Bloodmay

                         Prologue

Blood On The May
    The air was thick and sweet with the scent of may 
blossoms, and the sound of birdsong, and the sight of 
leaves growing thick and luxuriant on the trees. Given all 
the cheer around him, he really should be happier, he 
thought as he ducked under the branches hanging heavy 
above him.
    But he wasn't happy. And he hadn't been ever since his 
prisoners fled Dombrona and then a wildfire stopped his 
people from pursuing them into the hills.
    Lorolu stopped, stretching, as he emerged from the 
cramped tunnel of rowan branches, and then smiled sourly 
to himself.
    The cause of his unhappiness could be given some 
debate, he thought as he stooped to gather the blossoms 
from the may in front of him, careful and properly 
respectful of the long thorns. Murmuring a prayer of 
thanks and asking for forgiveness, as they needed the 
blossoms for the Moonstide festival on the morrow, didn't 
take up much of Lorolu's concentration; he had been doing 
this for twenty years now, since as a child of seven he 
had been sent to the Lleyni to be trained just before 
Moonstide. Therefore, he was free to concentrate on his 
predicament.
    If he was honest- with himself, since he didn't think 
that he could really afford honesty with anyone else- he 
would admit that he wasn't entirely unhappy the wildfire 
had arisen and stopped him from going after the half- 
darkling who called herself Kenniel, and the fallen Lleyna 
and her unhuman lover.
    "Kenniel," he whispered, the name she had given him, 
out of trust and respect for his honesty- he had been able 
to trust her enough to reveal himself a little- when 
everyone else called her Tora.
    Thinking of her this way- a smile as sweet as the 
blooms he gathered, dark eyes full of courage and 
compassion, a face animated by a light that he had rarely 
seen in the face of any Lleyna- it was so easy to forget 
that she had slain another Servant of Light right in front 
of him. When Lorolu had asked her why, she had calmly 
explained that the woman would be a threat to the Dark, 
the force Kenniel served. She could not bargain, could not 
reason, could not compromise. Kenniel had seen her as a 
threat and burned her to death, calling fire from the air 
and from her own hands as if it was of no great moment.
    Fear dried Lorolu's throat as he remembered that 
instant. He had stood paralyzed with terror, of the flame 
and the corruption of the Dark if he touched Harisa, and 
she had burned to death.
    And Kenniel hadn't been guilty about it. She had 
showed every sign of being willing to die for her cause, 
as if the Dark were as worthy of such a death as the Light 
would be.
    And part of him, the part that had never liked 
Harisa's blind fanaticism, the part that had wandered off 
during lectures on the symbolism of the Light, had agreed 
with her.
    What did that make him?
    "A hypocrite," he muttered, tearing the may blossoms 
off the branch. He had to pat the bough in apology 
afterwards when he did it.
    It was standard Lleyna procedure to apologize to the 
world when they were too hasty in taking from it, but 
there was nothing standard about Lorolu's emotions at the 
moment. That might have explained- possibly- why he caught 
his sleeve, and then the flesh of his hand, on one of the 
may's long thorns.
    "Dark!" he swore, as his blood dripped down, pooling 
on the white blossoms and then drizzling past. Shaking his 
head, he stooped to clean it off, and then to strip the 
bush of the tainted blossoms and throw them away. They 
couldn't be used now.
    The moment his hand touched one of the blood-stained 
blooms, his vision wavered. He fell heavily to one knee, 
from his squatting position on his heels.
    A second later, his other knee hit the ground, but he 
didn't really feel it. A fine trembling had invaded his 
limbs, and he couldn't see any longer. His vision had 
turned as white as fog.
    As white as the blossoms of the may.
    Lorolu's hands tightened on the branch he held. He was 
hoping that he would prick himself on another thorn, 
hopefully startling him awake. Lleyni weren't supposed to 
have visions while daydreaming. They were supposed to 
dream only at night, images that stayed sharp and clear in 
their minds and could be reported to the Ring in each 
city.
    Those tales of dreaming awake were only tales.
    But, nevertheless, it was a vision that was unfolding 
before him now, in all its usual brilliance and vivid 
sharpness. He saw a field of may bushes, their blossoms 
open and singing in the wind. He didn't often see joyful 
visions, and for a moment, his heart lifted and he smiled.
    Then blood fell on the blossoms, and he screamed.
    Lorolu didn't recognize his own voice. It was a thin, 
weak thing, certainly not loud enough to pierce the spell 
that enwrapped him. Wondering why he had screamed at all, 
he relaxed and let himself be pulled into the vision. His 
gift was not strong, but he was sensitive; the rippling 
edges of trouble far away sometimes came to him, though in 
terms more obscure and richer in symbolism than those of 
the other Lleyni. This looked like an important one, one 
that the Ring would need to know about almost as suddenly 
as it had happened.
    Blood continued to fall on the blossoms; he could not 
see from what source. It fell until the blossoms of the 
may transformed, from white into pink, and then into 
scarlet blooms.
    Lorolu felt his breathing grow shallow. Then a thorn 
did prick his hand, and he jerked himself back to 
awareness.
    He was kneeling on the grass, and a glimpse of himself 
in a pool of rainwater from a few days ago that hadn't 
dried confirmed that his face was as wild-looking as it 
felt. He was panting, and his eyes stared out of his head 
as if they wanted to jump out, or were begging to be torn 
out rather than see another horrid vision.
    Gasping, shaking, he put his hands over his eyes, 
covering them.
    Too late, of course. He had seen the vision, and he 
knew what it meant, what pink flowers always meant in 
vision. Trouble coming.
    Then he lowered his hand and frowned, staring 
unseeingly at the may bushes. The flowers at the end of 
the vision had not been pink, but red.
    What was red? It must have a correspondence somewhere 
in the Great Books, but damned if he could remember it.
    A shiver touched him, another one of those stupid 
things he was sensitive to, not so much a vision as a 
feeling. Yes, he would be damned if he didn't learn what 
it meant, and soon.
    Closing his eyes, and battling his stomach until he 
was sure that he wouldn't be ill, Lorolu stood and started 
to turn away.
    Then he hesitated. He just had to know, didn't he?
    He turned.
    His breath stuck in his throat as he stared. 
    The blossoms stained by his blood had either been more 
prevalent than he thought, or- well, he would think of the 
other possibility later. The whole of the bush that had 
pricked him was red, offering up blossoms not otherwise 
changed from the white may ideal, but such a vivid scarlet 
color that Lorolu shuddered. He was reminded of the 
pictures of wolves and other legendary creatures in the 
histories, pictures of their gaping red maws and nostrils 
flaring crimson. 
