Azure
                         Prologue
            478, Age of the Swan, High Summer
    A brisk knock on the door shattered Dhandra's sleep. 
The light Elwen blinked and rolled over, trying to orient 
herself. What she could see of the inside of her cottage 
only puzzled her further. Why should someone want to wake 
her up at dawn?
    Another knock, this one hard enough to make the glass 
in the windows rattle.
    "Go away," Dhandra muttered, rolling back onto her 
stomach and dragging her pillow over her head. Her eyes 
sagged slowly closed when the sound wasn't repeated, and 
she began to breathe deeply and softly. Sleep reached out 
for her again.
    This time, when the knocks came, there were three of 
them in rapid succession, followed by a long pause and 
then two more, slow ones.
    Dhandra sat up in surprise, attempting to pat her 
blond hair back into place and only disordering it 
further. "A commission?" she muttered, staring at the door 
while she reached for a comb. "At this hour of the day, at 
this time of the year?" She was usually hired in winter, 
when fleeing fugitives seemed to think that the snow and 
other evidence of harsh weather made them harder to track.
    She combed her hair in a leisurely manner, then stood 
and walked over to the door, picking up her sword before 
opening it. It paid to be cautious at times.
    "Yes?" she said to the indistinct figure, muffled by a 
heavy cloak, who stood on her doorstep.
    "Are you Dhandra Liluvi?" The voice, harsh and 
strangely wild even though calm, pricked her memory; she 
had heard voices like that before, and not so long ago 
either.
    "Yes. I am." She spoke casually, leaning against the 
wall but not opening the door any further. She kept the 
sword out of sight. The stranger would smell the steel, 
but not know what kind of weapon it was unless and until 
she showed it to him. "What may I do for you this fine 
morning?" Now that the mists of sleep were clearing from 
her mind, she could gauge the strength of the breeze and 
smell the warm scents of impatient flowers. It really 
would be a nice day.
    If only she could have slept a little longer, so that 
she was in a better mood to face it!
    "I have need of your services."
    "I deal with no one whose face I cannot see."
    A surprised chuckle broke from the man- for man it 
was- as he removed his cowl. "I thought that an elven 
custom," he said as he shook his hair out, "not Elwen."
    Dhandra blinked and recovered from her own surprise. 
No need to gape like a foolish child! "It is," she replied 
as she turned to lead the way into the cottage, "but I 
have taken it as my own. It makes a lot of sense. May I 
offer you wine, lord-?" She let her voice trail off in 
hopes of getting a name, but he shook his head absently to 
refuse both offers, instead unhooking a sack of coins from 
his belt and holding it out.
    "In here you should find a suitable fee."
    Dhandra took it gingerly, almost expecting him to 
scratch her as he passed it. Then she told herself to stop 
being so ridiculous. Just because the man was a duazad- a 
falcon Elwen- and had several striking features, like hair 
that resembled feathers more than hair, a sharply pointed 
nose, and the tips of wings poking up behind his 
shoulders, didn't mean that she had to-
    "Stare at me, if you like," the man invited, turning a 
slow circle. "You must, if you are to know what a falcon 
Elwen looks like. And what your prey looks like."
    His clothing was some of the most unusual Dhandra had 
ever seen. He wore leggings and tunic that were almost 
skin-tight, so as not to interfere with the flying he had 
to do. But the tunic resembled an ordinary garment only in 
the front. In the back, it was slit to let the wings poke 
through.
    He completed his rotation and gazed at her with dark 
eyes. Now she knew where she had heard a voice like his 
before. There was a pair of raptors nesting not so far 
from her house, and when they flew overhead on their 
hunting missions, screaming, they sounded almost exactly 
like he did.
    "I came to you because you are the best bounty hunter 
in Cytheria."
    Dhandra nodded, but opened the bag of coins before 
replying. Inside lay dozens and dozens of silver coins, 
but the light Elwen was unimpressed. That was only her 
usual fee.
    But the bag seemed a little heavier...
    At the bottom, she found them- three coins made of 
polished pyrite, one of the rarest metals in Arcadia, and 
stamped with the spreading tree of Rowan, which meant they 
were good all over Arcadia.
    Her eyes stared unswervingly at the falcon Elwen as 
she at last answered. "Even the best bounty hunter in 
Cytheria can't necessarily capture someone who can fly 
away whenever she wishes."
    "He, in this case," the duazad corrected. "And I know. 
Hence the extra money." He dug into a pocket of his tunic 
and produced ten more pyrite coins. "I am instructed to 
give these to you if you take the job, and agree to comply 
with our somewhat unusual conditions. The silver and 
pyrite there are merely to pay for your time."
    Dhandra sat down heavily on a chair, not bothering to 
hide both her elation and her dismay. Such a cache of 
money would feed her for perhaps a decade. But she had 
heard the occasional tale of a capture commanding this 
high a price before, and as often as not, the hunters did 
not live to spend their money.
    "Why?" she asked, azure eyes narrowed and focusing on 
the falcon Elwen's sharp stare.
    "The conditions, first of all." The duazad gave a 
gentle shrug, an odd movement that involved his wings as 
well as his shoulders. "We want him dead, not captured. 
And we want it done in a particular way."
    "I'm not an assassin." It was more an automatic 
protest than a truth. Dhandra had taken jobs before where 
her employer had indicated he or she would not be 
essentially displeased if the captive happened to die on 
the way back to civilization.
    The duazad smiled, as if he knew better. He had an 
irritating smile, she thought. "I know. You will not have 
to stick a knife in him. This 'particular way' I mentioned 
will only involve your cooperation, and is possible only 
because of certain things that are true about falcon 
Elwens and about our prey." His hands flexed like claws as 
he spoke the word "prey," and his voice deepened to a 
hiss.
    "What are they?"
    He told her, and she listened with quiet, intense 
interest. Even if she didn't take the job, she was 
learning interesting information that might be applied to 
another job at a later date.
    At the end of the recitation, she shook her head. "You 
wouldn't pay thirteen pyrites- or even three- for just 
that."
    "No." The duazad sighed softly, as if in exasperation. 
"This one will not be easy to catch or to kill. He is 
clever, expecting something like this to happen- because 
he is violating a sentence of exile- and a strong mage. He 
also has reason to be suspicious of me. You will have to 
seem to have no connection to me."
    "Easily. What is his name?"
    "Zar Feathermaster." He shook his head at her blank 
look. "He was exiled before you were born, and even then 
that was not his name. Falcon Elwens take a different name 
when they are exiled," he went on, when Dhandra continued 
to look at him. "Will you take the job or not?"
    Dhandra lightly juggled the bag up and down. She hated 
dealing with mages, largely because they did tend to be 
more intelligent than fighters.
    But they had never proven more intelligent than she. 
And someone flying into the very heart of the place he had 
been exiled from must have even less intelligence.
    She looked up, and her smile told her visitor all he 
needed to know. "When shall I set out for Eriaa-ollo- 
Garameyt?"
    "Soon. One of our holidays is coming up on the seventh 
of Friefrenton, and I fear Zar means to be back before 
then."
    Dhandra calculated, then nodded. She could be ready by 
then, if she left tomorrow.
    "The deal is settled, then?" the duazad asked.
    "Yes." She stood up and extended her hand to him. He 
clasped hers, sliding the ten pyrite coins to her as he 
did so. She slipped them into the pouch, feeling immensely 
better now that they were with her, where they belonged.
    The falcon Elwen walked to the door with an evident 
sense of relief, but her idle call stopped him. "Is there 
anything else I should know?"
    He turned around, his head starting to shake, and then 
paused. "Well- yes." A reluctant smile crept across his 
face, as if he could not believe he was admitting this to 
someone else. "This is a commission from the Nest of 
Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt. But I would take it as a personal 
favor if you could tell Zar Feathermaster how much I hate 
him just before he dies."
    "No problem. That service usually costs extra, but 
you've given me enough to cover it. But I'll need your 
name, of course."
    The duazad shrugged again, and gave it. "Rhyar 
Yaedirad."
    "Thank you." Dhandra gave him a small smile, and 
bowed. Her sword was still in her free hand, while the 
other held the money pouch tightly.
    Rhyar took the hint and left. A moment later, she 
heard something like the wingbeats of a heavy bird, and 
then he took off. She saw a great shadow briefly flick 
across the window and then disappear.
    Dhandra relaxed her grip on the sword and went to set 
it back in its place behind the door. The small smile 
stayed on her face as she tied the pouch to her belt and 
went over to a large chest in the corner.
    Well, well, well. A most unusual assignment. This 
should be interesting.
    Humming, she opened the chest and nudged the folded 
clothes inside aside with her hands. She had to root to 
the bottom of the trunk to find what she was looking for, 
and by the time she had done so, the morning light 
streaming in through the cracks in the shutters was 
extremely bright. The whiplash barks of the hounds of the 
Dawn Chase, hunting the evil that had crept in while night 
reigned in the Rivadan Valley, broke out some distance 
away.
    Dhandra walked over and opened the shutters, holding 
the silky thing she had plucked from the chest close to 
her. The pane of glass that now admitted sunlight freely 
swung up easily, and the bounty hunter took a deep breath 
of clean, fresh air.
    It was a beautiful day, shimmering, spangled light 
dancing over a run of lush grass and a grove of trees just 
beginning to change color. Dhandra sucked it into her 
lungs over and over again, then laughed aloud.
    It was good to be back on the hunt.
    Spinning around, she admired her grin and the shining, 
deep blue gown she held in the mirror on the wall.
    Yes, this should be very interesting indeed.




                        Chapter 1
                          Return
            478, Age of the Swan, Late Summer
    "Shadows are chased away by sunlight, and come 
creeping back in the light of the fire."
    -Saying attributed to the Master of Sager, called the 
Mad Mage.

    Zar Feathermaster shivered and pulled his wings tight 
to his body as a slight wind meandered past him. While the 
sun still shone, the breezes had all been warm, but they 
seemed to take the opportunity of late to show off the 
coming coolness once night had fallen.
