of steamy darkness, the 
only places in Aprim that had had no need to rid 
themselves of lights in order to facilitate Elshar's 
mourning. Basins of water, continually warmed by an unseen 
source, rolled and lapped with a soothing sound that 
relaxed Meylona's muscles as she stood listening to it. 
Small pots of the sand death Elwens used instead of soap 
stood ready on the edge of the basin. And there seemed to 
be no one else in here.
    Meylona stood patiently while Milmindeth freed her of 
the heavy, stinking bits of leather. Then she dove into 
the water, sending droplets of spray flying up to sparkle 
in the auralight.
    She hovered over the bottom of the bath for a 
deliciously warm long time- Elwens could hold their 
breaths indefinitely- before rising upward again to float 
lazily. Most of the blood had been washed from her body 
within a few moments, and, swept away by the pool's unseen 
source, it troubled her no longer. Even her hair, matted 
in clumps like the straw upon which Dia had lain, now 
floated in beautiful, sleek curls once again. 
    She nearly went over when the opening of the door 
announced Milmindeth's return with fresh clothes, so 
relaxed had she become. Calling to him to wait, as she had 
not yet finished cleaning herself, she swam to the edge of 
the pool where the sand was located.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen. 
Then he dropped to one knee and moved her starmetal sword 
and throwing knife aside. 
    "Milmindeth, what is it?" she asked, curious but not 
really concerned. Relaxed she might be, but she was a 
trained warrior. If anyone had entered the bathhouses and 
rummaged through her equipment, she would certainly have 
heard them. 
    His next words nearly made her drop the handful of 
sand she was currently applying to her arm. "The Lifesword 
is gone."
    Meylona cursed and gave a final scrub, then swam 
strongly for the side of the basin. She popped out of the 
water, shaking and wringing her hair by turns. There would 
be no time for the long, complicated drying with 
progressively cooler towels that churni nobles usually 
enjoyed. The thief must yet be nearby. And she meant to 
find him- or her, though in her secret heart she believed 
only a male would be stupid enough to do something like 
that. 
    She stood, fuming with impatience, while Milmindeth 
wound strip after strip of leather around her. When it was 
finally done, she charged silently for the door, 
Milmindeth right beside her.
    They both skidded to a stop in the courtyard, though, 
staring around in bewilderment. Meylona had to admit it 
was a puzzling sight.
    The courtyard was calm and empty, its only moving 
inhabitants moonbeams playing hide and seek with clouds. 
Even the most persistent of night-lovers had retreated 
within the walls to sleep. The guards paced the outer 
wall, their footsteps rebounding softly from the 
acoustically inclined, solidified death force. The sound 
of their tread showed only unspeakable boredom.
    Feeling the first tight tingle of real fear up her 
spine, Meylona scanned the courtyard again, seeking to 
disprove what her own senses told her. She could not. The 
thief had left no trace behind, not even scent.
    Her thoughts nagging at her, she turned around, and 
then staggered back. Milmindeth's hand caught her arm in 
an iron grip meant to convey reassurance, but she could 
feel as she leaned against him that he was shaking just as 
badly as she was.
    Hovering before them in midair, its edges limned with 
light, was the Lifesword. The light was a faint silver 
radiance not coming from the blade itself, but rather 
something else. The weapon hung that way for a long 
moment, as if to make sure they got a good look at it. 
Then it settled tamely into the magic-damping scabbard 
Meylona had thought to buckle on her hip.
    The two churni exchanged uneasy glances even after the 
last of the light faded. Meylona licked her lips and 
glanced back at the sword resting softly against her hip 
once more. It might never have left. It seemed her fears 
were unfounded.
    And yet, Milmindeth spoke for both of them when he 
said somberly, "Can we be not be safe even in the midst of 
a ka'cheer, surrounded by scores of churni?"
    Meylona shook her head and let the ensuing silence 
stretch long. She, at least, had no answer.
----------------------------------------------------------
    They would have reported the incident to Lord Elshar, 
but the ka'cheer awakened an hour later, with the full 
coming of dawn, and they decided to wait for a more 
private time. She needed to sleep, they both needed food, 
and if they were not in their rooms to receive the 
inevitable well-wishes over the birth of Dia's child, 
people would wonder what was amiss.
    Meylona had been given a room that opened onto a small 
garden after her triumphant return from Fimina's death, 
and it gave her peace, usually, to look at the trees and 
flowers under the moonlight. But now, as she stood staring 
from the open door out into the carefully groomed 
wilderness, she thought the reaching fingers of dawn 
tentative, even frightened. Instead of puddling in pools 
of molten gold beneath the tall earlyaspens, as it usually 
did, Uunul's light huddled in on itself. When a cloud 
cruised slowly by, it seemed grateful of the excuse to 
hide.
    Meylona shook her head grimly, then closed the door 
softly. Beautiful as the garden was, she had been raised 
in a windowless environment, and found it easier to sleep 
without fresh air when in a ka'cheer.
    Pacing over to her bed, she lay down and tried to 
relax her muscles. But they remained tense, and gradually 
she realized the annoying sound on the edge of hearing was 
herself, tapping her fingers on the Lifesword's hilt.
    Opening her eyes, she groggily regarded the damned 
thing. The alicorn hilt was warm and glowing with a soft 
light, but unicorn horn did that naturally anyway. The 
power had not yet returned to the sword, or so she 
sincerely hoped. The Forces of Death had quieted it for an 
unspecified period, that she might complete her quest to 
destroy it, and it was much easier to resolve she would do 
so when it wasn't speaking to her in that persuasive 
mental voice.
    As if contemplating her responsibilities had eased 
some hidden weight, her eyes slid easily closed, and sleep 
came to her. When Milmindeth shook her awake a few hours 
later, she stretched luxuriously and accepted the piece of 
apple he gave her with a gloved hand, gnawing it eagerly.
    "Have you fed?" she asked between crisp bites, when 
she could more easily think past her hunger.
    The starry eyes hooded themselves as the akla'shoon 
nodded once. Meylona noted that with curiosity, and also a 
bit of hope. She had once been like Milmindeth, needing 
the life-force of intelligent creatures to keep herself 
alive. But the Lifesword had removed that need, that 
curse, that gift, as part of its prices, the one things 
she had to thank it for. She now ate fruit, meat, cheese, 
bread- all the food a normal creature might.
    Milmindeth had never shown any sign that he envied 
her. But if he did...
    She forced the thought out of her mind. The quest to 
destroy the Lifesword was what they needed to concentrate 
on now. "Do you know how soon we will be able to leave?" 
she asked calmly, knowing that he would have gone to check 
on Nia.