    Red. Red as fire. Along with the silver of the stars 
and the black of the night, one of the three colors of the 
Dark. 
    What did it mean that the red of the Dark was 
conquering the white, one of the three colors of the 
Light?
    Lorolu shut his eyes and shook himself sharply. The 
word "conquering" wasn't right, and he wondered why the 
hell he had used it. No, of course not. War had been 
outlawed for three millennia, and just thinking about it 
could lead to heresy.
    As if he wasn't in enough trouble already.
    Turning, he called for the mare who had brought him 
here. She cantered up, ducking her head through the far 
end of the rowan tunnel, and he let her know in the 
gesture language used by humans to speak to the non- 
speaking races that he would return to Dombrona alone.
    She shrugged her acquiescence and turned away to 
browse.
    Lorolu shook himself once more, set himself a penance 
of mantras and stories to repeat on the way home, and then 
ducked into the tunnel.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Behind him, the red may bush swayed in the wind.
    Then the two bushes beside it turned from white to 
red.
    Then the whole field flushed scarlet in one moment, as 
if someone had lifted the power of the ancient magic, more 
potent than anything the Lleyni could now command, over 
it.
    Then the wind howled, and a single harsh scream tore 
the air from no discernible direction.
    Then the field was still again.




                        Chapter 1
                           Reyn
    They were waiting for him.
    Of course they were, Reyn thought dryly as he swept 
into his chamber and made sure that his hair was neatly 
combed, and that his golden cloak was bound tightly enough 
to his side to conceal the unfortunate side-effects of his 
battle with the gryphons who had come to Alsona. They had 
heard the rumors for days now, and they were curious as to 
see which of the competing tales was true.
    "More than that, my lord. They want to see the hero 
who was promised them."
    Reyn turned with a warm smile, bowing to the woman who 
entered the room. She bowed back, her dark eyes shining 
with something that looked like a cross between pride and 
reverence. It was still so hard to read her emotions that 
Reyn sometimes wondered why he tried.
    "I hope that you are right," he said softly, turning 
back to the bowl of still water that served as a mirror.
    Feyrra came up behind him and rested her hand on his 
shoulder. He felt a tremor, light and warm and golden as a 
summer butterfly, go through him; it lingered there until 
she took her hand away. "What about, my lord?"
    "Everything." Reyn shook his head, still staring down 
into the water. He could see the Morningsworn woman 
standing behind him, her mass of curly dark hair, the dark 
eyes, the pale golden skin, all reflected in the water. 
"That I am the chosen one, that I am a hero, that they are 
waiting for me-"
    "Hush."
    Reyn closed his eyes, tilting his head back, as 
Feyrra's hands came to his shoulders and rubbed, as if she 
could rub away the tension lingering there. "Thank you," 
he said softly as she continued past the point where she 
had stopped yesterday. "I still can't help but think that 
I'll fail them somehow."
    "That is no more than self-doubt, my lord." Feyrra 
gave one last rub and stepped away. "All true heroes have 
it; indeed, they could not be heroes if they thought they 
were always right. Even the great Lord of the Light, Lleyn 
Fiadar himself, had it."
    "Truly?" asked Reyn.
    Her smile altered for a moment, changing to something 
oddly precise. Her words altered the same way, becoming 
hard and clipped. "Of course, my lord. I should know. I 
saw it in him often enough."
    Reyn cursed silently to himself. He kept forgetting 
that the woman standing before him, last of her kind 
though she might be, was still one of the oldest people in 
Arion, having been born more than three thousand years 
ago, and that she would have seen Lleyn in the flesh. He 
could trust her comparisons of himself to the Lord to be 
true, not the mere flattery he would have called it from 
almost anyone else.
    This reminder of her age made him wonder even more 
about the recent substance of his thoughts. Should he even 
try to court her? What could he have to offer her that she 
would never have seen before?
    He breathed deeply, and settled his nerves in the way 
that all Lleyni were taught as children. One needed a 
serene mind for contemplation of the problems of the world 
their Order had been created to solve, and even more to 
distance oneself from the visions that could sometimes be 
so piercing, so traumatic. It wouldn't do to panic and go 
fluttering about. If he truly had something she had not 
seen before- or even just something she liked- she would 
come to him in time. He could not force her to love him, 
or himself to stop slipping slowly into love with her.
    "Forgive me, my lady," he said, as courteously as he 
could considering his still-extant doubt. "It simply 
feels... presumptuous... to in essence be setting myself 
up to claim Lleyn's title."
    "Your people have worshiped him for so long that they 
will not bow to anyone less," said Feyrra, and, leaning 
in, kissed him on the cheek in a gesture that surprised 
and delighted him. She didn't seem to notice, or think 
that she had done anything that unusual. Her finger 
touched the bare skin of his arm, glowing with a soft 
golden Light. "Did he not appear to you and give you the 
title? Make you his heir?"
    Reyn nodded slowly, then shook his head and laughed. 
"I don't know how many other signs will have to come to me 
before I can feel comfortable. You bring me the Daycrown, 
he sets the Light in me, he touches me with the power and 
the ability to lead, I have visions that warn me of a New 
War coming with the Dark- and still I question. I suppose 
that a time comes when one must simply stop questioning 
and do."
    Feyrra's smile flashed like dawn across her face, and 
she leaned up and touched his face, a gliding almost- 
caress that made Reyn lean towards her when she was done. 
But she turned and gently pushed him towards the door that 
led out to the balcony beyond the eastern window. "They're 
waiting for you."
    They were.
    Reyn turned once more to look at her, then turned, put 
the slender bone Daycrown around his head, and stepped out 
onto the balcony to face them.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Somehow, he hadn't thought there would be so many.
    They filled the square below the Tower and spilled out 
of it, between the houses and down the absolutely regular 
streets of Alsona. Their heads were uplifted, their eyes 
fastened on him, and the moment he appeared, draped and 
clad and crowned in Light, an almost frightening cry of 
power left their lips.
    It was for him, that cry, Reyn realized, controlling 
his immediate impulse to flee. It was for him, all for 
him, and the hero they saw before them.
    He managed to lift his hand and wave. Then, as Feyrra 
had advised, he put his hands on his hips and lifted his 
head to the sunlight.