    Moving warily, he leaned forward and picked up the dry 
stick of firewood he had located just before he heard the 
odd sound and felt the chill breeze. Then he lifted his 
head and went back to looking and listening.
    It was frustrating to have to rely only on mundane 
senses, the young falcon Elwen thought, frowning to 
himself. But too many creatures who could sense the use of 
magic lived in Cytheria's wildwoods. His farsight would 
have to wait until he was sure it was safe to use it.
    He glanced down at the bundle of wood cradled in the 
crook of his arm. A few pieces more should do the trick, 
he thought, and moved forward, wincing at every loud 
crackle of leaf or twig. He didn't walk in forests often 
enough to know how to move silently.
    The sound he had heard was not repeated, and soon his 
mind went to work convincing him that it had only been his 
imagination, or something perfectly natural like a tree 
falling over deeper into the forest. Of course, there had 
been a coldness to it that, unlike the breeze's, was not 
explicable.
    It had sounded like the chuckle of some evil and 
powerful being.
    Zar extended a wing to wipe his sweaty brow, 
displeased to feel that his sweat, too, was cool. 
"Imagining things," he muttered out loud, dodging around a 
hefty tree he didn't recognize to pick up some dried deer 
droppings. Lamara's magic worked better on them than it 
did on the wood, though they still had to use wood to 
start the fire, for some reason. "Even if there is 
something out here, it's not the Darklight come ba-"
    A shrill neigh exploded from in front of him, and then 
the sound of pounding hooves came, tearing straight 
towards him.
    Zar took off instinctively, ducking and dodging as 
branches poked at him and tore his clothing. In moments, 
he was hovering above the canopy, which was low and sparse 
here, and studying the ground warily.
    Nothing. The sounds had faded as quickly as he had 
come, though a moment before the hoofbeats had been as 
loud as an avalanche.
    Nothing...
    Zar slowly lowered himself to the ground again, 
staring warily into the shadows, so unnerved that he 
almost let his farsight go even though it wouldn't have 
been wise. With quick, jerky movements, he picked up the 
droppings, then launched himself upward again. 
    He flew easily above the forest back toward their 
campsite, a small, sheltered hollow on the edge of the 
forest, and as he flew, he felt his heart begin to slow 
down. He had become wary of strange magical manifestations 
ever since his defeat of the Darklight. He couldn't 
forgive himself for missing all the obvious signals that 
particular parasite had given him, and he was determined 
to miss no more.
    But he was home now. This was not Caladariz, but 
Cytheria, where magic ruled.
    Although he did have good reasons to be wary...
    Briefly, the sight of the dead Princess filled his 
inner eyes again. Zar shook his head angrily and banished 
the memory. He couldn't have done anything else. 
Kalimarina Hervesheir had been only an avatar for a 
parasite that could corrupt and enslave the minds of free 
Elwens, and had caused the death of her own mother. It was 
only right to kill her.
    But they could be hunting him for such a crime.
    The hollow came into view below, and he swooped, 
backbeating just above the ground so that he could land on 
his feet. Lamara, curled in the very last beam of fading 
sunlight on the western side of the dell, lifted her head 
to watch him.
    "I suppose you got the firewood?" She went on without 
waiting for an answer. "We have to have some warmth when 
the sun goes down. Honestly, I don't see how you Arcadians 
can stand it. The suns set on Lohtan, but the warmth 
always remains; enough for me to move. And I think that 
the warmth is a small price to pay for-"
    Zar dropped the firewood to cut her off. For someone 
who resembled nothing so much as a red-gold snake with 
deep blue eyes, Lamara loved the sound of her own voice. 
"I brought the firewood," he said dryly.
    "I noticed." After a moment, the Runeworker uncoiled 
and slithered forward. Her eyes fastened on his face, and 
she coiled backwards a bit. "You look as pale as 
starlight. Did something happen in the woods?"
    "Not really." Zar knelt down to begin piling the wood 
in the firepit he had already dug. "I heard a few strange 
noises, like laughter and a crazed horse, but nothing 
attacked me."
    Lamara turned her head to glare at the woods. "I don't 
like that forest, either," she said primly. "It looks like 
a place where Nightwalkers would walk."
    Zar only grunted as he pulled out his flint. He knew 
Lamara, who came from another world, well enough by now to 
know when she was going to launch into one of her stories 
of that world.
    Lamara swayed slowly back and forth, something she 
often did when deep in thought, as she spoke. "No one 
really knows where the Nightwalkers came from, or why they 
still exist. The Night is weaker than the Rune, and any 
who adhere to it die easily. Quite easily," she added, 
tapping her tail against the ground, her equivalent of a 
smile.
    Zar shivered, a little. He had seen how her poison 
worked, as well as the numerous runes she could curl her 
body into. He kept his own eyes, gray as the clouds 
closing in overhead, on his work, rather than meeting 
hers, which would have a dreamy, contented glow.
    "But they do," Lamara went on, "and they live in the 
forests, where some fragments of the Night still linger. 
Perhaps they draw strength from those. I don't know. But 
they are hungry, and dangerous to anyone who walks into 
those forests."
    "We have some creatures like that," Zar offered. A 
cheerful fire sprang up between his hands, a spark finally 
catching, and he sat back to watch her over the rapidly 
growing fire. "None quite as dangerous, perhaps," he added 
hastily as Lamara's tail lashed, "but some like that."
    "Yes, you do."
    For a moment, Zar couldn't believe that Lamara, who 
got angry when he hinted that Arcadia was in any way equal 
to Lohtan, would speak so calmly. Then he realized that 
the voice had come from the deepening dusk beyond the 
fire.
    Slowly, he turned to look, already silently calling on 
his magic. It sprang up in him, buzzing just beneath his 
skin, ready to defend him.
    He could see nothing for a long moment. Then the night 
became deep enough for his nightsight to take effect. The 
sudden, pale brilliance of the auras created by the force 
of existence let him see a great black creature standing 
just yards away, at the edge of the forest.
    A creature with glowing red eyes.
    Zar suspected he knew what it was. He kept his voice 
even, not letting it shake, as he said, "Welcome. What may 
I do for you?"
    "Nothing." The creature pranced a few steps forward, 
into the area where the light could touch it, rendering it 
harder to see as nightsight and normal sight mingled. Then 
the red eyes flared, and it scraped the ground with a hoof 
as it turned to look at Zar. "Unless you care to tell me 
why you're so close to falcon Elwen lands."
    In answer, Zar spread his wings. They would add to the 
impression of menace he was trying to project, which was 
an advantage if it would work.
    "Ah." But the creature did not sound satisfied. "You 
have a most unusual traveling companion, duazad. Will you 
tell me what she is?"
    "Come into the light," Lamara challenged, her tail 
lashing, her voice sounding strained with an effort to 
keep from being angry.
    The dark creature obliged. Zar let his eyes slip back 
to normality as he studied it. It looked like a horse, 
though an unusually fine one, standing about a wingspan 
tall at the withers. The red eyes, not so startling in the 
firelight, met his calmly, and the ink-black tail swished 
back and forth, as if casually swatting at flies.
    "A horse?" Lamara all but sneered, almost perfectly 
mimicking the tone the forest creature had used in 
speaking of her.
    The horse turned its head to watch her, and the wide 
lips rolled back from teeth sharp and strong- the teeth of 
a predator, not a grass-eater.
    "Not a horse," Zar said hastily. He should have 
remembered that Lamara hated anyone who aspired to the 
same heights of arrogance she did. "A Pooka." The beast 
calmed at his description, the lips falling back over the 
teeth, and the tail, which had briefly moved more quickly, 
like a cat's, slowing again. "Pooka, this is my companion, 
Lamara, of Lohtan. She is a Runeworker. Might we know your 
name?"
    "Jornin," said the Pooka. As with Lamara, it was not 
clear how he spoke. His lips did not move, but his voice 
was not telepathic; Zar felt it ring clearly in his ears. 
It was more a projection than anything else, the falcon 
Elwen supposed. "I am one of the guards for Eriaa-ollo- 
Garameyt this month. When I saw the light of a fire, I was 
naturally curious."
    Zar closed his eyes, searching his spotty memories of 
his homeland. Yes, now that he remembered, his people had 
bargained with the settlement of Koppa for some Pookas 
every month as ground guards. In return, the duazadi 
looked away when the Pookas played some deadly tricks on 
intruders or any enemies of theirs who happened to wander 
into the area.
    "You didn't know this?" said Jornin, and now he 
sounded suspicious.
    "I have been long away from my home," said Zar 
quietly. He had decided already not to conceal his purpose 
or his destination. He was going to be open with anyone 
who wanted to ask.
    They might accuse him of violating a sentence of 
exile, but he would continue to see himself as one long 
wronged and sent to the edges of the world, coming home at 
last.
    "But this bargain has been in place for more than 
fifteen thousand years. You do not look that old." There 
was a smile in the Pooka's voice, but none on his face. 
His bared teeth, though his lips were rolled back almost 
casually, certainly could not be mistake for a smile.
    "I know. But I was exiled, and a memory-block put in 
place. I do not remember much about Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt, 
I'm afraid." Zar held out his hands and slightly tipped 
his spread wings in a gesture of submission, though his 
mind was busily deciding his first attack if Jornin should 
rush him.
    Jornin let out a sharp snort, almost the sound a horse 
might make, but with the coldness in it that Zar had heard 
earlier. His lips dropped again, and he cocked his head, 
pawing the ground with a hoof. 
    "I don't know what to do with you," he said at last. 
"My instructions never included anything on how to handle 
falcon Elwen criminals." He ruminated for a moment, then 
nodded decisively. "Yes. I think I shall have to escort 
you to Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt, and leave you in the custody 
of the duazadi there."
    "I have no objection," Zar answered freely.