    Milmindeth's face softened. "Yes. Nia is delicate and 
small enough to worry her mother, but both of them are 
sure she'll be able to run in two days."
    "We'll leave on Bluedance, then," Meylona said, naming 
the first day of summer. "If they're sure."
    Milmindeth nodded, and started to say something else, 
but someone began hammering on the door of the room. The 
akla'shoon had barely begun to assume his fighting stance 
when said door crashed open. 
    "Lorina?" Meylona gasped in surprise when she saw who 
stood there. She barely recognized the healer. The long 
blue hair that had hung gracefully down her back now 
grouped itself in scraggly clumps all about her head, and 
the usually gentle blue-gold eyes had lost all their 
serenity.
    "Is it true," Lorina demanded, looking past the 
undeniably threatening Milmindeth, "that you challenged 
Elshar to rise up from his despair?'
    Not certain whether she approved or disapproved, 
Meylona responded cautiously. "I did. I think the period 
of mourning has gone on long enough. Sapphiro has escaped 
and might be plotting something, and his people need him."
    Lorina strode toward her, darting like a shadow past 
Milmindeth when he stood to block her. The male death 
Elwen turned, narrow-eyed and anxious, ready to spring if 
Lorina tried anything.
    Instead of slapping or shouting in Meylona's face, 
though, Lorina threw a hug around her that stunned Meylona 
into silence for a long moment. After a moment, the 
younger woman understood, and hugged the healer's 
shoulders in silent sympathy. Devoted to her Lord cousin 
despite the many grades of station that separated them, 
Lorina had evidently watched his fall into loss 
helplessly, hating it, but not sure of her place to 
interfere. Anyone who could safely do so, and did so, 
therefore assumed the status of a hero in her eyes.
    "Thank you!" the healer murmured brokenly against her 
shoulder, confirming her suspicions. "Oh, stars, he needed 
that!"
    "You agree with me, then, that this has gone on long 
enough?" Meylona asked, drawing back to search the 
healer's face.
    Lorina nodded determinedly, wiping tears out of her 
two-colored eyes with a vengeance. "I think he's proved 
that he loved her. And he's shouldered the blame, even 
that which was not his to begin with. If he wants to 
convince anyone of his virtue, he's done it. Now he needs 
to return to life."
    Meylona nodded, but suspected from the healer's half- 
tense stance that there was something more. "And how many 
of the sha'sheerini feel this way?" she asked, giving the 
collective name for the lowest caste in churni society, 
those born with eyes of more than one color and thus 
without the power to resurrect the dead.
    "All of us, so far as I know." Lorina shook her head 
back as if facing a challenger, her face calm and regal. 
"You may leave without fear, Lady. We will keep alight the 
flame you have kindled. Should it go out again, it can 
only mean doom for us."
    Meylona could only nod to that. Until Elshar had 
withdrawn from life, she had not realized how much of the 
fire and spirit of Deathwield Klaina was embedded in its 
Lord. Deathwield was, magically and physically, the most 
powerful of the Klainae, but such a position might not 
endure long if their ruler did not come back to them.
    "Thank you," said Lorina one more time, and went from 
the room like a breath of wind. Milmindeth relaxed at last 
and shut the door as soundlessly as possible.
    "On Bluedance," said Meylona, determinedly, picking up 
where they had left off. Elshar did need to be discussed, 
but she wanted to settle the details of their departure 
first. "The festival ought to make our leavetaking a 
little less grievous."
    "As will their premise that you will come back to 
them," Milmindeth said, softly and unexpectedly.
    Meylona shot him a narrow look. "Don't tell me they 
still accept me as a noble of Deathwield and are offering 
me a place in Aprim?"
    "Apparently so." Milmindeth said no more, no matter 
how she pried at him, so in frustration she switched the 
subject.
    "We'll need supplies," she murmured, beginning to tick 
them off on her fingers. "Food for me; grain for the 
deathtrotters- I think Dia should be kept on a rich diet 
for a while, to fuel her milk. We'll need mountain 
climbing equipment, spikes and rope and so on."
    Milmindeth interrupted, sounding alarmed. "Surely my 
lady cannot mean to go through the Coldors?"
    "Even if we don't," Meylona retorted, "the Council 
stronghold is located in the Unknown Mountains. We'll have 
to do a bit of climbing."
    "But you do mean to go through the Coldors." It was 
more of a statement than a question; Milmindeth knew her 
almost too well for comfort, sometimes.
    "It's the most direct route, when you think about it. 
We can stay on level ground east into the Frigid Waste- 
speaking of which, we'll need to bring heavier clothes, 
firewood, and other things to survive the cold- but from 
there, it's easier to swerve into the Coldors."
    "You are insane," Milmindeth said regretfully, eyes on 
the floor. "It is a pity, surely. You are a beautiful 
young woman."
    Her akla'shoon so rarely made jokes that Meylona 
laughed rather tentatively before going on. "I know about 
the winds and the dangers, Milmindeth. Actually, the 
number of wild beasts won't be any less in the Unknown 
Mountains, which we will have to enter. And we have picked 
the best time of year for a crossing. The winds and the 
snow must be less in summertime, at least a little."
    "They will not," said Milmindeth flatly.
    "How can you know?"
    "I have been over them before in summertime," said her 
always surprising akla'shoon. "Trust me, the mountains 
don't care, just as the Waste does not, what season it is. 
There will still be ice, and snow, and the creatures that 
thrive in those things."
    "Well," said Meylona with unshakable finality, "that's 
our course, and I'm going to hold to it unless you can 
suggest a better one. If we went east to the edges of the 
Unknown Mountains, yes, the ground would be level, but 
we'd be crossing the Barren Desert. By all reports, that's 
even worse than the Waste."
    "There's another choice, my lady. South through 
Gatethrough Pass and east through the gentler provinces to 
the Council's stronghold."
    "That would add too many miles to our journey. It 
would take us at least a day to cross through the Pass." 
Meylona rose to her feet, tucking her still-wet curls 
behind her ear with an absent sweep of her hand. "No, 
Milmindeth, as I said, we'll stay with my plan."
    "And when you find the Coldor Mountains cannot be 
crossed?" Milmindeth tilted one brow upward.
    "We'll deal with that when we come to it," said 
Meylona rather abruptly, and refused to discuss it 
further.
    By that time, the first knocks were coming on the door 
at any rate, and the first churni streamed in, bearing 
gifts, both hand-made and hoof-made, for the new little 
filly. Meylona felt her face soften despite her impatience 
with such things when she saw a particularly clever gift, 
a rattle made of grain stuck together with honey and apple 
juice. Births were rare in both the trotter and churni 
communities, and babies were always welcomed a little 
excessively. She supposed she could put up with it.