    The Sun sparkled golden and yellow on the Daycrown, 
which answered with a spark of pure white. The three 
colors of the Light mingled in the air for a long moment, 
creating a dazzling radiance that no one could look at 
directly. Reyn saw people turning their heads and 
squinting, and thought for a moment, mind easily tugged 
away by such powerful symbolism, how much the crown was 
like the Light it represented in that respect. None of 
them could look at the Light for long. They could only 
stand with averted eyes in front of it, apologizing for 
their inadequacies in the face of its glory.
    Something he would never have to do again.
    He saw that in the adoring faces they turned to him 
when the blaze of light faded a little. He was their hero. 
He was the one anointed by the Light, the one who had 
faced fire-madders in the middle of the houses they burned 
and battled a fire-dancer with Light, the one who had done 
his best to burn one of them alive only to have a fire- 
dancer take him away, and lose his own love to the flames. 
He was heroic, or there was something heroic about him, 
and they were responding to it.
    If they were responding to it, it had to be real, 
didn't it?
    Reyn cautioned himself, even as his arms rose and 
linked behind his head, to beware the lure of too much 
power. The Light was beautiful, so beautiful that someone 
might become seduced by it if he was not careful, and 
start thinking of it as a source of his own power, rather 
than giving power to it by serving it. He didn't want to 
do that.
    Becoming the Lord, another Lleyn, had not been his 
lifelong dream. Serving the Light had. He must welcome the 
Daycrown and the adoration of his people only because they 
gave him the chance to serve the Light as it now needed to 
be served, in this world of returning Dark and returning 
war.
    Yes.
    He lifted his hands above his head and turned in a 
slow circle, letting them all admire him, as well as see 
that he was still a mortal man, without any other new 
accouterment. Then he lowered his hands, clasped them on 
the railing of the balcony, and leaned forward. They fell 
as silent as if he had made some dramatic gesture, staring 
up at him intently.
    Reyn fought to keep from smiling at their intense 
attention. After all, this was not a joking matter to 
them. This was real, and serious, and true.
    And, with that, he finally settled the uneasiness in 
his gut that did want to laugh, and began speaking the 
words he had spent two nights making up.
    "My lords, my ladies, my beloved people. I wish to 
assure you that I take up the Daycrown this day, and with 
it, the cause of the Light."
    Cheering once again, but he lifted a hand, and held it 
down. They subsided, gazing at him intently.
    "But you must realize that there are some who will not 
want me to do this."
    Once again, he waved down their shouts, this time dire 
promises of vengeance on those who would not follow him 
that he feared as much as they sent a dark thrill through 
him- in fact, that he feared exactly as much as he feared 
that thrill.
    "They do not want evil," he said softly. "Not all our 
enemies will be of the Dark; you must know that. The 
Keepers in Areva Tower have asked me again and again to 
take up the Councilship, to become part of the governing 
body of Arion on the Summer Isle. I have decided to refuse 
them."
    Silence. Obedience to the Keepers was written into the 
Great Laws. He could almost feel them hesitating, knew 
they were wondering how much they could trust him if he 
proposed to lead them in rebellion.
    But he ignored that feeling, just as Feyrra had said 
he should, and went on. "But all that I can believe, as 
the Lord has seen fit to bestow the greatest blessing of 
the Light upon my head, is that they are mistaken. The 
Lord's servants have not always seen the will of the 
Light. Even those allied to the Light in spirit did not 
see it before Lleyn's War, the War of Righteousness that 
rid us, as we thought, of the Dark for all time. And, just 
as the Dark returned of its own free will and not because 
of a lapse of guardianship on our part, I must believe 
that my enemies among the Lleyni, and the Keepers, are not 
doing evil of their own free will. They are merely being 
led along a path that looks right to them, a path so 
tempering and sweet that they may mistake it for the 
righteous path."
    He could see heads nodding everywhere in the crowd 
now, as he won them to his side with what Feyrra had said 
he would win them with- good and patient argument.
    "It is not their fault," he reapted softly. "And I 
would ask you not to speak of them badly, not to sow 
dissension between the two sides of the Lleyni. We are 
like two halves of a body. Both of us will ultimately be 
necessary when we fight the war against the Dark. The body 
cannot be joined yet, but someday it will be. And then it 
will rise, and walk, and live again, and wield a bolt of 
Light in one hand and the Great Books in the other. And on 
its head will be the Daycrown."
    "What does it mean that you have been chosen to wear 
the Daycrown, then?" someone called up. "Does it mean that 
you are the head of the body?"
    Reyn bowed his head, and saw them wince again as the 
Daycrown came into the light and blazed. "I cannot say 
that I will always wear it," he said soberly. "It may be 
that another will be chosen. But until then, yes, if you 
will call me the head of the body, so might I be. 
    "But that does not call the allegiance of the Lleyni 
into question. They have not yet seen the wisdom of 
following me. We must prove it to them, with the power of 
good leadership and with the service to the Light that the 
Light demands of us. We must-"
    "What about the Dark?"
    Reyn blinked, thrown off stride a little by the 
interruption of his rhythm. He gazed out over the crowd, 
but could not see who had spoken. "What- I don't know what 
you mean," he said slowly.
    The same voice continued. It was clear, suggesting it 
was close to the base of the Tower, but it could have come 
from much farther away, for all the source he could see of 
it. "I mean, will the Dark see you as well, in the end, 
and bow down to you?"
    "No," said Reyn softly, feeling his face draw. He had 
hoped to avoid bringing this one thing up. "We may convert 
some, but, if they refuse to convert, we must destroy 
them. We have gone slowly in the years between the War of 
Righteousness and now, because the Dark has not been in 
the world. But not it is. And the Light must take a stand 
against its ancient enemy."
    "Yes, it must."
    Reyn gave one more glance around, as subtly as he 
could, for the source of the words, but still could not 
see it. Reminding himself to ask Feyrra about it later, he 
held his hands over his head, and said, "In the name of 
the Light, my brothers and sisters, will you follow me?"
    The roar that followed after that shook the heavens, 
and almost shook him from the balcony and the Daycrown 
from his head.
----------------------------------------------------------
    My lord, in the name of the Great Laws, in the name of 
the Light, in the name of the Lord...
    Reyn snorted, crumpled up the paper, and turned to the 
pigeon awaiting his answer on the windowsill. "You may 
tell them no, again. They should know, by now, that I will 
not come to them."
    The pigeon gave him a dark look and jumped into the 
air, flying off into the west, towards Kivla Areva. Reyn 
sighed and drew his cloak close about him. The pigeon's 
flying into the sunset, seeming to prefer it to the 
company of the new Lord of the Light, could hardly be a 
good omen.
    "My lord."