    "I do!" Lamara had been watching the dialogue between 
the two with growing amazement, and now her tail lashed 
back and forth wildly as she looked up at Zar. "How are we 
to fly, with him lumbering along beside us?"
    The Pooka and the duazad exchanged tolerant smiles. 
Then the Pooka stepped briefly out of the firelight, and 
the heavy smell of magic filled the air.
    A moment later, Jornin hopped back in. The magnificent 
black horse was gone, replaced by a black owl so enormous 
that the thought he could fly defied imagination- unless, 
of course, like Zar in falcon Elwen form, he used magic. 
His bright eyes, still red, and his hooked silver beak and 
claws gleamed in the firelight.
    "We can still fly," Zar assured the staring, stunned 
Lamara.
    The Runeworker cocked her head back and looked up at 
him. "You knew he was a shapeshifter the entire time," she 
said quietly.
    "Yes, of course." Zar tried to look repentant, but he 
could not help grinning. It was so rare that he surprised 
her that he could not help reveling in the victory a 
little.
    The snake turned away and slid into the deeper grass 
with a flick of her tail. Zar rolled his eyes tolerantly 
and let her go. She was probably off in a huff to hunt, or 
whatever she thought would be best to calm her heated 
temper.
    "A most unusual creature," said Jornin, with another 
snort. He had already changed back into his horse form 
again. He cocked his head as if to see over the fire. "Do 
you have vespermeal ready yet?"
    "Not yet," said Zar, making a a polite bow, wings 
spread to the sides. "You are welcome to join me if you 
like."
    "Glad to." Jornin dropped to the ground with an odd, 
fluid movement that a real horse would never be able to 
accomplish, and lounged beside the fire as bonelessly as a 
cat. His red eyes blinked at the flames with contented 
sleepiness, and he yawned, the light glinting on his 
fangs.
    Zar slipped quietly into the sky. He had no thoughts 
of even trying to collect Lamara and flying away, even 
though she probably did. He would stay here and entertain 
the Pooka, and try to convince him that he had every right 
to be here.
    It was the honorable thing to do.
    Besides, there were unnerving tales of those who 
disappointed creatures like Pookas.
    Zar circled briefly, then concentrated and Shifted. It 
was something he had once been unable to do, this changing 
of shapes in midair, but many things were coming more 
easily to him lately. He supposed it was a consequence of 
using his magic more extensively, both to fight the 
Darklight and to work around the magic-eating banestone 
she had hung on him.
    The world turned more dusky at once, and the looming 
shapes of trees became an indistinct, cloudy menace. 
Unconcerned, Zar extended his farsight. He was now sure 
there were no dangerous creatures in the immediate 
vicinity, or Jornin would have dealt with them. Besides, 
farsight when used by a duazad in falcon form was subtly 
different from the sight used by a duazad in Elwen form.
Zar didn't know why that was so, but he trusted it to 
protect him.
    Using farsight was a strange experience. He could see 
past barriers, including the barriers most minds had. 
Though he could not actually read thoughts unless he could 
look someone in the eye and their barriers happened to be 
down for some reason, he could get a general feeling of a 
person's or an animal's disposition and general mood.
    Like now. There was a crow roosting in that tree over 
there, and an owl dropping down, filled with cruel blue 
hunger, to hunt, and a nest not so far away where the 
great winged cats known as suultae slept. None of them 
interested him, of course; he wouldn't tackle the bigger 
predators, and he had been eating too much crow lately. 
But he knew they were there, and could slip silently by.
    He identified a family of quail not too far away, 
either, and was tempted for a moment. But no; they would 
fly too quickly. He wanted to take something that wouldn't 
require much work.
    At last, he found it. A kingbird had been wounded in 
the wing earlier that day and was now resting on a branch, 
not having the strength to fly back to the nest it shared 
with its mate. It would take a little persuasion to scare 
it into the air, but that was easily arranged.
    He called a wind. It howled briefly around him, then 
plunged past, straight for the branch.
    The kingbird uttered a startled squawk and tried to 
maintain its perch. But the wind was too strong, and at 
last it sprang upward, wearily beating its way toward  
safer shelter.
    Zar felt the hunger claim his mind, turning it briefly 
from that of an Elwen to pure falcon. He set his talons 
and plunged, the lightning-quick fall of the peregrine.
    The kingbird might have escaped him if it had had any 
kind of warning. But it didn't, and he struck it cleanly, 
knocking it to the ground. It died without a sound, so 
heavy was his hit.
    Zar landed beside it and transformed back into an 
Elwen. He would have to be so to hunt heavier game, the 
kind the Pooka would like, too big for a falcon to catch.
    It turned out, just as with the kingbird kill, to be 
easier than he had expected. A young rabbit without a 
thought in its head walked almost into his hands. It had 
time for a single scream before his hands closed about it, 
cutting off the scream quickly and silently.
    He came back to the camp at almost the same time as 
Lamara. She said nothing, instead curling just inside the 
circle of firelight and staring watchfully at Jornin.
    Jornin looked up at Zar, his red eyes blinking in 
amusement. "Not very friendly, is she?"
    Zar couldn't think of a safe response to that, so he 
merely shrugged and began searching for sticks on which to 
roast the rabbit. Jornin stopped him with a snort and a 
shake of his heavy mane. "No. I prefer my food uncooked."
    "Of course," said Zar pleasantly, handing it to him.
    The Pooka bowed his head and scooped up the rabbit's 
head in his teeth, gnawing it cleanly off. Then he twisted 
around to lick casually at the blood pumping from the 
corpse. His muzzle gleamed red in the firelight, and he 
blinked again, this time with the clean happiness of a 
want satisfied.
    Zar ate his own prey raw, as well, feeding until he 
had a full stomach. It might be some time before he would 
feed so well again. Captives tended to be kept on water 
and food that had been cooked within the limits of 
edibility, and that was for minor crimes. He was not sure 
what they would do to someone who had broken exile.
    He did not think they would kill him. It was forbidden 
for one falcon Elwen to kill another.
    But would that prevent him from flying into one of the 
traps that might have been set up in the years since he 
had been gone, the traps that they would not grieve if he 
died in?
    His thoughts were interrupted by Jornin's whinnying 
sigh. "I thank you. That was very good." He lifted his 
head to fix his eyes on Zar. "And I will consider your 
hospitality complete if you will only do one more thing 
for me."
    Zar could sense Lamara stirring angrily at what she 
considered presumption, but he had more common sense than 
the Runeworker. "Of course. What?"
    Jornin was quiet for a long moment, as if he were not 
going to answer or thought Zar should pick it up on his 
own. Then he said, "I hear living voices so seldom when I 
am out here on patrol, and none of the tales or songs that 
my people love. Will you sing a song for me? Or tell a 
tale, perhaps?"
    He turned his head as if to include Lamara in the 
offer, but she only looked the other way, tail lashing. 
The Pooka's eyes flared like stars going supernova, and 
his muscles rippled as if he were about to rise to his 
feet. Zar hastily intervened. "I have been on the road and 
in the wild places of Arcadia for almost three thousand 
years, my lord. I would be happy to tell you something 
that I remember."
    Jornin looked at him remotely, dangerously, his eyes 
still bright. "I think I would prefer a song."
    "Of course, of course." Zar sighed inwardly. He always 
had to patch up the mistakes of other people, it seemed. 
"Give me a moment, my lord, to think of one."
    The Pooka settled back down, his eyes calming and his 
tail giving a little flick, almost like a shrug. "There is 
no need to call me my lord, Zar. I hope there are no need 
for such formalities between us."
    Yes, Zar thought dryly, but if I hadn't done it, you 
might have torn me to pieces. That's all.
    "Yes, Jornin," he said instead, and searched his 
memory for a suitable song, He could not immediately think 
of any that might be suitable to entertain a shapeshifting 
creature who could kill him at any moment he chose, and 
who looked at Zar rather expectantly from across a dying 
fire, confident that the falcon Elwen would live up to his 
unstated expectations.
    At last, he gave up. "What kind of song would you like 
to hear, Jornin?"
    Jornin dipped his head a little, snorting with 
eagerness. "Why- a tale of mystery, or of battle, or of 
love. All of them are appropriate for this night." He 
laughed as if at some great joke, and turned to look over 
his shoulder at the woods.
    Zar knew better than to ask if the Pooka thought 
something would attack them. At best, he would take it as 
an insult to his scouting skills, and attack. At worst, he 
would think that Zar was inferring things from his words 
that were not there, and attack.
    "Very well," Zar said after a moment. "There is a song 
I heard some years ago, on the edge of the Barren Desert. 
I was thinking about crossing it." He shuddered very 
faintly. "This song was one of the things that persuaded 
me not to."
    "I should be eager to hear it, then." Jornin dropped 
his head to his forelegs like a great dog, and noisily 
licked some blood from his muzzle. 
    Zar nodded, took one moment more to search his memory 
for the proper words and tune- it had been so long, even 
though the song was still with him- and began. The song 
spiraled upwards towards the stars, cutting a lonely 
challenge through the dark.

    "My lord, my lord, where do you think to ride,
     On the gleaming sands, beyond the edge of the world?
     Surely you cannot think to ride to the dance
     That is held in the distant places beyond the world?

    "And why should I not go there, why should I not?
     Think you not that they would welcome me?
     Think you not that a stranger from the green lands
     Would be a strange and wondrous sight to see?

    "My lord, my lord, it is not that. I doubt not
     Your courage, nor the strength of your sword.
     But I fear the legends that are whispered under star
     And moon, of the places that do not hold you lord.

    "You need fear nothing, nothing at all.
     I am the one who shall make this journey, this quest.
     I shall leave behind all the lands green and fair,
     And ride away, away, into the lands beyond the west.

    "My lord, my lord, you will return with eyes haunted, 
     Loving and sighing for a woman you will never see.
     Or you will not return at all, and then your soul
     Will scream on nights when the sky is empty.

    "I will return, ah yes, I will. No one will deny
     That my will is stronger than all challenges dear.