    Besides, it was good practice for the treatment she 
would receive when she bore her own children- assuming she 
ever did. Her eyes lingered on the face of Milmindeth as 
he moved among their guests, joining the other 
sha'sheerini who had appeared as if by magic to serve the 
guests. The only man she loved, would ever love. Though he 
was better about it now, no longer insisting she be left 
free to find someone more "deserving," she was not so 
foolish as to think she had won him completely.
    "Lady Meylona?"
    The voice had the impatient tone that suggested the 
speaker had been trying to gain her attention for some 
time. Sighing, Meylona turned, an apology on her lips.
    Her breath blew away when she saw the gift the speaker 
held toward her. It was a circle of apple pieces linked 
together- how, she couldn't see- with three pieces of 
apple hanging from the top of the ring. Though the three 
slices of fruit had barely been cut into any recognizable 
shape, she knew what they were, or rather, what they 
represented.
    The circle with three golden drops of blood in it that 
was the symbol of Bloodquest, the life Elwen town on the 
banks of the Eluvorwave not so far away.
    The town from which Tublond, her friend, her enemy, 
hailed.
    Gently, she took the delicate toy and laid it aside, 
then turned to thank the giver. But the sha'sheerin who 
had held it shook his head, dispelling her last hope that 
the gift was from a death Elwen, given in reference to her 
adventures.
    "A noble sir who would not enter gave it to me to 
present to you," said the servant. Though he tried to 
conceal it, his aqua eyes sharpened with curiosity. "He 
said to give it with all his love. When I asked him what 
that meant, he said you would know."
    Meylona did. Tublond- confusing, evil, cheerful 
Tublond- had once claimed to love her. He had since proved 
that he was a monster only after the Lifesword, charged 
with bringing the powerful thing back to his own people.
    And yet, Meylona could not forget the friendship he 
had shown her, fighting at her side, nearly riding himself 
to death in order to distract Sapphiro's hunters. In his 
own way, he shifted alignments as readily as the sapphire 
Elwen who had given her the Lifesword and then tried to 
kill her. It was certainly nothing anyone could predict.
    "Tell him, if he is still there-" she began. But the 
sha'sheerin shook his head.
    "He departed the moment he gave me the gift, Lady. 
Pressing business elsewhere, I would assume." Sha'sheerini 
were not supposed to pry into the affairs of nobles, but 
this one did sound curious, as if hoping she would give 
him more of an insight into this mysterious personage.
    She obliged. "Did you see his face?"
    "No, Lady, only his eyes. Silver, and laughing as if 
he had just learned the ultimate fate of the world and 
found it rather amusing."
    "Tublond," Meylona murmured involuntarily. Though many 
Elwens had silver eyes, that description could only fit 
that most unusual of papiliferae.
    "My lady?" The sha'sheerin had stiffened almost 
invisibly. "Was that not the name of the life Elwen who 
was a guest in Aprim for a short time?" He bit off the 
word "guest": not even the open-minded Deathwields could 
bring themselves to love the life Elwens, who had cursed 
them long ago and kept them in a state of unremitting war 
since then.
    "It was, but it is not important." Meylona waved the 
sha'sheerin away, and after a moment of struggle he went, 
tradition being more important than his untraditional 
curiosity.
    Left alone with the circle of apples, Meylona turned 
it gently over, but could see nothing on it that indicated 
danger. On a whim, she used the deeper perception the 
Lifesword had bestowed on her, a sense not unlike the 
ability to sense that a wall was near without using one's 
eyes.
    To her surprise, the circle continued to reveal 
nothing. Obscurely disappointed, she started to probe 
further, but was disturbed by another well-wisher before 
she could get too involved.
    Sometime after that, someone drank a little too much 
of the honeyberry being served, a delicate golden liquor 
that normally did not affect Elwens, and lifted a wavering 
voice in song.

    "The children come in laughter and in joy.
     The children come to weaken and destroy.
     The children tease their sisters and brothers.
     The children can mean the deaths of their mothers.

    "Thus it is on us, a two-fold, mixed blessing-
     They come to us, their voices our minds caressing.
     We know the future of our race is secure,
     Or at least as much as anything can ever be sure.

    "But the children are born with soft baited breath,
     As each mother waits to see if her child from death
     Can reclaim those who should live. Some rejoice
     When they see pure eyes, and hear a healthy voice.

    "But some are born with eyes of the mingled hues,
     And the mothers only hide their faces at the news.
     Rejected by their parents, balls thrown with a curve,
     The sha'sheerini are born only to serve.

    "But still we welcome the children- may they be born
     With skin dark as night and souls pale as morn!
     May they be born ever; may it never cease.
     For our race has always, in this world, decreased."

    Meylona did not like the song, and wished she could 
ignore it. But she had to clap politely along with 
everyone else when the singer came to an end and looked 
around for applause.
    She was a noble, of course, Meylona thought in disgust 
as she moved toward Milmindeth. All at once the party had 
become faintly sickening, like a skin of scum on swamp 
water. After living outside the ka'cheeri for nearly a 
year, many of Meylona's attitudes were no longer those of 
her peers. She had come to see the world through 
Milmindeth's starry eyes, because quite often there was no 
one else she could emphasize with.
    Blasphemous as it was, she no longer thought mixed eye 
color automatically qualified a person as fit only for the 
lowest tasks.
    She nodded sharply to her akla'shoon, and they exited 
quietly into the garden. Though some churni might have 
looked around at the sudden buffet of fresh air and the 
scents of growing things, they would not notice who had 
departed. The party could continue perfectly without her 
help.
    Outside, the sun seemed to have overcome its earlier 
timidity and was shining with a vengeance. Gold showered 
from leaves that hung like emerald tears; rich as they 
were now, they would only grow larger and thicker in the 
summer to come, Meylona knew. Flowers nodded in the grass 
as the two death Elwens paced solemnly up the paths of 
crushed seashell and stone.
    Meylona stooped to admire the small purple petals of a 
hide-a-bloom, most delicate of flowers, and then stopped, 
staring curiously. She could have sworn a dark glint had 
flashed from beyond the trees, a starmetal blade or a 
sudden hint of black skin. But she and Milmindeth had 
noticed no other death Elwen since entering the garden, 
and they certainly would have. Except for Meylona, changed 
by the Lifesword, churni withered leaves and killed grass 
where they walked- one reason for the paths.
    Milmindeth had seen it too, she realized when she 
looked back at him. He was standing with a dart, tipped in 
deadly shoolin poison, held in his hand, ready to let it 
fly.
    Frowning, Meylona slowly scanned the underbrush again. 
The black glint flashed briefly, but vanished when she 
looked directly at it.