    Somehow not surprised that she was there, though he 
neither heard nor sensed her, Reyn turned and nodded. 
Feyrra stood there, shining softly as she gazed at him, 
with a light less real and yet somehow more real than the 
Light that shone through Reyn's skin. The thought caused 
him to sigh more deeply, and then wince.
    "Your ribs?" She came to him, almost floating over the 
floor. 
    "It's not-"
    "Yes, it is." The Morningsworn made him sit down in 
the chair at the table where once the Ring had held forth, 
and reached under his robe. Reyn wished that could occur 
under more pleasant circumstances, but then he flinched 
and hissed, losing every echo of that thought as fingers 
brushed the bandage over his broken ribs.
    Feyrra frowned and pushed the cloak aside. "There's 
blood soaking through, my lord," she said, the note in her 
voice accusatory. When he said nothing, she rose to her 
feet and looked at him. "How long have you known?"
    "The pain's been there a few hours," said Reyn 
reluctantly. He didn't want to do this- didn't want to 
battle the woman he knew he was falling in love with, 
didn't want to think more gloomy thoughts about the 
corruption of the Dark getting into the wound on top of 
everything else, didn't want to feel pain. "It's nothing 
that I can't tolerate."
    "It's not something you should have to tolerate." 
Feyrra went to the door with her graceful gliding motion. 
"I'll summon the healer."
    She was gone before he had the strength to protest. 
Reyn sighed and let his head fall back to rest against the 
chair, shaking his head. Shouldn't the Heir of Lleyn be 
beyond this kind of pain, and not able to be so easily 
injured by the Dark?
    Or shouldn't he heal more quickly, somehow? The 
gryphon had hit him hard, knocking him to the ground, but 
that shouldn't have mattered. The Light, if it truly 
favored him, would have lent him the grace to heal 
quickly.
    But that wasn't happening.
    He clenched his hand in front of him, loosed an 
impatient breath, and was starting to get up when the 
healer came in. She shook her head at him and held out 
fresh bandages.
    "This time we're going to tie those bones tightly, my 
lord, so they can't slide."
    Reyn looked at her plaintively. "Every time you do 
that, you claim the excitement of hearing the news is too 
much for me, and ban me from reading reports of the latest 
visions, or-"
    "Not this time," she said reluctantly, pulling back 
his robe to begin binding his ribs. "This time, there is 
something you must deal with at once."
    "Yes." There was Feyrra again, gliding into the room 
as if her feet didn't touch the ground. Reyn peered up at 
her blearily. 
    "What is it?"
    "Of course, you know about the tsunami that hit the 
western coast, on the Dragondeath Sea." Reyn nodded, 
though he didn't need to; she was the one who had borne 
the news to him that a Lord of the Dark had raised a great 
wave, striking the coast and killing many as well as 
making others homeless, and slaying the Morningsworn. 
"There are rebellious factions in the city who claim that 
a true Lord of the Light would care for all Arion, and 
make some provision for the refugees. Of course, they are 
only using it to stir up trouble, but you have to answer 
them somehow."
    Reyn sighed again, winced as the healer gave him an 
admonition not to do that, and thought about it. He had no 
power outside Alsona proper, and might not even have that 
if the Keepers ever sent someone to arrest him in 
accordance with the Great Laws. But, she was right. He did 
have to answer this.
    "You're right," he said softly. "And so are they."
    Feyrra stared at him. "My lord, there was nothing you 
could have done to stop that tsunami. I saw it, remember, 
from such a close distance that I hardly escaped with my 
life. All my immortal people could not stop it. Why should 
you have to make reparation for something a Lord of the 
Dark did?"
    "Because a Lord of the Light would care for all 
Arion," he said, with a faint smile. "And because it 
doesn't matter if I couldn't have stopped it, or if I 
don't have power there. The only thing that matters is 
that I do something to make up for what happened, to treat 
the refugees who live there kindly."
    "What future could you offer them?" asked Feyrra. 
"They could not all come to Alsona."
    Reyn nodded his understanding. The brightdrakes were 
still helping his people build the city, and it simply was 
not big enough- would not have been big enough even if all 
the buildings were complete- to hold them all. "But there 
is something I can do."
    "What?"
    "I have been thinking, for some while, of creating a 
group of soldiers to fight the War. The Lleyni cannot do 
it, as we are sworn to peace save when we are executing 
criminals. But a group of people who never took the vows 
of the Lleyni, yet have an intense hatred against the 
Dark- they might do.
    "I would send some Lleyni to educate them in the means 
of making themselves weapons. In return, I would ask them 
for any young men or women, or children, of the former 
villages who have the Lleyna seer's gift. We will need 
more of us to fight this war."
    "Will you have time?" asked the healer, wrapping the 
binding about his ribs and drawing it so tight that Reyn 
took another breath of pain.
    "We do not know how long the New War will last," he 
said, when he had his breath back. "It could be months; it 
could be years, as the Lord fought. And it has not even 
properly begun as yet. I think that we will have time to 
train some new Lleyni, yes. And we may have to. Whom do 
you think will be the first targets of the forces of the 
Dark, when they begin to collect?"
    "Lleyni?" asked the healer, her face pale. Feyrra only 
stood and watched, and Reyn had the odd feeling that she 
was waiting for him to pass a kind of test before she 
would show any sign of either approval or disapproval. 
    Reyn nodded. "Of course. Even as Lleyn was the first 
target in the War of Righteousness. They will know that 
their best chance lies in defeating us, and bereaving the 
Light of our eyes if they can manage to kill all who have 
the seer's gift. That is another reason I would start 
searching for children who have it. With us, they will be 
safer than they would on their own. I would expect word, 
soon, of Dark-worshipers hunting in villages, seeking to 
kill the children."
    The healer, who had been paling steadily as he spoke, 
flushed. "We can't let them kill the children," she said, 
with steady defiance.
    Reyn smiled at her. He had known that he could count 
on her support. She had lost several children to 
miscarriages, and so clung to the two she had borne, and 
by extension all children, with the fury of an enraged 
brinden. "As you will, my lady. I will send you to look 
for children, if you wish."
    "Yes, my lord." Her chin was up. "I would like that."
    "Very well. Dismissed."
    She nodded, and left the room, still, Reyn could 
sense, fuming inwardly.
    "Do you really think that they will do that?"
    Reyn turned slowly to look at Feyrra. There was 
something odd in the tone of her voice, as there had been 
in the look she gave him, but he found himself dismissing 
it. It was one of the first times all day he had been 
alone with her, without the immediate threat of a pressing 
appointment or of someone else coming in. "I don't know 
that they will," he said. "But it seems a likely first 
step."