     I will come back to the green lands of the world,
     And you will see that I am smiling, without fear.

    "My lord, my lord, then I must let you go,
     To the places were the dunes stream over the land,
     To the places where the cacti and nothing else grows,
     To the places where linger the ghosts of the sand.

    "Yes, yes, you must let me go, to the horizon
     Beyond which the sun is softly speaking and calling.
     Do you not hear it singing to me, singing
     My name as it descends, westward away falling?

    "My lord, my lord, I hear it, and I weep as you ride.
     Perhaps it is your destiny to go through this door.
     But still my tears fall, rare water in the desert,
     For love of one whom I will never see more."

    The Pooka was still throughout Zar's song, staring and 
listening, making the both of those things seem to be one 
activity. Then he lifted his head and shook his mane with 
a soft snort. Strangely, the first thing his eyes sought 
was not the falcon Elwen's face, but the forest behind him 
again.
    "A strange song," he said at last, and his voice 
seemed quieter, more withdrawn, as if the music had 
prompted thoughts within him that he did not wish to 
consider. "You remembered all these years by a great force 
of will."
    It was not a question, but Zar answered as if it was. 
"Yes, I did."
    "Well." Jornin turned back, and the faintly troubled 
look had vanished from his eyes. Zar wondered how he could 
have read it there in the first place; surely that burning 
gaze was not so expressive as all that. "Then I must grant 
you the same hospitality."
    Zar felt a lump form in his throat. Pookas never 
returned the courtesy they demanded of others unless their 
respect had been truly and totally won. "My lord- Jornin, 
I mean. That isn't necessary-"
    "Yes, it is," said the Pooka, swishing his tail back 
and forth insistently. "That was a lovely song, and one 
that I shall remember. I think that I owe you at least-"
    The cold chuckle that Zar had heard earlier sounded 
from just behind the fire. Zar turned unhurriedly, 
thinking that there was another Pooka there, and Jornin 
would surely raise his head and invite the newcomer in.
    But Jornin instead scrambled to his hooves in one 
fluid motion, springing over the fire like a dark wind. He 
spoke not a word, but charged into the night. A moment 
later, there was the sound of hooves crashing into ribs 
and a loud, angry shriek like that of a wounded stallion.
    Zar was not sure why he was immediately sure that this 
was something Jornin would lose his life fighting. He was 
even less sure why he snatched a brand from the fire and 
immediately ran toward the fight, rather than taking the 
opportunity to fly away, as Lamara's urgent hiss in his 
direction seemed to suggest would be the wise thing to do. 
Perhaps it was because he felt he owed the Pooka 
something, though what was not entirely clear, either.
    But he ran.
    The fight was not far away, but farther than he had 
expected, and he almost crashed into the combatants before 
he saw them. Then he danced back, holding his torch high. 
The creatures might have magic to hide in the dark, in 
which case nightsight would be of no use.
    Besides, it comforted him to have the light nearby.
    Two dark shapes- no, three- encircled the Pooka, who 
was putting up a fine fight, rearing and striking out at 
them with hooves and fangs that shone sickly red in the 
light of the torch and of his eyes. The creatures looked 
like cats, or so Zar thought, great dark cats as whip- 
quick as a falcon in the dive. They moved so fast, in 
fact, that he couldn't get a good look at them. They were 
here, there, and everywhere, every now and then letting 
out those cold and mirthless chuckles.
    Then one of them dashed forward, loosing a breath at 
Jornin. Fire filled the night, there came a sound of 
burning flesh, and the Pooka screamed in rage. His return 
kick barely scraped the thing as it veered back into the 
night.
    Zar knew what these things were now, and he refused to 
panic. Il'iini were dangerous foes, but they could beaten. 
If only he were allowed to get off a shot of wind before 
others came, because that was the main danger. They hunted 
in packs-
    Something crashed into his back, bearing him to the 
ground, and a pair of claws tried to dig into his back and 
wings even before he hit the earth.
    Zar hit hard, but he did not need his lost breath to 
summon the wind. It screamed just above him, hurling the 
powerful creature crouched on him into as tree as if it 
were a bit of twig. Then it turned, on his command, and 
went screaming toward the fight.
    It caught a puff of fire coming from an il'iini's 
mouth and tossed it full into the face of another cat- 
creature just getting ready to spring. The il'iini 
screamed and pawed at its muzzle with sharp claws, 
blinding itself. Almost at once it turned and crashed into 
the underbrush, running away. Its squalls trailed 
backwards to the small clearing for a long moment.
    The other two il'iini turned away from the Pooka to 
face Zar. They seemed to be incapable of concentrating on 
more than one target at once. They stalked forward, 
movements as smooth as quicksilver, hinting teasingly at 
but not showing that enormous speed.
    Zar sprawled where he was, a seemingly helpless 
target, waiting for them with his head up in proud 
defiance. That also happened to bare his throat, and make 
a beautiful target for the cats.
    The one who had burned Jornin and its hapless packmate 
broke first. It charged forward in a single blurring 
bound, looking to rip out his throat with those great 
pointed fangs.
    Zar launched himself upward with two heavy beats; he 
was moving before the il'iini was, or he would never have 
survived. As it was, he took a heavy swipe from the claws 
along the side of his tunic, but it barely drew blood, 
thanks to the cloth. Hovering over the clearing, he turned 
a tight circle and came back down, still waving the torch 
wildly.
    An il'iini leapt to meet him, flailing away wildly 
with its claws, like an inexpert swordfighter, before it 
ever got within reach. Zar spun and kicked it in the 
mouth, diving beyond it to a skidding landing that tore up 
a long swath of grass.
    The il'iini collapsed, trying to stand again but 
instead consumed by the pain of the blooded and broken jaw 
he had given it. The last il'iini paused, as if to listen 
to the unhappy sounds this newest victim was making and to 
the now-inaudible sounds of its running packmate.
    Its eyes, glowing as red as Jornin's in the 
torchlight, fixed on Zar and narrowed. It inched forward 
like a true cat, tail weaving interesting little patterns 
of intertwined snakes in the air.
    Zar stood and let it come. He was barely aware that 
Jornin had stopped licking his wounds, gained a badly 
needed breather, and moved to his side. This one was his 
alone to handle, a private contest between him and the 
predator who considered him its lawful meal.
    "I could help you." The Pooka's voice was soft, but 
excited, eager. Zar knew he longed for a chance to strike 
back at one of the tormentors and avenge his stolen honor.
    But the falcon Elwen shook his head. "Not this one, 
please, Jornin. This one is mine." He had not looked at 
the Pooka while he spoke, but into the il'iini's eyes, and 
now he was sure. The half-intelligent madness there said 
that one of the injured cats- probably the one even now 
mewling and spitting blood from a jaw that would condemn 
it to slow starvation- had been its mate.
    There could be no quarter.
    The il'iini dropped completely to its belly. A growl 
was rising in its throat, building into a dull, screaming 
song.
    It sprang, but Zar was the quicker- was, in fact, 
ready for it. He swept one hand downward, a quick, final 
gesture. It was not necessary to command the magic so, but 
it felt necessary this time.
    The wind was a draft that flattened the il'iini to the 
ground for a crucial moment. Then Zar lunged forward, his 
hands shaping and reforming themselves into talons as he 
moved.
    His talons locked on either side of the il'iini's head 
and drove into the soft, thick fur. The creature spat and 
tried to move backward, raising a paw to rip him down his 
foolishly unguarded side.
    Again, Zar was the quicker. The lifting paw faltered 
and fell back to the ground after a moment. The il'iini 
fought for its survival for a few moments as the 
relentless claws dug into its head, snarling and spitting, 
its own claws tearing deep furrows into the earth. The 
earth parted as easily as the fur did for Zar, but it did 
the trapped beast no good.
    Another heartbeat, another blink, and it was over. The 
scraping claws relaxed, and the il'iini fell dead to the 
ground. Zar flexed his bloodied talons and stepped away, 
towards the other cat. It, too, received a merciful death; 
it would have starved otherwise, with no way to eat.
    Then he examined the cat his wind had flung aside 
earlier in the battle. He need not have worried, he 
quickly discovered. The il'iini had hit a tree head first, 
snapping some crucial bones, and lay as still as the other 
two.
    He turned back, claws still snapping open and shut 
like steel traps, to see Jornin regarding him blankly.
    "Why?" the Pooka said, snorting at the same time, so 
that coldness mingled in his words.
    Zar blinked, and shook his head. Then he shook his 
talons, so that blood and bits of unpleasant matter rained 
off them to the earth. He did not reply
    "Not that I respect you any the less for it," the 
Pooka said, misinterpreting Zar's silence. "Indeed, it is 
a good thing that an Elwen can kill these beasts as they 
deserve to be killed!" His eyes darted bright rays of 
approval for a moment as they swept over the il'iini. "But 
I have never seen one of your kind do something like that. 
Why?"
    "I- I was possessed by some wildness," said Zar 
haltingly, relaxing his magic and letting his fingers melt 
back into reality. "That's the only way I could explain 
it. I had to kill them, and I had to kill them the way a 
falcon might." He looked himself at the dark, dead 
adversaries. "If it was big enough," he had to add.
    Jornin seemed to accept the explanation at face value, 
and walked back towards the camp. Zar trailed him, shaking 
his head to free his mind from the last traces of the 
daze.
    Lamara reared back when she saw them, then overcame 
her seeming horror and slithered towards Zar. "You're 
hurt," she said, her eyes on the small slash in his side, 
which was now beginning to well silver blood.
    Zar waved her away. He needed to be by himself for a 
few moments, to think. "I'm fine. But I think Jornin may 
need some of your healing magic."
    Lamara's cobalt eyes seemed to take fire, but she had 
never refused her help to any person out of spite. She 
turned toward the Pooka and flicked her tongue out with a 
questioning motion. He knelt, turning so that she could 
see and reach his burned side and the place where the 
teeth and claws of the il'iini had scored lucky hits.