    Scowling now, the noble stood, loosened her starmetal 
blade in its sheath, and crept forward, throwing knife in 
hand. Perhaps they had found the mysterious thief of the 
Lifesword. If so, he would soon regret taunting them like 
this.
    The underbrush where the teasing thing had seemed to 
be was thick and wild, long grass that had braided itself 
with scratchweed and thorns. Meylona fell to one knee, 
pulled off a strip of leather, and wound it about one 
hand, then reached boldly into the bushes.
    Thorns rebounded, defeated by the leather, and pricked 
at her arm with sharp little teeth in revenge, but she 
found nothing. Frowning, she drew back, ignoring 
Milmindeth's immediate tending of the trails of silver 
blood on her arm. If whoever was here was powerful enough 
to move out of the area without her smelling any magic, 
then why would she be wasting her time in teasing games? 
She could destroy them at any time she chose, or take the 
Lifesword, if that was what she wanted, right now. 
    Meylona did know a few people who might take twisted 
pleasure in this kind of thing, but she was reasonably 
sure all of them were very far away. Besides, Azajir would 
have shown as white, not black, and she doubted Tublond 
would have dared to venture back so soon after coming with 
the gift.
    Then, without transition, someone appeared before her, 
lying as easily in the thick bracken as if it were a bed.
    Milmindeth uttered a little gasp of astonishment and 
threw his dart. It hissed toward the reclining figure with 
deadly accuracy.
    The stranger did nothing to avoid it. The dart went 
through him, seemingly, or else simply missed him. 
Whichever it was didn't seem important, when he reached up 
one fur-covered arm and threw back the cowl that had 
covered his face.
    Meylona felt the blood drain out of her own features. 
Milmindeth fell back a step and wrapped an arm around her 
shoulders. Whether it was to comfort her or himself, she 
didn't know.
    The creature before them was an alfar, something 
Meylona had never suspected might exist. His face was 
thrown forward: his forehead slightly bulging, his 
cheekbones coming to an almost painfully sharp point, his 
pointed, wolf-like ears curving delicately from a high 
point on his head. His skin and hair were both darker than 
a churni's could possibly be- than, it seemed, anything 
could possibly be.
    Though she hadn't known they were real, all those 
features were real to Meylona from old tales. But it was 
the fires in his eyes that stole the strength from her and 
made her realize how far from the truth the stories were. 
His eyes were triangular, with a vertical slit of green 
down the middle, against a deep blue background. Those 
eyes stared into her soul, seemed to find it barely 
adequate, and then turned to Milmindeth. 
    Unobtrusively, the akla'shoon let the dart he was 
holding fall. Alfari were the most powerful in magic of 
all Arcadia's inhabitants, and nothing could harm them if 
they did not wish to be harmed.
    "You have a question," said the alfar suddenly. His 
voice was beautiful, whispering with the music of strange 
instruments, even though somehow flat, due to its lack of 
emotion. "You know where you must go to destroy the 
Lifesword, and yet you delay and summon reasons for delay. 
You want to ask someone if you should go."
    All thoughts that this could be a hoax blew out of 
Meylona's mind. No one save those who had seen Fimina 
summon the Forces of Death, or those they had told, knew 
about her quest. Those she had told would not betray her, 
and she was reasonably certain Elshar had spoken to no one 
of that day. She didn't know why the alfar was interested, 
so she simply nodded.
    "You should." The alfari, who obeyed their own codes, 
had no idea of the indirect niceties of courtesy imposed 
by other peoples. His feline eyes stared into hers with 
compelling intensity. "When you hear a sound of bells, you 
will be free."
    Meylona blinked. She had dreamt of bells ringing about 
the Council's stronghold, but that had been a delusion, 
brought on by the drugged fumes of a fire in a religious 
rite she shouldn't have observed.
    She thought.
    "You will be free," the alfar repeated. Somehow she 
didn't get the impression he cared whether she believed 
him or not; the words pleased him in some obscure way. "I 
think you will soon see what I mean."
    He looked up at her, scrutinizing her face for no 
reason at all. It was an almost friendly stare, and yet 
Meylona felt a hot wind sweep her soul. She would have 
backed away, had any of her movements fallen under her own 
power.
    "Go, and win what I have promised you," said the 
alfar, laying his head back on the bracken as if it were a 
soft pillow and closing his eyes. "Go."
    That seemed to be a command, and Meylona stood and 
walked away, very careful not to disturb him. When she 
glanced back, he was still there, seeming to be sleeping 
peacefully, save that his eyes were now open and staring 
directly at her. She shivered and walked a little faster.
    "My lady?" Milmindeth dared to put a hand on her 
shoulder when they had turned a bend in the trail, hiding 
the strange creature from sight. "Are you all right?"
    "Yes." Meylona drew a breath and forced the memory of 
those eyes from her mind, lightheartedly commenting on the 
utter strangeness of their encounter. "He didn't come to 
hurt me, or to warn me either, I suppose. He simply came 
here."
    Milmindeth chuckled suddenly. When she glanced at him 
sidelong, he explained with a reminiscent smile, "I was 
thinking of the way Elshar used to react on the moment to 
everything he was told. It might wake him up from his 
lethargy to know there was an alfar sleeping in one of his 
gardens!"
    Meylona joined in the laughter, though it was painful 
to share memories of the Lord as he had once been. "Not 
that I will tell him. I think he has enough to occupy his 
attention. Besides, by the time we got back the alfar 
would be gone, anyway."
    Milmindeth nodded in agreement with her decision, and 
they walked on in silence for a few moments. Then the 
akla'shoon asked, as quietly and pedantically as if 
lecturing her about flowers, "What did he mean when he 
said you were delaying the journey?"
    Meylona was so startled that she responded honestly 
before she could catch herself. "I don't really want to do 
this, Milmindeth, holy quest or no. I want more than 
anything to throw the Lifesword in the River Eluvorwave 
and be rid of it." Since she had said so much, she figured 
she might as well say a little more. "The Forces of Death 
quieted the Lifesword, yes, but for how long? I think it 
will awaken before the end and persuade me to spare it."
    "You are afraid of failure, basically."
    Though his tone was not condemning, Meylona bristled. 
"Why, yes. What's wrong with that?"
    "Nothing- save that when fear prevents someone from 
even attempting a task, the world loses."
    Meylona sighed and looked down, stroking the hilt of 
the Lifesword. "I will make the journey, Milmindeth. Never 
doubt that. But as for the end-" Her shoulders lifted and 
fell in a helpless shrug. "I suppose I can't know until I 
actually find a way to destroy it."
    "What did the alfar mean when he said a sound of bells 
would make you free?"