    Feyrra nodded, face cool, eyes revealing nothing. "And 
what will be your first step?"
    "My lady?" Even though he had just made a major 
political decision, politics were not on his mind right 
now. Something decidedly more elemental was. He stopped a 
few feet away from her, forcing himself to hold her eyes- 
not that, given her beauty, that was any special hardship. 
"To search for the children, of course, and to recruit the 
New Soldiers."
    "Those are defensive." As if she could hear his silent 
plea, she walked a little closer to him, then stopped, 
studying him with that same blank coolness. "I want to 
know about offensive."
    "So that you can decide whether to go warn the Dark or 
not?" That was a joke; given the destruction of her 
people, she had every reason to hate the Dark. But, when 
he saw her face startle and then blank itself, he hastened 
to reassure her, realizing too late that she might have 
taken it the wrong way. "My lady, I'm sorry; I didn't mean 
to imply that-"
    "I want to know so that I can decide if I want to 
support you."
    Reyn blinked. "I thought you had confidence that I was 
the one chosen of the Light."
    "I did say that." She studied him, and he had the 
feeling that she was being more open than she had ever 
been. "But so was Lleyn chosen of the Light, and you 
cannot deny that he committed horrible crimes."
    Reyn's desire died as surely as Dark before Light. He 
fell back a step. "My lady, that is heresy."
    She went on as if she had not heard him, staring out 
the western window at the fading colors of the sunset. 
"You would defend his sending men into the Great Wood to 
rape darkling women, all so that half-breed children would 
be born and the darkling connection to their forest that 
came from their pure blood would be severed? You would 
defend his murdering of the Sharkcallers, his spilling of 
their blood in the water so that the sharks would smell 
them and know that they were dead? You would defend his 
binding the darkdrakes in the rock of the mountains, 
forever alive and forever hating, never quite asleep? You 
would defend-"
    "Yes, I would!"
    His voice came too loud, and her gaze snapped towards 
him. But, for once- for the first time since she had come- 
Reyn did not care. He stalked towards her, his fists 
clenched in front of him.
    "You are offending the hell out of me." It was hard to 
say that in a calm voice. "Leave now, before the Great 
Laws compel me to arrest you."
    A faint smile touched Feyrra's lips. "I don't think 
that you could arrest me."
    "I never thought I would have to. You are 
Morningsworn, and you have reason to hate the Dark."
    "Of course, my lord." Her eyes were steady, fastened 
on him. "But does hating the Dark mean that I must blindly 
love the Light?"
    Reyn was shaking. He could only whisper, "It is heresy 
to accuse the Lord of any crime."
    "You think he never sinned?"
    Reyn proudly lifted his head. "Of course not. Sinning 
is turning to the Dark, and he never did that. He hated 
the Dark too much for it."
    Feyrra sighed, a wistful sound, soft as wind in dry 
grass. "You preach love and light and kinship with all 
save the Dark, yet you do not consider hatred a sin. I 
will never know how that can be."
    "The Light's hatred for the Dark is natural, normal. 
They were born hating each other."
    "And if I were to tell you of a time when the Light 
and the Dark lived in peace? When wolves chased deer 
because that was the way it was, the way they lived? 
When-"
    "That is heresy, as well, my lady. There was never a 
time when Light and Dark lived in peace. There was only 
the undirected hatred of the Light, when they did not 
realize that all the evil in the world had a source. 
Anything else is heresy."
    "So you would refuse to listen to reason, or truth, if 
it was heresy?"
    "Heresy, my lady, by its very definition, cannot be 
reason or truth."
    "You cannot even consider the possibility," she said 
softly. "Ah, my Reyn, you have the heart of a hero. I 
thought that would be enough. But apparently, a hero must 
have a hero's mind as well- closed on one goal, refusing 
to listen to anything that disturbs his convictions."
    At any time before this, hearing her address him as 
"my Reyn" would have had him in raptures of joy, but all 
this did was make him sick, and focus his mind on his one 
desire now. "Leave. Now."
    "The Tower?" Her dark eyes implored him, and even in 
the middle of his disgust he found that he couldn't do it.
    "No. My room."
    She nodded, bowed to him, and then turned and left the 
room.
    Reyn, shaking, collapsed on the bed. It would have 
been pleasant to tell himself that he had known from the 
beginning he was going to win, but the reality of the 
matter was that she had been powerfully, horribly, 
tempting. The Dark always was, he reminded himself, and he 
must keep his mind- which was the same, now, as the mind 
of the Light- inviolate against it.
    Nevertheless, he dreamed of her that night.




                        Chapter 2
                         Jasmine
    "My lady. We have awaited your coming beyond measure, 
eagerly, piously, devotedly."
    Jasmine Alora had to smile, a little, at the rapturous 
epithets of the man walking beside her. They were only 
meeting to discuss an alliance between the Alori and his 
Line, the Dorianna. It was not as if the alliance was 
concluded yet, or even as if he would be the one joined 
with her.
    But it did have the air of a momentous event about it, 
she mused as she climbed the steps of the Great Temple 
that loomed just above them, the statues at either corner 
of it, flanking the steps, looking just as strange as they 
had the last two times she had come to Rinissen. Jasmine 
found herself inclining her head to them, just as if they 
had been old friends. Olim, the appointed representative 
of the Dorianna Line, followed her gaze, and then gave a 
nervous little laugh.
    "You must be very brave, my lady."
    Jasmine arched her eyebrows. "How so?"
    "This way, my lady," he said in a halfway normal voice 
before answering, leading her up the great stone steps and 
towards the first statue. She followed lightly, her 
muscles, toned from running, managing the leaps up the 
steps easily enough. Then they came to the first statue, 
and Olim paused as if to do homage to it, running a hand 
through his hair. "Most don't like to come this close," he 
confessed out of the side of his mouth.
    Jasmine studied him with new interest. He was 
obviously frightened- she didn't think that his harsh 
breathing and rapidly blinking eyes were an act- and yet 
he had come in close. He wasn't the one she had been sent 
to marry, she was sure, but still... he must be an 
advantage to the Alori.
    "Why?" she asked, leaning a little closer to him and 
letting the sweep of her black hair caress his shoulder, 
as bare and as copper as her own.
    Olim swallowed a little, and then looked back at the 
statue. Jasmine couldn't decide if the swallow came from 
her closeness, or that of the statue. "I mean," he said, 
breathlessly, "that accidents often happen here. Your 
bowing to the statue before you reached the usual place of 
stopping was a means of attracting attention. Most 
wouldn't want to attract their attention."