    Zar wandered into the night, towards the woods, from 
which the danger had not come after all. Wondrous though 
Lamara's magic was, he had seen it before, and would see 
it again. This might be the last reprieve that he would 
get for a while.
    The stars were thicker beyond the dying glow of the 
fire, and the air seemed clearer and sweeter. Zar breathed 
deeply and flexed his wings carefully.
    No. Nothing. Whatever scratches the il'iini had given 
him in springing onto his back were superficial.
    And he had killed three of them, and sent a fourth 
running.
    It is one thing, he thought as he looked up at the 
stars in some vain search for calm, that you can kill with 
your magic, that it has grown in strength. It is another 
thing altogether to see yourself actually do it, and for 
no good reason.
    Well, not no good reason. Jornin would have died if 
Zar had not joined the battle, simply because his 
conceptions of honor and pride would not have allowed him 
to turn into an owl and fly away. And then the pack would 
have fallen upon him and Lamara. So he had been defending 
his own life and hers as well as Jornin's.
    "All right," he said aloud, not caring if the wind 
carried his words to his companions. He didn't think it 
would, and they had too much respect for him to 
intentionally eavesdrop in any case. "So it's not the fact 
that you had to kill that bothers you. It's the way you 
killed them."
    It had been brutal, that squashing of the il'iini's 
head. But he had not been conscious of that at the time. 
He hadn't been conscious of much at all save a savage 
enjoyment.
    He licked his lips, surprised to feel that there were 
some salty drops of blood on them. He touched his face 
gingerly, and was rewarded by hot wetness that did not 
feel like water or tears.
    He went in search of a stream to clean himself off. It 
wasn't an idea that made much sense, just like his 
dramatic gestures during the battle hadn't really made 
sense. But he was going to do it anyway.
    He found a small stream flowing into the forest a 
short distance away, and knelt. A brisk scrub relieved him 
of much of the blood, and he dipped his head briefly and 
ran his fingers through his feather-hair for good measure.
    "Zar?"
    Zar jerked his head up, spluttering, and showered some 
water on Lamara. The Runeworker coiled the upper half of 
her body back with a fastidious snort and looked up at him 
with eyes that seemed sympathetic.
    "Jornin has just told me some things that I think 
you'll probably want to hear."
    "Why didn't he come himself, then?" Zar turned away to 
look back to the camp, wondering if there was more 
trouble. But the flickering red light seemed to be 
peaceful enough, and when he listened, he could hear the 
deep, contented breaths of a large creature sleeping 
peacefully.
    "Nothing's wrong," said Lamara, wriggling a little 
nearer, the concern in her voice deepening. "But he needed 
to sleep after he healed, and he thought I might tell it 
to you better than he would, since I know you better." 
There was a small doubt in her voice, as if she were 
wondering how much she really knew him after all.
    Silence for a moment, and then Zar put out his arm. 
The Runeworker slithered over and coiled herself around 
it, hissing softly in satisfaction.
    "I told him that there was nothing to be afraid of," 
she said, almost complacently, but her eyes continued to 
drill into him.
    Zar met them again. "All right. What did he say?" His 
voice was subdued.
    "Just this: He thought it was highly unusual, the way 
you killed the il'iini. He's never seen a falcon Elwen do 
that before."
    "He told me that already," said Zar, becoming a little 
worried. Pookas sometimes delighted in such games, playing 
tricks of their own.
    "No, no." Lamara shook her head. "He said he couldn't 
find the words at the time, but now he knows what he 
means. He's never seen any falcon Elwen use the magic that 
you used to kill them."
    Zar blinked warily. "Then he must not have had much 
contact with my people. Many of them do the things I do, 
every day. Not to kill, I must admit," he added, feeling a 
sensation of doubt from her, "but to do other things. I 
can't believe he hasn't seen something like it, at least 
once."
    "Well." Lamara lashed her tail once, then changed the 
subject back to what it had been. "He said to watch your 
back once you get to Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt. There are some 
there who will be jealous, and fear you. And having a mage 
come among them is not going to make them at all happy."
    Zar shook his head in puzzlement. "I can't imagine why 
he's so concerned. I'm no more or less a mage than any 
other falcon Elwen. I was born with no other Gifts."
    "I know. But-"
    "But nothing," said Zar firmly, and then a smile 
pulled at his lips. "Of course, I can't imagine that they 
will be happy to see me anyway. Fear and jealousy is 
probably going to be the least of it."
    Lamara cocked her head slowly back. "What it would be 
so bad to heed his advice? Watch your back, and don't get 
into situations that might force you to use as much magic 
as you did back there?"
    "I don't see any need to worry," said Zar lightly. 
"With you helping me to watch my back, how could I 
possibly get into trouble?"
    As he had hoped, the compliment and the confirmation 
of their friendship pleased her so much that she let the 
topic drop, instead coiling herself around his arm and 
tucking her head beneath her body, the Runeworker 
equivalent of closing eyes. Zar held his arm steady as he 
walked back towards the camp, so as not to disturb her.
    Sure enough, Jornin was already asleep, sprawled as 
close to the embers as he could get, like a lazy cat 
asleep on a hearth. Zar settled on the other side of the 
fire, lying on his back and extending his Lamara-laden arm 
out to the side. His wings made a comfortable pillow.
    He had stars to watch and sleep to catch up on, but he 
found his gaze straying to Jornin more than once. Tales he 
had heard of Pookas, half-forgotten like everything else 
about his home, swirled and danced in his head, lazy as 
the stars. The creatures were well-known for playing 
tricks. Could this be one of them?
    Or even, perhaps, a subtle attempt to get him to turn 
back? Jornin might have decided that his duties included 
dealing with falcon Elwen criminals after all, but he 
would be reluctant to attack Zar outright, especially 
after seeing what his magic could do. Was this a ploy to 
keep from doing that?
    Or was he seeing shadows where none existed?
    Well, if it was a game, he could do nothing but play 
along. He did not think the Pooka would physically try to 
stop him from going to Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt; Jornin had too 
much respect for him.
    And so long as he didn't try that, nothing else 
mattered.
    Comforted, Zar Feathermaster closed his eyes and flew 
away into a sky darker than the one overhead.
----------------------------------------------------------
    A slap of wet fur and the stink of blood in his face 
brought him awake. Spluttering, Zar sat up.
    "Fair-day," said Jornin innocently from a short 
distance away. It was proven once and for all that he did 
not speak with his mouth, Zar thought, since his mouth was 
full of rabbit, but his words were not muffled. "Since you 
caught vespermeal for me last night, I thought I would 
repay the favor. Eat up!" He lowered his head to the 
ground to get at some of the softer parts of the belly.
    Zar picked the rabbit he had been hit in the face with 
up. It smelled good, and he took a bite, then made a face. 
He should have remembered that he could deal with feathers 
getting in his way as he ate, but fur was disgusting.
    He transformed his left hand into a talon again and 
was just about to begin skinning when he caught Jornin 
staring at him, not noticing the hot runnels of blood that 
slid down the side of his muzzle.
    "What is it?" Zar asked, applying the claws to the 
rabbit with seeming casualness, while watching the Pooka 
closely. Could this be the next step in the game? An 
awfully strange one, if it were, but then, a lot of things 
Pookas did didn't make much sense.
    "That's what I've never seen any falcon Elwen do," 
said Jornin, his voice as thick with satisfaction as if he 
head solved a puzzle. "That's it. I didn't know they could 
go through a partial Shift like that."
    "Of course." Zar relaxed and took a mouthful of meat, 
chewing calmly. He felt Lamara unwind from his arm and 
drop to the ground, heading into the grass again to do her 
own hunting. "It;'s easier than a full Shift, after all, 
so why shouldn't we be able to do it?"
    "Perhaps it is easy." Jornin took another bite of his 
own meal, pawing the ground meditatively with a hoof as he 
thought. "But I have never been able to turn myself into a 
winged horse, or give myself hooves while I am in owl 
form."
    Zar blinked, intrigued. "Really? Why don't you try it, 
and I'll try to see if you have to do something different 
from what I do?"
    Jornin nodded, and closed his eyes. His form warped 
and blurred briefly, almost too quickly for Zar's mage- 
senses to follow. He extended his farsight and forced 
himself to watch closely, though usually watching a Shift 
could upset the stomach.
    He could see the trails of magic that seized hold of 
Jornin's form and pulled it into the new one. But when he 
looked again, what sat there was not a winged horse but an 
owl, calmly cleaning its wings with its beak.
    "Did you see?" Jornin asked, his voice sounding 
unchanged, though the snort with which he punctuated the 
words was now more like a screech. "I can't do it, I'm 
afraid. Or, at least, not the same thing."
    "Well, no wonder!" Zar felt his eyes sparkling with 
excitement and interest. He liked to discuss the lower 
levels of magical theory, when he had time to do so; the 
higher ones were beyond him. "You're making the trails of 
the magic too thick, so that they slide past a critical 
point and send you right into owl form. You have to thin 
them to just get wings."
    "Thin them?"
    "Right. Concentrate them, like light through a glass. 
Use the same level of strength, pretty much, but pour it 
into one area."
    Jornin looked intrigued by this, if doubtful. He 
spread his wings and closed his eyes, and the trails of 
magic began to dance around him again. This time, they 
were thinner, the coils of a garter snake compared to the 
python bands that had enfolded him before.
    But when they faded, the horse stood there again, with 
no additional modifications. Jornin shook his head, 
snorted, and bent to lip up a last bit of meat. "I could 
probably do it, but it would take a lot of time and 
effort."
    Zar looked in puzzlement at his own talon. It didn't 
take any effort at all. But perhaps Jornin was right and 
there were differences for Elwens and other shapeshifters.
    He shrugged and went back to his meal. It tasted even 
better than the kingbird last night. Probably because I 
didn't have to hunt for it, he thought, grinning around a 
mouthful of meat. Contrary to the stories, the food you 
killed yourself did not always taste better.