    "On Feathergem, I dreamt of what Aklamba said was my 
future," said Meylona, naming the gull Elwen island where 
they had spent several months, and the gull Elwen 
priestess who had translated several runes on the 
Lifesword for them. "It showed the Council's stronghold, 
and I heard bells ringing about it, though none were 
visible."
    A smile worked its way onto Meylona's face despite 
herself, in remembrance of the glorious music. "I 
remembered the dream, but I didn't know what it meant. 
Perhaps, as the alfar said, the bells will set me free. 
But that can be taken any of a thousand different ways." 
She shrugged. "Who can say what a dream, much less an 
alfar, means?"
    Milmindeth nodded. However, his attention was focused 
on something else. Bending down as if to admire one of the 
delicate white flowers nodding at the edge of the trail, 
he murmured in her ear, "My lady, someone a few paths on 
is watching us. I just saw him duck behind the trees."
    Meylona stiffened and started to reach for her sword, 
but Milmindeth caught her arm and stepped back, smiling 
easily. He spoke without moving his lips. "No! Give him no 
clue you have seen him. If this is the stealer of the 
Lifesword, I intend to capture him."
    Though Meylona wanted that honor for herself, she 
looked on the seething fires in his eyes and did not 
disagree. Silent as a shadow, Milmindeth slipped down the 
path. Meylona understood her part in the deception and 
went on talking as if he stood beside her. "You don't 
think hide-a-blooms smell good? You're the first person i 
ever knew who didn't. Are you sure, Milmindeth? Here-" 
    She knelt and started to reach for one of the purple 
flowers, but a muffled cry told her the task had been 
completed. She followed Milmindeth less silently than he 
had gone forward, her boots making a thumping shuffle 
every now and then.
    Milmindeth held a struggling figure completely swathed 
in silver cloth. His head had worn a cowl, which had been 
flung back in the struggle, but a mask was still strapped 
tightly across his face. Smelling nothing other than 
cloth, Meylona suspected he had used magic to disguise his 
scent. Signaling to Milmindeth to hold him, she boldly 
strode up and tore off the mask, the face of a snarling 
leopard. 
    A sullen face stared back at her. It was pink-skinned, 
streaked with black and white patches. Here and there, the 
skin rose in transparent bubbles. His silver eyes, beneath 
a shock of hair the rich warm yellow of butter, were not 
laughing now.
    "Tublond." Meylona worked to keep the shock out of her 
voice and face, to let him think she had been expecting 
this meeting. "You had the audacity to venture into a 
ka'cheer so soon again?"
    Tublond finally stopped struggling, accepting the 
simple truth that Milmindeth was stronger than he was, 
missing hand or no missing hand. Standing straight and 
proud, with no indication of how that must hurt, he bowed 
from the waist. "Lady Meylona. Did you appreciate my 
gift?"
    "I don't understand why you thought I would keep it."
    Tublond shrugged. "Births are nearly as rare among my 
people as among yours. Why should I not congratulate the 
mother of a child? Your deathtrotters have done nothing to 
me personally."
    Meylona shook her head in reluctant admiration. 
Whatever world he lived in, it had a logic all its own, if 
he could think nothing of venturing into an enemy 
stronghold to deliver a gift.
    "Where's Flight, by the way?" she asked, referring to 
the quicksilverbrute Tublond had bought while they 
traveled together. Though an animal in form, Flight 
possessed intelligence, and he had loved his master.
    "You don't need to know," said Tublond indifferently, 
his cool mask showing his composure would not alter even 
if they tortured him. "I didn't come here to discuss 
pleasant things, anyway. Business unpleasant to us both 
summons me back to your side."
    "I'm not going to give it to you, Tublond. Would you 
store that idea in your head?"
    Tublond smiled. It did not touch the silver eyes, 
which had laughed so much before he broke the facade. "My 
people were meant to have such a powerful talisman of 
life, Meylona. Only we have the strength to control it."
    Meylona didn't justify that obviously silly statement 
with a reply: in a life Elwen's hands, the Lifesword's 
chances to do what it termed "good" and the "ordering of 
the world" would be great.
    "I was sent to retrieve it for them. I plan to return 
in triumph. Give it to me, Meylona. You never wanted to 
carry it anyway."
    "You've hit upon truth for once in your life, 
Tublond." Still, she held her hands insultingly high, 
making it clear that she had no intention of reaching for 
the Lifesword.
    Tublond shook his head pityingly, then abruptly 
slammed into motion. An elbow crashed into Milmindeth's 
solar plexus, doubling him over in agony, and the 
papilifera lunged toward Meylona. She dodged him, throwing 
knife ready to fling.
    But he puffed into vapor before he reached her, and 
his mocking laughter informed her he had had no intention 
of completing the maneuver.
    "Let us draw the game out, if you will," he whispered, 
his voice lingering teasingly on each word. "It's ever so 
much more fun that way."
    Then the voice turned deadly serious. "But I assure 
you I will never rest until I have that sword, Meylona. 
You may escape for a week, a month, a year or a century. 
But when you look over your shoulder at the last, I will 
be there."
    Meylona was still shivering when the vapor faded from 
sight altogether.




                        Chapter 2
                 Farewells And Greetings
    Meylona knocked softly on the door before her, 
hesitant still, even after all the arguments they had held 
on this very subject. Still, she couldn't simply leave 
without a word to him.
    She had done that once before, and it had cost her 
more than she cared to think.
    Tumerin opened the door at once, his face soft, as if 
he had smelled her scent before she even knocked. 
"Meylona, my daughter." He clasped her shoulders in a 
brief hug, then stepped aside. "Come in."
    He knew what it was about, Meylona realized when she 
sat down on the other chair in the small yet neatly 
appointed chamber Tumerin had claimed as his own. His eyes 
followed all her movements as if to hold them in memory, 
as if she might fade before his eyes as Tublond had faded 
before hers.
    The thought of Tublond, and the way the Lifesword dug 
into her hip as she unwarily shifted her weight, reminded 
her that she couldn't waste time in reminiscing. "Father, 
I've come to say farewell," she blurted.
    It wasn't the right thing to say, and she lowered her 
eyes in confusion. She simply wasn't sure how to behave 
around her father, the stranger.
    For the past five centuries, since his wife's death, 
Tumerin had been a pale shadow of the man Meylona dimly 
remembered from the first hundred years of her childhood. 
Though he had remained alive to care for his children, 
Tumerin had retreated as they grew older and more self- 
sufficient, forcing them into distant roles as well. His 
soul had followed his wife's into death, and he looked 
forward with unmistakable longing to the day when he would 
join her there.