    Jasmine regarded the statue calmly. It looked mostly 
like a Summerlander, tall and with coppery skin- at least, 
with copper flakes and green tints clinging where the 
metal had once been. Its head was strange, with wide eyes 
and a stretched face, and there were gleaming spurs on its 
elbows and heels that had once been crusted with jewels, 
so the saying went. It was naked, and though the soft 
curves of the stone body suggested feminity, it had no 
breasts. "What sort of accidents?"
    Olim shrugged. "Falling down the stairs, sudden news 
of misfortune arriving, a-" Abruptly he swallowed again, 
then smiled. It made him look younger than the thirty or 
so years Jasmine estimated he had. "This is conditional on 
your promise not to tell."
    Jasmine lifted a hand and laid it on her throat, where 
the sacred pulse beat. "I promise, upon my life, not to 
tell."
    Olim paused. "Most people would have sworn on the 
Light, frankly."
    Jasmine smiled, this time without pausing to consider 
how it must look, or give it a seductive or cunning edge. 
She was liking him more and more. He was honest, 
observant, and courageous. All traits the Alori wanted to 
breed in. "I prefer this way. I value my own life more 
than the Light."
    The confession, though lightly given, was something 
that he could use to destroy her, if he so desired. The 
way he lowered his eyes said he would not choose to do so. 
"My lady, once the Chosen was walking beside this statue, 
with a picture of a young lady with whom he was 
considering a marriage alliance in his hand. A bird, 
flying overhead, cast down on the picture."
    "Defecated?" inquired Jasmine delicately, after a 
pause.
    "Ah- no, my lady. Defecated, regurgitated food, and 
then bled to death from no discernible wound."
    Jasmine tossed back her head and let a peal of rich 
laughter ripple into the air. Though she hadn't chosen it 
to have any kind of calculated effect, she noticed from 
the corner of her eye that Olim was interested, leaning 
forward a little before he caught himself. He noticed her 
noticing, and bowed, the traditional gesture of surrender 
at a gaming table, before continuing. "It is a story that 
many do not find amusing. Needless to say, the Chosen did 
not marry his lady."
    "I should hope not." Jasmine tilted her head at him. 
"Would you marry a lady whose picture a bird had done that 
upon?"
    "No, my lady! Of course not. The omens would be too 
bad-"
    "Would you marry her," asked Jasmine, "if the lady in 
the picture were me?"
    Olim blinked, and for a moment she saw a great emotion 
she could not name dawning in his face. Then he said, "My 
lady, you must be mistaken. I am not the one whom you are 
here to negotiate for. My cousin Sioland-"
    "Is infinitely less interesting than you." Jasmine 
leaned towards him, forcing him to choose to back up 
towards the statue or stay where he was. Olim stood his 
ground, though his pulse beat in his throat. Jasmine eyed 
this evidence of his interest with appreciation. "I have 
seen his picture, and I have spoken with him through the 
usual intermediaries. I think that you will add more to 
the Alori than he would, and that you would also be more 
fun in bed."
    Olim smiled, and Jasmine saw to her surprise that he 
did not believe her. "My lady, that is a very old trick, 
no doubt, and one that has served you well. But I am not 
about to be taken in by it."
    "What?"
    "There have been offers made for me. No doubt you have 
heard of them." Olim shrugged. "Not one of them lasted 
more than a few weeks, after the ladies in question met 
me. I'm sorry, but there is something about me that sends 
them off."
    Jasmine found herself smiling, a wide, predatory 
gesture that usually no one but her husbands saw, and then 
only in the privacy of the bedroom. "I think I know what 
it is. I would no doubt never have married either, if we 
here in the Summerlands did as others do and let the men 
and women choose their own mates."
    "Why?"
    "The same thing that sends them off you." Jasmine 
reached out and gently touched the collar of stones around 
his neck, blue-green stones that set off his blue-green 
eyes. He stood still for the gesture, eyes intently on 
her. "I am observant, and I am less than reverent for 
their silly, pretty conceits of the Light. I have no doubt 
that you are the same way. But you are one like me, one I 
could get used to."
    "My lady, I don't know what to say."
    "Is it an acceptable bargain?" asked Jasmine softly.
    Olim shook his head. Jasmine gaped at him. She saw 
regret in his eyes, but he was still shaking his head.
    "Explain yourself," she hissed at him.
    "I don't think I should have to."
    "There are dozens of men who applied when they heard 
that the Alori were seeking a new husband. Sioland's name 
came out all of them. Now I offer you this husbandry at 
the first sight of you, and you would still refuse it?"
    Olim laughed. "My lady, you just said that you found 
Sioland less than appealing. What does that say about the 
other applicants, if he was the best?" He paused. "Or 
about the Alori, for the matter, that they attracted those 
kind of applicants?"
    Jasmine flushed. "I could call you out for that," she 
said, voice low and dangerous.
    Olim's eyes narrowed, the amusement gone in a moment. 
"You could," he said. "But I don't think you will."
    "Why not?"
    "Do, and I will reveal what you just told me," he said 
promptly.
    "What?"
    "About being less than reverent for the Light." He 
smirked at her while she gaped again. "My lady, understand 
this. I would accept in a moment if I thought I was worthy 
of such an honor. But I am not. I know that I am not. And 
I know that no woman thinks so. So, therefore, I can only 
conclude that you are offering this as some kind of joke 
or test. I do not enjoy either. I am happy with the life I 
lead, and I have no desire to become entangled in the 
kinds of complicated practical jokes that the Lines so 
often play on each other. Find yourself another pawn, 
please. I am the only one you have met. You must meet more 
before you leave."
    Then he turned, and adopted the fawning, eager tone 
once more- a tone that Jasmine recognized as something she  
had had to develop herself, when in the presence of those 
who loved the Light. It was necessary, to survive, but 
that did not mean that he meant it, or liked it. "My lady, 
if you will come this way, your noonday meal is awaiting 
you. You must be hungry."
    "Not for food," said Jasmine, walking up deliberately 
behind him.
    Olim avoided her without even glancing back. Keen of 
ear as well, she thought in frustration. The first time in 
years that she had found this desirable a combination of 
traits in any particular man, and of course this would be 
the one determined to stay free of her. "My lady, if you 
look over here, you can see the bas-reliefs that Rinissen 
is so famous for. This one depicts the same strange 
creatures that stand in the statues. This one, the Dancing 
of the Horses. This one, the Kalma Triuna. This one..."