    Jornin cantered away briefly, towards the stream Zar 
had cleaned himself in last night, and Zar leisurely 
finished his meal. He was just tossing the bones aside 
when a soft hiss sounded, almost right in his ear. He 
turned around to meet Lamara's urgent gaze, and 
immediately looked over her head, toward the woods.
    "No! No trouble." The Runeworker spoke so fast that he 
could barely understand her. "Now's our chance. We can 
slip away from him!"
    Zar scowled at her. "Why should we? His presence will 
make for a good escort to Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt, and maybe 
even make them listen to me before they try to throw me 
out. It's a good idea to stay with him for other reasons, 
too. I don't think he'd try to hurt us; he may feel that 
he owes me something for saving his life, in fact. And we 
could use the added protection, and someone who knows how 
to get through any new traps that they've put up."
    "You don't understand! I don't like him, and I think 
his presence will hurt rather than help us." Lamara turned 
her head away from him, to stare darkly in the direction 
of the stream. "He could be worming his way into your good 
graces, just to play a trick on you later."
    Zar shook his head and began ripping up grass and dirt 
to bury the remains of his meal and the campfire, doing it 
in a slow, easy way that should reassure Jornin he was not 
trying to escape if the Pooka came back suddenly. "This 
has got to be some of the most ridiculous nonsense I have 
ever heard, Lamara. He's just trying to do his job. I 
doubt he would turn on us-"
    "You said that already."
    "And you tried to convince me to abandon him already. 
Does that mean you've given up?" Zar smiled as he teased 
her, hoping to win an answering tap of her tail, but she 
only hissed and lapsed into silence.
    Jornin returned soon after, licking the glittering 
drops from his fangs, and Shifted back into an owl. He 
flapped his wings cautiously, as if searching for any 
lingering damage from the il'iini bites, but found none. 
He hooted softly in Lamara's direction, a wordless noise 
of approval.
    The Runeworker turned her head away, pretending not to 
have heard.
    Jornin fluttered one wing in something that might have 
been a smile and then hooted at Zar in turn, looking 
upwards inquiringly.
    The falcon Elwen nodded, and spread his wings, 
indulging in a long, luxurious stretch while Jornin waited 
patiently. Lamara coiled on his shoulder, wrapping her 
tail tightly around his neck, grumbling all the while.
    Zar shook his head as he sprang. She rarely gave up, 
and then never easily.
    The falcon Elwen caught an updraft and rose in an easy 
spiral, Jornin right behind him. Zar took a deep breath of 
air scented with morning and beat his wings heavily, with 
all the strength he could pour into them, sending him 
higher than he normally flew. It seemed to be a day for 
such things; the dawn had been particularly fine, and the 
dew shimmered and sparkled on the grass, and the leaves 
sang in a strong but not inconvenient wind.
    Lamara clung more tightly as Jornin swerved close, but 
the red eyes met Zar's instead of hers.
    "Follow!" the owl-Pooka said, extending one wing to 
the west and sliding towards the horizon.
    Zar followed, excitement and trepidation mingled in 
his heart. Today he would reach the goal he had dreamed 
about for years and actively sought for the last month. 
Today he was going home.
    He wondered what it would be like. Exactly as he 
remembered it, comfortable and snug, sheltered from the 
world in the same way that an aerie is sheltered from the 
ground below? Or would it be more like the kingdom of 
Carmai, torn by political intrigue and magical strife?
    He wished he had a better idea of the answer, but he 
remembered too little. The mages who had set up the 
memory-block that had kept him from remembering what his 
crime was hadn't been able to do a halfway job. The block 
reached back in time, as well, robbing him of almost 
everything but a few flashing images of lake and forest, 
cliff and sky, and the feeling that he had been happy and 
safe in Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt.
    Thoughtfully, he sent his mind back to the newest 
memory he had, recovered when the Darklight tried to probe 
his mind for the secrets of his magic. Instead, she had 
disturbed a perfect, complete scene from the last of Zar's 
exile. He had heard anew his own stubborn wish to have a 
memory-block put up and to go into exile, because he could 
not bear to undergo the terrible trial of adulthood his 
people had insisted upon.
    The Oblivion. Zar shuddered very faintly, a ripple in 
the muscles of his back that disturbed the smoothness of 
his flight for a moment. If Lamara hadn't told him, using 
knowledge gleaned from reading his mind, that his people 
bound young duazadi in falcon form for eleven years, he 
never would have believed it.
    Perhaps times had changed, he thought hopefully. Or 
perhaps it was in reality only a test of some kind, that 
they inflicted on the ones they thought would make 
trouble. I can't believe they would try to destroy 
everyone's mind and will.
    "I can," said Lamara, her head close to his own.
    Zar frowned. He hated it when she did that, because it 
was difficult to turn and look her in the eye. "Why? Did 
Jornin tell you something?"
    "No. But any group of people that employs guards like 
that Pooka could be capable of all sorts of things."
    Zar shook his head and shut out any words that might 
have followed after that. Lamara knew no more than he did, 
really. She could only pluck memories out of his mind when 
he was in the throes of unconsciousness or magical 
overuse, and he had tried not to let himself be in those 
situations since leaving Carmai.
    They had flown over perhaps a hundred miles of forest 
by noon, and the country was becoming gentler than ever. 
The softly rounded hills that appeared among the blue- 
rushing rivers were now often crowned with tiny villages, 
and farmland vied with meadow for space in the open parts 
of the province. Zar scanned the sky and the ground both 
for danger, for some sign of a trap perhaps, but saw 
nothing. Gradually, he began to relax, trusting to Jornin 
to guide him and intervene with anything that might think 
Zar was a tempting morsel.
    But then he smelled magic.
    Heavy magic, and almost dead ahead.
    Zar lifted his head, eyes narrowing, and let his 
farsight go. Ahead of them, in the area towards which 
Jornin was flying, was a glimmering barrier of yellow 
light that both existed and did not exist. Zar was not 
sure what would happen if one passed through it, but it 
made his feathers stand on end, like a lightning strike 
near at hand would.
    "Jornin?" he said, in as questioning a voice as he 
dared.
    The Pooka dropped back to fly briefly beside him. "I 
did not think that I would need to guide you this far," he 
said reflectively, his red eyes turned inward. "I thought 
someone would stop us before now. That is, if you are 
telling the truth, and you truly are an exile."
    "I am." Zar turned his head to stare doubtfully at the 
curtain of yellow light. It was becoming more and more 
evident that he must pass through it, but he didn't want 
to do it.
    "Well, then." Jornin pulled up. The curtain, or wall, 
or whatever it was, was only a few feet away now. "Go 
through the wall into Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt, and find what 
justice you can."
    "Through the wall?" Zar stared blankly. He could see 
easily through the ward, and there was only more hills, 
trees, and towns beyond.
    "Yes. Surely you remember that much? That your 
homeland is not strictly of this world?"
    Zar shook his head, slowly, but the words had sparked 
something in him. There was a reason why the duazadi 
remained free of outside bother and influences. Even the 
traders that found them were only there on falcon Elwen 
sufferance. Wars and diplomats both tended to pass them 
by.
    Because they were not, strictly, in Arcadia at all...
    "Good luck," said Jornin, after they had hovered for 
long minutes while Zar hunted through his recalcitrant 
memory. "Here I must leave you. I have already been away 
from my duties long enough already."
    Zar took a deep breath and turned around, putting off 
what he must do for a few moments with the necessary 
formalities of leavetaking. "Thank you, Jornin. Without 
your help, we would not have made it this far."
    "No, you probably wouldn't," the Pooka agreed easily, 
with a full measure of arrogance. "You didn't even 
remember the Haven's ultimate defense, and so you would 
not have been able to find it."
    Zar did not reply, but only looked back at the 
curtain. Was it his imagination, or was it beginning to 
thrum and glow ever more strongly?
    "It does that whenever a falcon Elwen approaches," 
said Jornin carelessly, easing his fears that this might 
be a last-minute defense. "And I think you've made up your 
mind to go through." He caught Zar's eyes with his own, 
staring into them penetratingly.
    Half-unwillingly, Zar nodded.
    "Then you don't need my help." Jornin dipped his head 
in a final farewell, then turned and sped away, east and 
south, before Zar had finished lifting a hand to bid his 
own farewell.
    "There he goes!" Lamara shook the upper part of her 
body back and forth as if to relieve a kink in her non- 
existent neck. "And we're well-rid of him! Now, do you 
think we could go forward and land somewhere? Your wings 
must be tired, and I could do with a chance to take a nap 
on a perch that doesn't move."
    Zar took a deep breath, not trusting himself to reply. 
And, after all, replying might only be an excuse for more 
delay.
    He beat his wings once, and slipped easily forward, 
plunging directly into the brilliant wall of light.
    There was no transition. One moment, he hovered over 
the wooded wild of Cytheria, which he had once known as 
well as he knew the strength of his own wings, and then he 
was over somewhere else entirely. It was a place that 
brought back far more memories, dreams, and images.
    Beneath him was a perfect, circular ring of granite 
cliffs, pierced and pitted with caves and ledges, 
surrounding a wide open space. From the foot of the 
cliffs, green hills stooped down to the center, which was 
a great, glowing gray lake. The lake seemed to hum like 
the ward had, and it exuded a peculiar sense of peace, 
deep as the twilight it resembled.
    Coming and going far below him, sunning themselves on 
ledges, or swooping low over the lake as if admiring its 
beauty for the first time, were dozens of other falcon 
Elwens.
    Zar felt his eyes fill with tears. He had not seen 
anyone like himself since his exile, and now to see dozens 
all at once! He had to wait a long moment before he could 
gain control of himself and begin to drop into the heart 
of this sheltered place.
    The green of the hills was almost too beautiful to be 
real, he thought, as was the perfection of that lake. Any 
moment now, they would mist in his sight and drift apart 
like the phantoms he knew in his heart they had to be.