    When Meylona had returned to the Plains to save her 
people from Sapphiro's army, she had found her father 
under the spell of Baalma, the former Lady of Darkhand 
Klaina. He had forgotten Elide and his daughter, 
everything but devotion to the Lady. Following the release 
of that spell, he had changed yet again. He loved Elide 
still, but living among the members of Deathwield Klaina, 
people who cherished the memory of their gentle cousin and 
could speak to him about her, eased his pain.
    Meylona had learned how to react to Tumerin, how to 
cope with his sudden, pathetic interests in her affairs 
and the rare bursts of fatherly affection he would show 
her. In one way, he had merely hastened the process that 
would have happened anyway; death Elwens were encouraged 
to have no ties of affection to one another, to think of 
the Klaina before any individual. But now...
    "I will not ask you to bring back the dead past, my 
daughter," said Tumerin evenly, looking her in the eye. 
His eyes were the noble black of Darkhand Klaina, the 
color of Thaloth's, the color hers had been at birth. "But 
I will not ask you to forget it, either. I have a long 
road yet to walk." He glanced at the painting above the 
fireplace, a treasure one of Elshar's spies had been able 
to slip into Holin and retrieve.
    Meylona looked at it, too, without expression. It had 
hung in her own chambers for longer than she cared to 
think. It showed two death Elwens, one Tumerin and one a 
beautiful woman with soft, wavy green hair and dreaming 
green eyes. At their feet sat a little girl, Meylona 
herself, staring defiantly into the world.
    Tumerin still missed Elide with a terrible grief. 
Meylona had acclimated herself to living without her 
mother. It was only one of the many walls between father 
and daughter.
    Walls that would perhaps never come down, for Meylona 
did not intend to return after completing her quest. The 
outside world was too wide and beautiful, and had left too 
much of a mark on her, for her ever to be content within 
the walls of a ka'cheer again. Tumerin was tied, heart and 
soul, to the Klainae and the Plains.
    "I know, Father," she said formally, when she thought 
she could speak calmly. "And I am sorry I will not be here 
to help you walk it."
    "But your duty and your heart lie elsewhere,' Tumerin 
finished softly. "I understand." A sad, proud smile 
widened across his face. "What unusual children she and I 
birthed! Thaloth wants to spend a few more years in his 
native land, perhaps even a few decades, but in the end he 
too will leave."
    "How did you know?" Meylona was compelled to ask. Her 
brother, or so she thought, had told no one but her of his 
desire to live outside the Klainae and marry his 
akla'shoon.
    "I am not so inept at reading the eyes of my children, 
however poorly I know them." Tumerin looked up at her. 
"You came here for more than just a farewell. What do you 
want to know?"
    Meylona paused, astonished. She was tempted to retort 
that she would never see him again, and was that not 
important enough? But as her immediate indignation calmed, 
she knew well enough.
    "You told me right before I left to try and stop the 
army that my mother would have been proud of me. I 
wondered what you meant by that, and why you had never 
said it before." Tumerin had never related her and Elide 
in speech before, save to lament that no fragment of his 
wife's beauty lived on in his daughter.
    "You are the kind of person she would have been, had 
her soul not been too gentle," Tumerin said softly. "She 
often longed to do something drastic, and she deeply cared 
about her people. But she was too compassionate, too- 
indecisive, I suppose is the word. She could see every 
consequence of her actions in her mind, and some were too 
terrible to contemplate, at least to her.
    "What I meant, my daughter, was not that you have at 
last become your mother. I would not want that memory to 
rule you as it rules me. Rather, you have become what 
Elide always wanted to be."
    Meylona could not speak. Her eyes were filled with 
tears that fell warm onto her hand when she scrubbed at 
them. "Father, thank you," she whispered at last. "This is 
a farewell gift that cannot be damaged no matter what 
happens to me."
    "Then I hope you will forgive me for saying this 
again. Will you not stay? Life as a churni is not so bad, 
Meylona, for all its closure and its formality. There can 
be a quiet satisfaction in knowing you are carrying on an 
Ages-old tradition. And seeing Elide and me, can you doubt 
the possibility of love even in an alliance marriage?"
    "I will never make an alliance marriage, Father," 
Meylona said peacefully. Just a few days ago she would 
have been angry, wanting to put the issue behind her, but 
now she could discuss it rationally. "The man I will marry 
is lower in station, and no matter my dedication to churni 
principles, that would never be accepted by our people."
    Tumerin smiled wistfully. "As much as you love 
Milmindeth, that's not the only reason, is it?"
    "No, father." Meylona closed her eyes suddenly, tears 
stinging her for some disturbing reason that she 
determined to reason out later. "Have you ever looked out 
into a garden at sunset and seen the light running like 
water among the trees, the shadows like patches of liquid 
darkness, the closed flowers nodding to the chanting of 
the wind?"
    "I have." Tumerin's voice was soft with wonder, but 
whether at her description or at the memory, she did not 
know.
    "Well, the outside world holds a thousand such scenes, 
every sunset, and I will never see enough of them. It's 
for that, too, that I'm going back."
    "Understood." Tumerin came to her and touched her 
hands, then her face, in blessing. "May the Forces of 
Death go with you," he whispered in her ear, "though it 
sounds as if you should have been born into light and 
life. And remember that your father loves you."
    They embraced, then stepped back. Meylona walked 
through the door without a backward glance. Hadn't all 
that could be said been said?
    Still, after walking a short distance down the 
corridor outside her father's room, she leaned against the 
wall and attempted to analyze her tears. She was 
astonished to realized that the feeling that had caused 
them, and which lingered in her belly still, was 
homesickness.
    But why? she asked herself as she wandered back to her 
room. Milmindeth had let her go to the meeting with her 
father alone.
    Why do I feel a longing to return, when I'm already in 
the place I should return to, by all the rules of duty? 
Aren't I already home?
    It was a disturbing question, and the answer equally 
disturbing, at least to the last orthodox death Elwen part 
of her. 
    Perhaps not.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Thaloth, too, knew, but unlike his father he did not 
prolong the farewell. He shook his sister's hand, looking 
solemnly into her eyes- solemnly, but not so deeply as he 
would if they would never see each other again.
    When she asked him about that, he smiled, a heart- 
shatteringly sweet expression, and said, "I will not give 
up all hope that we may meet again someday, Sister. I will 
follow you soon, after all."
    Though, to the long-lived death Elwens, "soon" might 
mean anything from a day to one of the eighteen millennia 
their lives spanned, Meylona held faith that he would 
indeed follow her soon. Two death Elwens might not find a 
large welcome, but four together might have a better 
chance.
    For Thaloth, like Meylona, shared a forbidden bond of 
love with his akla'shoon, a red-haired woman named 
Kyaviga. She winked at Meylona over her charge's head and 
waved a hand, further confirming the female noble's belief 
that the separation would not be long.