    "I could destroy you just as easily," said Jasmine, in 
a whisper.
    He didn't miss a beat. "Yes, my lady, you could. Yet 
you want more from me than I want from you, so why would 
you try?"
    Jasmine hissed at his back. He turned, glanced back at 
her, winked, and then kept walking.
    "My lady must be tired. These will be her rooms..."
----------------------------------------------------------
    "And this is Sioland."
    Jasmine glanced up, doing her best to keep the boredom 
off her face. It wasn't really Sioland's fault that he had 
a much more interesting older brother, she tried to tell 
herself. She had agreed to come here and negotiate for a 
fair price for him based on his description, and she at 
least owed herself a look at him.
    When he walked into the room, though, she could only 
stare.
    At last, she stood and turned to look at the woman who 
stood nearest her. Desdi, as she had introduced herself, 
recoiled at the strength of Jasmine's glare. "What is the 
meaning of this?" asked Jasmine, struggling to regain 
control. "This is not the man whose picture you sent me."
    Desdi recovered her balance and her poise gracefully, 
or at least as gracefully as she could given the 
circumstances. "As a matter of fact, we decided to reserve 
Sioland for someone else," she said smoothly. "But we knew 
that you would be coming to Rinissen to wed, and we didn't 
want you to go away without someone, so we chose Adyn 
here." She nodded and beamed, looking back and forth from 
Jasmine to Adyn as if she expected Jasmine to nod tamely 
and approve of her choice.
    Jasmine raked Adyn with a glance. He didn't actually 
look that much different from Sioland, but it wasn't the 
looks that had pulled her. The pictures were only a tiny 
part of the description, after all. It was the description 
of characteristics that had attracted her, characteristics 
that would breed strong and true in the Alora line. Adyn, 
judging from the vague way he smiled at her, and startled 
when she made a sudden move towards him, didn't have 
either the intelligence or the courage she was looking for 
in a son of the Dorianna Line.
    But there was someone else in the room who did.
    Jasmine turned on her heel suddenly and swung around 
to the side of the room. The hall used for shi-kane, the 
first formal meeting between bride and husband, was hung 
with huge flower tapestries all along the sides, and near 
one woven of orchids stood Olim. He watched her approach 
him, warily, but without the hysterics that she would have 
expected if he had known what she was going to try to do.
    Good. She didn't want him to have any time to protest. 
Shi-kane was the one time that a man could protest, 
complain that he didn't want to marry a particular woman. 
If she wasn't quick, he would complain.
    "There is something else that I require of your Line, 
Desdi, in payment for this insult," she said steadily, 
without taking her eyes from Olim's.
    In the end, she wasn't quick enough. Olim cast himself 
on the floor, hands folded in front of him, and touched 
his forehead to the flagstones in Desdi's direction. "My 
reverend aunt," he said, "I protest on the grounds that 
she would not like to have me."
    "That, at least, is granted," said Desdi, sounding 
disgusted. Jasmine glanced at her, but she was glaring at 
her nephew, and didn't look up to meet Jasmine's eyes 
until she had her mask of calm formality firmly back in 
place. "My lady, we will grant that you have a favor of 
the Dorianna Line, if you truly find the husband we would 
provide for you objectionable. But not that one. He has 
more wrong with him than you could ever find with Adyn."
    "What's wrong with me?" asked Adyn in a high-pitched, 
frantic voice.
    That settled it, Jasmine thought with a disgusted 
glance at him. She wasn't accepting him, no matter if the 
Dorianna herself pressed her.
    "What is so wrong with this one?" she asked, staring 
at Olim again. It was unlike a Line to disclaim its 
children in public, no matter what they might think about 
them in private. There was too much chance that word would 
get around, and some other Line would decide that it 
didn't want to marry any other children from that lineage, 
either.
    "My lady, he has no idea how to please a woman."
    Jasmine saw the flash in Olim's eyes, and didn't 
believe it for a moment. "No formal training, you mean?" 
she asked.
    Looking back at Desdi, she thought the woman would 
have liked to use that excuse, but she couldn't do it 
without disclaiming other sons of the Desdi Line. "No," 
admitted the woman at last, reluctantly, dropping her 
glowing amber eyes to the floor. "He has had the same 
training as any young male of any Line would receive."
    "And I am sure that it is as good as the training any 
in my own Line would receive," said Jasmine quickly, 
risking insulting her own family for the sake of 
reestablishing the woman's peace. When Desdi looked up, 
smiling, at her again, Jasmine added, "What is the real 
reason that you don't want me to take him? Is he being 
saved for someone else?"
    She could see the slight shake of Olim's head out of 
the corner of her eye, but she kept her eye on Desdi. The 
woman's was the answer she was interested in. If nothing 
else, it might provide long-term advantage, that a high- 
ranking member of the Dorianna Line had faltered like 
this.
    "No," said Dorianna, slowly. "But, despite his formal 
training, what I have said about him remains true. He has 
no idea how to please a woman."
    Jasmine opened her mouth to ask, then closed it again. 
As a matter of fact, she did think that she had heard that 
phrase, and not in reference to formal training, either. 
She lifted a hand and touched her brow, frowning, hoping 
that would speed the memory.
    Of course.
    She glanced down at Olim with a slight smile. His own 
slight smile promptly turned into a suspicious scowl.
    "It means that he's rebellious, doesn't it?" asked 
Jasmine sweetly, speaking the most dangerous word that 
could be spoken of a male as if it mattered not at all.
    The silence in the hall was absolute, for a long 
moment. Then Desdi bowed her head. Having been caught out 
in what was obviously the truth, the greater shame now 
would be to lie. "Yes," she said in a whisper. "Yes, my 
lady, it is true. When we first tried to give him out, 
every woman we tried sent him back with the report that he 
did not leap to obey her orders, that he did not try to 
please her in bed, that he did not address her with proper 
respect... you cannot imagine the sins he has committed, 
my lady. You cannot imagine. The hand of no woman shall 
tame him, our Seer decided at last, and she declared that 
we simply hold him in reserve, as Last Heir."
    Jasmine nodded. If some unimaginable catastrophe were 
to happen to the females of the Dorianna Line, taking them 
all out, then Olim would be their Heir, and his female 
children would be accounted his children and bear the 
Dorianna name rather than their mother's. "My lady, I do 
not wish to tame him."
    Olim's eyes came back to hers again, suspicious, 
questioning. Jasmine smiled into them. Such rich, clear, 
blue-green eyes, brighter than her own, shining like 
molten jewels. Neither Sioland's nor Adyn's eyes were half 
as bright.