    But they did not. Their colors only grew brighter, and 
the sense of peace and welcome from the lake stronger. Zar 
felt joy from the lake's direction, in fact, as if it were 
welcoming a long-lost child home.
    The name of the lake drifted into his head, thin and 
insubstantial with memory. The Darizo Eriaoni. The Lake of 
Dreams.
    That ushered in memories, too. He had flown over it as 
a child, had plucked the white flowers that grew there 
with the coming of spring, had almost drowned in it once 
during a storm when his wings had been waterlogged and he 
had swooped too daringly low. The memories marched past 
his eyes, displaying their bright, teasing colors, and 
then settling into a corner of his mind as if they had 
never been away. He put them aside like a chest of rare 
jewels, to be examined in full later.
    He had almost reached the lake when he heard the sound 
of wings just behind him. The spell of peace shattered, 
and he wheeled around, heart pumping with fear. Had 
someone from the Nest recognized him and come to arrest 
him?
    But it was nothing of the kind. Instead, two children- 
fledglings, his reawakened mind said calmly- darted past, 
skimming the surface of the lake like pelicans and rising 
again with unbelievable speed, straining to catch each 
other. They yelled a greeting as they passed him, sounds 
so casual that the tears brimmed briefly in his eyes 
again. He wiped them away with a choking noise.
    "Could you understand them?" Lamara asked as he at 
last landed on the lake's bank.
    "Not completely," said Zar, feeling an ache of loss as 
he stared into the gray water. "I haven't spoken that 
language for thousands of years. There's been no need."
    "Well, you should concentrate and try to remember, 
don't you think?"
    Zar closed his eyes, briefly shutting out the sight of 
the lapping, twilight lake at his feet that beckoned him 
to gaze into its depths, and concentrated as Lamara had 
suggested. The harsh and yet lovely sounds the children 
had made lingered in his mind, and he actively fought to 
reshape them into words, trying to make himself the person 
he had once been.
    It worked. The sounds took on meaning and importance, 
as if incomprehensible words had changed into a language 
he knew while reading a printed page. They had shouted at 
him, "Fair-day and watch out, hunt-brother!"
    And with that, other words returned, and other 
memories. Zar stood still for long moments, overwhelmed by 
the torrent, his mind working furiously to categorize them 
all and set them in their proper places.
    At last, his eyes snapped open again, and he looked 
out over the water, whose sense of welcome had become 
muted, but was still there, singing to him and making him 
feel at home for the first time in four Ages.
    "I know the language," he said in the falcon Elwen 
tongue, knowing that Lamara would still understand him 
because she could pick up the sense of his thoughts. "And 
I know my home. I was Zar Skymaster, and the Skymaster 
aerie is over there." He pointed across the Darizo Eriaoni 
at a cave-and-ledge complex high on one of the eastern 
cliffs.
    "Well, then." Lamara tapped her tail encouragingly.
    As if in a dream, Zar rose from the ground and skimmed 
over to the aerie, landing easily on the broad ledge. He 
had barely recovered his balance when a voice called out, 
"Who's there?"
    Before he could answer, his mother stepped outside.




                        Chapter 2
                      Out Of Memory
    "It is doubtful whether, when memory conflicts with 
reality, which is more harmful: to be suspicious or to 
follow the memory."
    -Sorse Deepen, on the eve of the Elfworld War.

    The woman who stood staring at him, as startled as he 
was, stood perhaps five and a half feet tall. Her hands, 
clasped in front of her, were covered with fresh black 
dirt, turned to mud in some places, as if she had been 
working in a garden and only recently begun to clean 
herself off. Her wings were folded primly against her 
back, looking more like a feathered cloak than like 
appendages that would let her fly. Her blue eyes blinked 
warily as she studied him, and her feather-hair rustled as 
she cocked her head to examine him.
    The details all rushed together in his mind, 
coalescing into a picture he suddenly remembered so well 
that he only stared, his breath catching in his throat.
    His mother spread her hands and stepped back, as if 
taken so completely by surprise that she had forgotten to 
be wary, but he knew that she was getting into a position 
where she could fly away or attack him if need be. "Who 
are you?" she said, this time with a tone as pointed as a 
talon in her voice.
    Zar was surprised to feel himself trembling as he 
folded his wings. It took all his will to keep himself 
from moving toward her, and his voice showed the strain. 
"Mother, I-"
    "What? What are you talking about? I'm the mother of 
no one but Elzedka Skymaster."
    The hope Zar had tried to keep himself from feeling 
fluttered briefly. Were the spells mages cast to ease 
grief so great that they would not allow her to remember 
who he was? "You had another child, once," he said, his 
voice still stubbornly escaping his control. "I don't know 
how well you remember him. Zar Skymaster, who took the 
name Zar Feathermaster when he was exiled some years ago. 
If you-"
    "Oh, stars!" His mother stood very straight suddenly, 
and fear fled her face, shock replacing it. "Zar! Is that 
you?"
    Zar nodded slowly, now fearing a trick. Had she been 
assigned to lure him close, get him off his guard with an 
affectionate welcome, and then deliver him to the proper 
authorities?
    But apparently not. She came forward a step at a time, 
nervously biting her lips without realizing what she was 
doing. That habit brought other memories rushing back, and 
Zar stood still under their assault, content to watch and 
compare his memories to the reality.
    His mother did not try to attack him. She came up and 
stood before him, studying him intently. She was 
trembling, too, he saw now, her wings twitching 
spasmodically and her eyes shining too brightly for the 
shine to be anything other than tears.
    "Mother," he repeated, this time with less of a 
question in his voice.
    With a sudden, dry sob, she flung her arms around him. 
Zar embraced her and held her as powerfully as he could 
without breaking her wings, feeling his own tears slipping 
down his cheeks and onto her shoulders. The sweet smell of 
the lilac perfume she had always worn- vainly, because the 
scent was lost when she flew- surrounded him like a 
blessing.
    Also, like a blessing, her name returned to him. 
Olyalez Skymaster.
    "I- I don't know what to say," his mother whispered at 
last, stepping away. Her eyes still coasted over his worn 
traveling clothes, his wings, and his eyes and lined face 
as if seeking something she had lost a long time ago. "I 
never thought you might come back someday, Zar."
    Zar smiled. It was a painful expression, both 
physically and emotionally; it seemed to create new 
creases and tug at old wounds. "I never thought I would 
come back either, Mother."
    Olyalez shook her head again, and then her blue eyes 
darkened. "I am happier than I can say to have you back, 
Zar, but why did you return?"
    Before he could answer, an unexpectedly melodious 
voice- for one of falcon Elwen blood- called out from 
within the cave. "Motherrr! I can't find that necklace I 
was going to wear. Did you borrow it?" A small head poked 
around the corner of the cave, wearing a frustrated 
expression at first. The gray eyes popped wide at the 
sight of Zar.
    Zar knew her at once, both by her resemblance to his 
mother and by her resemblance to himself. She must be a 
sister of his. Hadn't Olyalez said that she was the mother 
of someone called Elzedka?
    "Who's that?" said his little sister loudly, moving 
out of the cave and to her mother's side. Her eyes 
remained on him, wide with wonder and not a little fear. 
Like him, she saw the similarities; unlike him, she did 
not know what to make of them.
    Olyalez put an arm around her daughter's shoulder, as 
if to support Elzedka or herself. "Elzi, this is- your 
brother. His name is Zar."
    Zar realized he was still trembling. He looked at this 
newfound sister, took a deep breath, and managed to smile. 
"Fair-day," he said, doing his best to make it sound 
casual, the sort of greeting he would give someone he was 
only vaguely familiar with.
    "You can't be my brother," said Elzi, turning to look 
suspiciously at her mother. "I don't have any brother. I 
would know."
    "He left before you were born, Elzi." There was a new 
note in Olyalez's voice now, one of fierce affection and 
scolding combined. "You wouldn't have known him, you see, 
because you were born afterwards."
    Elzedka spread a wing, brought the tip to her mouth, 
and nibbled on a feather as she studied Zar. Her mother 
slapped her cheek lightly. "Stop that. It's a dirty 
habit." Elzedka glared at her mother and dropped the wing 
back to her side, then turned to address Zar directly once 
more.
    "How long have you been away?" The fear was fading 
now, and curiosity was rising up to take precedence. "I've 
never been out of Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt except to hunt. Did 
you go beyond the borders of Cytheria?"
    Zar nodded. "Far beyond, hunt-sister." He thought the 
formal address safer until he figured out exactly where he 
stood with his family. "I was exiled by the Nest, and they 
said that I could never return. I had to go as far away as 
I could to overcome the temptation to return." He had 
noticed his mother listening intently and added as much 
information as he could for her sake, too. She looked at 
him sadly, her eyes darkening even further. Her eyes had 
darkened with grief as well as anger, he remembered now.
    "If they said you could never return-" Elzedka began, 
and stopped doubtfully. "Well, I don't mean to sound rude, 
but why are you here now, if that's the case?"
    Her words made Zar looked past the childish manner, 
and see for the first time that this "little sister" was 
nearly a thousand years old. Her eyes weighed him 
carefully behind all the emotion. Right now she wasn't 
flying to the Nest, but that, her manner said all too 
clearly, could change at any time.
    Zar took a deep breath and answered calmly, again 
speaking as much to himself as to his little sister. "I 
had asked that a memory-block be set up, so that I 
couldn't remember the crime I was exiled for. I discovered 
recently, when the block fell, that the crime I had 
committed was not horrible. It was a simple refusal to 
obey a tyrannical law."
    Elzedka looked more interested now, and more of her 
true age was showing. "Really. What would that be? I 
didn't think any law in Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt was 
tyrannical." She looked around the cliff-sheltered bowl 
with an expression of pride and love so deep that Zar 
nearly choked. 
    Had he ever felt that way? Had he ever been so blind 
as to feel that way?