    That done, she knew what she had to do next. Still, it 
was hard, and she made her way toward Elshar's chambers 
with reluctant steps.
    The fire that she had roused in him with her news of 
Sapphiro's escape had indeed been only temporary. Now he 
sat with his head between his knees, like one fainting 
from grief. A rumor was already circulating among the 
sha'sheerini that he had had one heart attack. It would 
not be long before that rumor would reach the nobles, 
those who depended most on Elshar's example, possibly 
panicking them or inspiring them to imitate Fimina and 
grab for the throne. It was an extraordinary situation, 
with the ruler killing himself, the lawful Heir dead, and 
the other lawful Heir not yet formally Confirmed. Some 
ambitious noble just might pull it off.
    Meylona would not permit that. If nothing else, she 
would do this one last thing for her people. Elshar was 
the leader Deathwield needed, and no other.
    She was going to shock him out of his catatonia if she 
had to half-kill him to do it.
    She knew as soon as she rapped on the door to his 
chambers that something was wrong. There came a slight 
scuffle, and then the soft, breathless voice of Elshar's 
akla'shoon. "My lord, please, don't-"
    Breathless, Meylona sensed, with fear. And not anxiety 
over her charge, either.
    Smashing her shoulder against the door, Meylona 
promptly rebounded back again. She spat as she saw a 
blood-lock on the door, a device that only responded to 
Deathwield nobles, or those who carried their blood. She 
could tell at a glance that it would take someone who 
ranked higher than her to undo this one.
    A tinkling crash, almost obscenely beautiful, like the 
music death Elwens sometimes made themselves. And again 
the voice, helpless with a fear that caused bile to well 
up in Meylona's throat. "My lord- please-"
    Cursing, for the first time, the lack of windows in a 
ka'cheer, Meylona did the only thing she could. Stretching 
out one arm, she sent a call for help ringing through the 
mental air.
    The darkness in the corridor seemed to rustle. A black 
gull formed out of the shadows, studying the door for a 
moment with sharply curious dark eyes. Then it slammed its 
beak onto the lock a few times in rapid succession.
    The lock tore apart in a sparkling burst of blue 
light, which naturally did no harm to the bird that 
embodied the divine part of Meylona. Meylona ran silently 
inside, the proudly squawking gull landing on her shoulder 
as she did so.
    The scene inside would have stunned Meylona to silence 
had she entered speaking, and it did silence the gull. The 
room was a shambles. The delicate table had been 
shattered, the chair overturned, a glass decanter of wine 
on a table hurled to the floor. Absently, Meylona noted 
that the wine on the glittering shards was silver, as 
silver as Elwen blood.
    Elshar had his akla'shoon on the floor, and was 
clasping her throat firmly in both hands. The green eyes 
he turned on Meylona had nothing of sanity in them.
    "You killed her," he snarled suddenly, his eyes fixing 
on Meylona. "You killed my daughter, my Heir!"
    Without a further glance at his akla'shoon- who was 
still breathing, if unsteadily- he stood and rushed at his 
cousin, hands spread wide and an expression that hungered 
for the kill on his face.
    Meylona jumped lightly aside and sent a second call 
for help out. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have. Elshar was a 
powerful mage, and in a contest of magic Milmindeth could 
not defeat him.
    But if he were intent on using physical force...
    Milmindeth was there in seconds, barreling through the 
open door and hitting Elshar in mid-stride, knocking the 
Lord to the ground. Elshar's akla'shoon howled a protest 
and started to rise to her feet, but Meylona held her back 
with one hand and a warning not to interfere.
    "He tried to kill you!" she finally had to shout in 
the stubborn woman's face. "Can't you see that he needs 
help?"
    Finally, the akla'shoon subsided. But her eyes never 
moved from her charge's prone form, shining with fear and 
the love akla'shooni quite often bore toward their nobles, 
whatever the nobles' feelings toward them. A good job 
Milmindeth had only had to punch Elshar in the mouth to 
send him into darkness, Meylona thought privately, or they 
would have had two problems on their hands.
    "What caused this?" Meylona asked at last, when 
Milmindeth looked up at her with a nod to indicate that 
Elshar was taking a nap.
    "I don't know, Lady." The akla'shoon stared at Elshar 
as she spoke, never moving her eyes from his face. "He 
seemed to convince himself that someone else had killed 
Fimina, and then he started to take it out on me, as if I 
were the murderer!" Hurt flashed in her pewter eyes.
    Meylona understood. The normal reaction of an Elwen 
when a loved one had been slain was catatonia and finally 
death- unless the loved one had been murdered. Then the 
survivor would seek out the murderer, no matter how long 
it took, and exact revenge, often a very subtle 
psychological one.
    It seemed reasonable that in Elshar's madness, subtle 
revenge had been disposed of along with sense.
    Meylona eyed the unconscious Lord's form with pity. In 
truth, Fimina had not been murdered, but taken by divine 
justice. She had tried to claim her father's throne, and 
the Forces of Death had punished her. But Elshar, who had 
loved Fimina whatever he said, couldn't bring himself to 
believe that. First he had wallowed in self-guilt, and now 
he was attempting to attach the blame to someone else.
    Meylona pitied him, but she had no thoughts of 
encouraging him in his fancy. That would be mortally 
dangerous. Whatever the cost- though his life might be 
judged too high- she needed to bring him back to sanity, 
to life again.
    She looked to the black gull for an answer; it might 
know something, as it was a divine creature and Elshar had 
collapsed right after summoning his divinity.
    The bird appeared to think for a moment. Then it 
hopped to the floor, extended its wings in Elshar's 
direction, and began to gently beat them.
    The Lord of Deathwield opened his eyes at once, though 
Milmindeth's blow should have laid him out for a good 
while longer. He stared at the gull without motion or 
sound for a moment.
    Then his scream seemed to rock the ka'cheer to its 
foundations.
    Meylona fell to her knees, her hands covering her ears 
and her shoulders shaking in helpless empathy. Though she 
had no idea of what Elshar was seeing, she could catch the 
outer edge of the horror he must be experiencing, simply 
from listening to his cries.
    Elshar continued screaming for a long moment, but was 
done before his akla'shoon could approach him. Then, 
abruptly, he climbed to his feet, face streaked with 
sweat, eyes wild and staring.
    Fearing he would run out of the room, Meylona started 
to motion Milmindeth to seize him again, but the Lord of 
Deathwield looked at the akla'shoon sanely as he 
approached and spoke calmly.
    "There's no need for that. I'm back."
    "Lord!" his akla'shoon cried, throwing her arms around 
him. Meylona almost felt like doing the same, for the old 
Elshar was back again. He embraced his akla'shoon in turn, 
then put her gently from him and looked up at Meylona with 
the starfire that had once driven both him and his Klaina 
in his eyes.
    "I suspect things are rather in a mess from my- 
illness." 
    Meylona saw no reason to hide the truth from him. 
"Yes. Your strength was needed, Lord, and without it the 
nobles and the Klaina faltered."
    "I will see them restored," Elshar promised. "But 
first, what might I do for you, Cousin?" His eyes had gone 
to the pack Meylona had slung over her shoulder; the 
thought of having to escape suddenly never left her. "You 
seem to be going on a journey." Though he must have known, 
having been there when the Forces of Death laid the quest 
on Meylona, he looked tense and unhappy, his mind refusing 
to let the knowledge in.
    Meylona nodded gently. "I planned to leave today if I 
could for a long time, Lord Elshar. The festival of 
Bluedance will ease the sorrow of my departure and give 
them some hope I might return as the summer returns, even 
if it isn't true. And, luckily, Dia's filly has been born 
and is able to run. I have no concrete reason for delaying 
any longer."
    Elshar signaled his understanding, then reached out 
and clasped her hand in the motion that meant equality. 
"You have been one of the few people I could trust these 
past weeks, Lady Meylona, whatever the color of your eyes. 
If you do find yourself compelled to return, make Aprim 
your first resting place."
    "We will." Meylona clasped his wrist tightly in 
return, trying to convey the depth of her gratitude and 
the gladness she felt at seeing him up again.
    Elshar nodded to Milmindeth and then strode from his 
room, his akla'shoon floating at his heels and fire in his 
eyes. Meylona envisioned him breaking into a plot to 
supplant him with a faint smile. Deathwield would receive 
a shaking up fairly soon.
    Still...
    What did you do to him? she felt compelled to ask the 
gull, who had returned to her shoulder and now showed 
signs of leaving if she needed it no longer.
    Showed him the truth, came the simple response.
    He already knew the truth, Meylona started to argue, 
but then she fell silent. She had seen too many examples 
recently of how people who knew the truth could be 
persuaded that one particular thing was not so.
    Exactly. He had persuaded himself that someone else 
had killed Fimina, and that he'd find justice by murdering 
the killer. The gull shrugged its wings. An interesting 
insanity, but very dangerous, and not only to other 
people. He proved strong enough to accept the truth a 
second time, but if he had not...
    Meylona left it at that. She was not so sure she 
wanted to know what would happen if he had not.
    Milmindeth had gone into the courtyard to make sure no 
one had been attracted by the noise of the scuffle or the 
Lord's screams. He came back in to report, with a faint 
smile, that the crowd gathered around Lord Elshar might 
include many people who had been hastening toward the 
screams. They would never know now.
    Meylona stood up, casting a final glance around the 
room, the last death Elwen room she would ever see. Though 
the broken furniture and spilled wine were unfortunate and 
atypical details, she thought the room could comfortably 
live in her memory as typical.
    Then she walked through the door, compelling herself 
not to look over her shoulder. It would only hurt more 
that way.
    She had intended to leave after dawn, the point of 
actual celebration and the peak of joy, but the Klaina 
members, guards, sha'sheerini, and nobles alike, were 
crowding so thickly around Elshar that she wondered who 
would be left to celebrate. Therefore, she made her way to 
the deserted stables where Dia rested with Nia, unnoticed 
in the throng. In a way, so much the better.
    Dia, to her surprise, did not delay them further with 
last-minute worries over the health of her filly, but 
tossed her head with longing when Meylona placed a gentle 
hand on her neck. -I do so want to run again- she confided 
to her rider, bunting her shoulder with a cold nose.
    "Are you sure you're strong enough?" Meylona asked in 
concern. Though the healers had been unable to estimate 
how much blood Dia had lost during the birth, the amount 
had been high.
    The mare tossed her head as if insulted, but it was 
Nia who answered first. -You doubt my mother? What kind of 
person are you-
    ^I see you have her well-trained,^ Meylona remarked 
dryly to Dia through telepathy.
    -In truth, yes- the mare replied serenely.
    Meylona nodded, unhooked the door of the stall, and 
led Dia out. Her fears were quickly allayed, for it was 
Dia who struggled to keep up with Nia, rather than the 
other way around. The filly tore back and forth with 
restless energy, returning to her mother's side for only a 
few moments at a time. Dia was at last obliged to curtail 
her movements.
    -Save your energy for the Plains- she advised her 
daughter, getting obedience and a sullen look from tiny 
red eyes in response.
    They met up with Skim and Milmindeth in the courtyard. 
The stallion could not hide his interest in his daughter, 
whom he was meeting for the first time. He bowed his head 
and nuzzled her gently. Nia went skittering three steps 
backward and rebounded in with a vengeance.
    -You think you can do that? I'll show you-
    -Please accept my apologies, Nia- her father said, and 
somehow with a straight face. -I had no idea you were so 
delicate- He spoke the word delicate with the twist that 
made it a compliment.
    -I like you- Nia decided after a moment, scraping the 
ground with a hoof. -You're nice. Who are you-
    -Your father-
    -What's a father-
    -Like a mother, only not as mean and without food. 
I'll let you play some more-
    With a squeal, the filly danced over to Skim's side. 
Meylona turned an amused look on her mare, who flicked her 
tail and calmly replied -She'll come back when she gets 
hungry enough-
    Already the first faint hints of the summer dawn were 
overcoming the eastern horizon. Meylona, knowing how fast 
the sunrise was on the first day of each season, hesitated 
no longer, but jumped to Dia's back. Though the ride was 
bumpy on a deathtrotter ordinarily, it was even more bumpy 
on an annoyed deathtrotter. Quite apart from the fact that 
any trotter wearing a saddle or bridle would be annoyed, 
the death Elwens considered it degrading. They were 
intelligent creatures; why should they wear the symbols of 
servitude more common to horses?
    The gates were already opening, compelled by Elshar's 
magic. Someone in the crowd was paying attention, at 
least. Meylona tossed a salute over her shoulder, still 
without looking back, and galloped Dia through the sudden 
opening. Skim followed, not as swift as his mate, with Nia 
alternating between her parents like a little black comet.
    Just as they broke free onto the Falchian Plains- a 
mass of cracked gray clay that stretched unbroken from 
horizon to horizon- the sun likewise shattered its bonds 
and rose into the air. For a moment, although seeming 
triumphant and brighter than usual, it was just a rising 
sun, a golden hole in the pale green sky of spring. For 
one moment, it seemed to hang still.
    Then the sky began to change.