    "There is one," he said, speaking as slowly and 
distinctly as he could. There must be no misunderstanding 
here, and no chance for misunderstanding. "I was going to 
enter adulthood, and I was told that I must undergo the 
Oblivion. I refused to-"
    "Zar!" Lamara came into view for the first time, 
slithering around his head, ignoring the startled jerks of 
the two falcon Elwen women, and the slight shriek from 
Elzedka. "Someone's coming, and from what I could read of 
his thoughts, he knows you're here. He looks very 
purposeful," she added in a tone that was half warning, 
half eagerness for any battle that might let her release 
some of her tension.
    Zar wheeled around. He could see the falcon Elwen she 
spoke of winging his way toward them, flying with a power 
and arrogant ease that made his dark scowl frightening 
rather than laughable. He landed a short distance away, 
catching himself on the ledge with obvious familiarity, 
and turned around to face Zar, crossing his arms over his 
chest and keeping his wings extended.
    Zar crossed his own arms, though he kept his wings 
folded back. If he was correct about this man's identity, 
the last thing he wanted to do was make himself look 
threatening.
    His guess was proven right when Olyalez came a slow 
step forward and placed a hand on the stranger's shoulder. 
"Darling, this is Zar. Our son. Surely you remember?" Her 
voice held a light, earnest, pleading note on that last.
    "I remember," said his father, Dazmot Skymaster, 
turning the clear gray eyes he had given both his daughter 
and his son briefly towards his wife. Then he turned back 
to face Zar, his expression quiet but implacable. "And I 
want to know what he's doing here."
    Zar told himself he really shouldn't have expected 
anything different, but his discomfort and half-fear 
forced itself out in wry humor. "This is quite a welcome 
for the prodigal son, isn't it?"
    "Pariah son," said Dazmot. Zar remembered the deep 
voice now; he had heard it raised in anger any number of 
times, and, less often, soft and rough with love as he 
spoke to his wife or congratulated his son on some 
achievement. "That is closer. And if you will not answer 
my questions, then I shall have no option but to turn you 
over to the Nest at once."
    "I was answering them," said Zar, more than a little 
annoyed. "If you'll let me speak?"
    Dazmot tipped his head, but his eyes only darkened a 
little. "You are not how I remember you," he said, folding 
his wings to his back. "You would once have apologized, 
and then gone on to answer exactly as I had asked you to."
    "People change," Zar said, as flippant as he could 
convince himself to be. He had forgotten how commanding a 
presence his father had, a presence that had won him a 
reputation as a hard bargainer among the outside traders 
who came to visit the Haven. "And memories change, as 
well. I came back because of them. I had lived for years 
thinking that I was in the wrong, and only very recently 
learned that I was in the right, thanks to a friend."
    Half-defiantly, he extended his arm, and Lamara 
slithered down it. She lifted her head and flicked her 
tongue in Dazmot's direction, her deep blue eyes almost as 
dark as his.
    Zar had the satisfaction of seeing his father briefly 
nonplused, something that happened perhaps once or twice a 
year, if that. Then Dazmot uncrossed his arms and looked 
pointedly out into the bowl. "Perhaps we should take this 
inside the cave, where no one but those of the family can 
hear it?"
    Zar felt his heart slow down a little. So they were 
not going to turn him over to the Nest at once. That was a 
relief, anyway.
    "Why would they?" Lamara asked, speaking so that only 
he could hear. "They're your family."
    Zar shook his head and did not reply. She could pick 
out of his thoughts, if she wished, his renewed memories 
of a law-abiding family who had been highly regarded in 
Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt for their devotion to the good of the 
community. Orderly, stern, disciplined- all those words 
characterized the Skymasters.
    The inside of the cave was cool and dark, but bright 
at the same time. Colorful mosaics of colored sands and 
stones decorated the walls, bound to the frames by some 
sort of glue. There were the rugs Zar remembered, the 
beds, the ledges where someone could go for privacy, and 
even a tapestry that his mother must have spent months on. 
It depicted a golden bird that might have been either a 
falcon or a hawk grappling with an eagle in midair. The 
colors of their wings flared in the sunlight, and Zar, 
looking closely, saw that the feathers had not been sewn, 
but created of finely spun gold and silver.
    "It appears that my exile didn't hurt you 
financially," he remarked to Dazmot, who had followed 
immediately on his heels.
    His father's eyes narrowed and began to darken again. 
But then he seemed to consciously remind himself that his 
son had been in exile for a few millennia, and couldn't be 
expected to remember the ways of polite society.
    "No, it didn't hurt us," he said evenly, sitting down 
on one of the carved ledges that doubled as chairs and 
shelves. "No one blamed us for raising you the wrong way, 
or anything like that." His voice softened as he spoke, 
and his eyes lightened again. "Everyone knew where the 
fault lay." He caught his son's eye for a long, silent 
moment.
    Zar looked away uncomfortably. He still could not 
tell, as he had not been able to tell on the last occasion 
he had seen his family, whether or not his father was 
prepared to offer any forgiveness.
    Olyalez came in next, and heard the last words. She 
gave her son a look of compassion, and moved over to take 
another seat. Elzedka sat on the floor at her feet, wings 
wrapped tightly around herself. Her eyes were wide and 
solemn, and all excitement had fled them now. She looked 
as if she were wondering what trouble this unknown brother 
of hers might bring on them.
    Zar stood in front of them, feeling like a prisoner on 
trial, but not having much choice. Falcon Elwens did not 
sit in the presence of their parents, except on the floor, 
and he would have felt as if they were looming over him if 
he had done that.
    He took a deep breath, and began.
    "Two months ago, I was in Neoljir, the capital of the 
human nation of Carmai. I was accosted by a land Elwen 
woman named Falimya Achenra, the adviser to King Asoron." 
His voice still cracked on her name, with grief and 
desperate pity. He ignored the sharpening of their gazes, 
to go on. "It seemed that she had learned we can teach our 
magic to others. They wanted me to act as a tutor and a 
bodyguard for Asoron's daughter, Kalimarina. After 
observing her, I agreed to the task."
    "But-" said Olyalez, her brow furrowing as she leaned 
forward to study him. "You are not a mage. They could have 
found a duazad mage if they wanted one, could they?"
    Zar dodged the question. He was still unwilling to 
believe that his powers were so much different from those 
of any other duazad. There was no use in telling them so 
without proof, anyway. "They said that they had tried, but 
couldn't persuade one to leave Eriaa-ollo-Garameyt."
    There was a silence. Then Dazmot gestured for Zar to 
continue.
    He did so at once. It was easy to remember the old 
habits of obedience. "Several strange incidents 
immediately occurred. Someone tried to poison me, and 
would have succeeded if Lamara hadn't saved my life." He 
nodded to the Runeworker, only to find she was no longer 
on his shoulder, but curled in a patch of sunlight at the 
cave's mouth. She raised her head and hissed an 
acknowledgment. "Someone tried to kill Kali- more than 
once. I was given a chain of stars by an old friend of 
Kali's dead mother, a chain I could not take off. And so 
on.
    "Eventually, I learned that no such person as 
Kalimarina Hervesheir existed. She was nothing more than a 
facade for a creature called the Darklight."
    He paused to measure the effect of this announcement 
on his audience, but no one said anything. His parents 
gave him blank looks. Elzedka blinked for a moment, as if 
thinking she might have heard the name before, then shook 
her head.
    Zar just kept himself from hissing in disdain. They 
were isolated from the world, yes, but he hadn't realized 
just how isolated.
    "The Darklight was trying to gain control of Carmai's 
throne. It had tried to snare me because it feeds on 
magical power and the like to live. When I refused to be 
corrupted, its avatar managed to convince Asoron that I 
had wronged her and should be executed.
    "But I escaped and taunted her into a rage so great 
that she followed me without a care. I managed, at last, 
to kill her, with help from the chain that the other woman 
had given me."
    There was silence as dead as Kali when he finished. 
Zar kept his eyes on the ground, wishing someone would say 
something. This silence brought back, all too easily, the 
sheer surprise in Kali's blue gaze as she died, the brutal 
sound of her windpipe snapping, the sweet smiles that had 
once made him think she was Elwen-
    "Why did this bring you back?" said his father at 
last, and when Zar looked up, his eyes were completely 
black. "If you have committed another crime, it will only 
bring trouble upon the Haven."
    "Possibly," said Zar, in a voice that he thought would 
shake. It was as steady as the wind, instead. "But I had 
to come back. I learned the truth about my first 'crime,' 
with Lamara's help, and I thought I was owed another 
chance."
    "What chance?" Dazmot's fingers clenched on the edges 
of his belt, as if he were about to pull it off and use it 
for a whip. "Did you think that a sentence of exile could 
be revoked simply because a memory-block had fallen away?"
    "What I did wasn't wrong," Zar said, his voice steady 
but rising. He fought to keep his anger under control. 
"There's nothing wrong with defending your freedom against 
someone who wants to take it away."
    "The Oblivion has been a part of our people's training 
since ancient times!" Dazmot did not bother to hide his 
own scorn. "You dared to defy all those years of tradition 
that have proven infallible in giving our children an idea 
of what the world is. And now you expect to be forgiven 
for it?"
    "Perhaps not forgiven," said Zar, his voice softening 
now with cold anger, "but offered an explanation, at 
least. There were other things they could have done, 
instead of exiling me. Why didn't they do one of those 
things instead?"
    "What would you suggest?"
    Zar was aware of Olyalez trying to break into the 
conversation, but he could pay no attention. His eyes were 
locked on his father's, caught in a clash of powerful 
wills. "They could have allowed me a normal Wanderfree. Or 
perhaps sent me to our kin in Eriaa-ollo-Sweptor, or 
somewhere else. I'm willing to bet that there are falcon 
Elwens, somewhere, who don't make a regular practice of 
enslaving their own kind!"
    Father and son said nothing more for a long moment, 
their eyes locked. Then Dazmot shook his head and looked 
away, though with a finality that said it was his own 
choice, rather than a consequence of losing the contest.
    "You will have to go to the Nest at once. There's no 
other choice."