    "I wish," said Jasmine, this time holding Olim's gaze 
instead of Desdi's, "to adopt guardianship of him. In 
time, I will marry him."
    Olim's eyes widened. He understood the reference at 
once, something that even a Seer might have had to think 
about. Not for the first time, Jasmine thanked the Lord 
that her parents had made her study the most obscure 
points of Line Law, just to make sure that she was 
acquainted with everything. This was not the first time 
that knowing it had served her.
    "My lady?"
    Jasmine turned, not bothering to hide her triumphant 
smile. She had scored a point in the competition between 
the Alora and Dorianna Lines that had begun the moment she 
arrived. "My lady, I mean that I will accept him into my 
family as if my mother or my cousins had borne him, and 
teach him the ways of the Alora Line. The Alora Line has 
had some success with this method. It will make him ours. 
In time, it will make him mine. Then I can marry him, 
without having to worry about taming him."
    Olim scrambled to his feet, shaking all over. "No!" he 
cried. "No, I will not submit to this."
    Desdi gaped at him, so shocked that she didn't know 
what to do or say. 
    Jasmine felt the same way herself for a moment. Then 
she smiled, slowly, appreciatively. She could think of no 
other male she had ever known who would have done it. 
Hearing about it, she knew, her mother or her cousins 
would have said that it was insane.
    But it wasn't. It was courageous, and she wanted that 
courage in her Line.
    "You don't have any choice," she whispered to him, 
mostly to watch his cheeks flush. "Once I claim 
guardianship of you, you have to submit to it. You know 
that. Your mother, your aunt, your sisters- they can't 
protect you anymore."
    "I said I wasn't submitting to it," he growled.
    "What are you going to do? Kill me?"
    "That's good."
    He launched himself at her.
    Jasmine rolled about, laughing, for a moment not 
thinking that he could do any serious damage to her. After 
all, no males were trained to handle weapons. And, like 
all Summerlander women, she had the height and the reach 
on him, even if he was heavier than she was. It wouldn't 
do him much good to-
    And then she remembered something that she had 
forgotten since her fighting lessons, so long ago. Height 
and reach didn't mean that much when one was in such close 
quarters as this.
    But weight did.
    He was on top of her almost at once, and he punched 
her in the face. Jasmine's head whipped back, colliding 
with the stone floor of the hall. She heard herself give a 
loud gasp, and she didn't know if it was really pain, or 
more surprise. She would have a bruise on her face and 
probably a cut on the back of her head, but still, it was 
so shocking for a man to fight like that that the shock 
almost overwhelmed the pain.
    Hands pulled Olim away from her. She saw Desdi and 
another woman who hadn't been introduced, but was only 
here to serve as witness, holding him back. He was still 
struggling to get to her, the look on his face flushed and 
intent.
    "Olim!" said his aunt sharply. When he didn't stop 
struggling, she slapped him across the face.
    Even in the midst of her own pain, Jasmine noted that 
Olim had enough presence of mind to sway with the blow, 
expertly turning his head to the side so that it looked as 
if it did more damage than it really did. She eyed him, 
yet again, with interest. For all that he had said he 
didn't want to be involved in the games and jokes between 
the Lines, he had trained himself to play at deception as 
if he expected to be forced into it someday.
    "That day has come," whispered Jasmine. She arranged 
her hair carefully so that the bloody cut, if in fact 
there was one, would be hidden, and then walked up to 
Olim. He stopped struggling almost at once, and again she 
had the impression that more of his gestures were a show 
than she knew. He hadn't lost his temper for a moment, she 
believed now, gazing into his eyes.
    "I told you," she said to him, with a slow smile. 
"Once I claim guardianship of you, you can do nothing but 
submit to it."
    "I haven't."
    Jasmine raised her eyebrows. She knew that Desdi was 
watching her as if she had turned mad, speaking to a man 
as if he were an equal, but she didn't care. It was Olim 
she wanted to marry, after all, not Desdi. "Do you really 
think that you'll get away with that?"
    "It's not what I get away with that matters," he said. 
"Only if I resist or not. I've known too many of my 
brothers who simply bow to women-"
    A loud gasp from Desdi. Men were taught never, never, 
to refer to women as only women. It was "ladies," as it 
was always "men" to them. The northern title of lord 
didn't exist here.
    Maybe it should, thought Jasmine, watching the proud 
fearlessness in Olim's eyes. Maybe it should.
    "-and I don't think that's right," said Olim, 
continuing without showing the slightest sign that he 
thought she might be thinking complimentary things about 
him. "I think that, if something's right, you should 
believe in it and fight for it, regardless of your sex."
    "And if I were to say that I believe that, too?" 
murmured Jasmine, her eyes fastened on his face.
    He wasn't quick enough to hide the flash of hope that 
her words provoked. She saw it. He ducked his head at 
once, of course, trying to hide his face, but she reached 
out and grasped his chin, tilting his head up.
    He snapped at her fingers. Jasmine removed her hand 
from his chin and bowed a little. If he didn't want her to 
touch him, she wouldn't touch him. She had relied for 
years on her touch and her Line to seduce a man whom she 
wanted to marry.
    It might be interesting to see what it would be like, 
seducing one with nothing but her words and her 
intelligence.
    "You don't want to believe that there might actually 
be a lady who would understand you," said Jasmine. "That 
would cause you to rethink your choices. You've spent 
years thinking of us as the enemy, even though you hid it 
most of the time. And now that one of the enemy is holding 
out her hand to you, you can't believe it.
    "Believe it, Olim Dorianna. I am going to make you 
believe it whether or not you want to."
    "You can't force me to believe anything," said Olim. 
"In my mind I am free."
    Jasmine blinked. That line came not from the Line 
Laws, which, though it was impressive he might know them, 
she could believe that he had read. It was from a 
forbidden northern text, one of the histories the Lleyni 
kept and which were, supposedly, never allowed out of the 
Towers for fear that it might teach people about the Dark 
again. 
    "Very courageous," she said. "But with me, a pretense 
of stupidity would have served you better." She turned to 
Desdi. "I assume that you will let me claim guardianship 
of him."
    "Yes," said Desdi, glaring furiously at her nephew. 
"If you are sure that you want him. The Dorianna would put 
him to death otherwise."
    Jasmine blinked again. That must be northern 
influence. Someone who did what Olim did in the Alori- 
granted, she had never heard of someone rebelling that 
way, but that was because they knew how to treat their 
males- would have been found another place, where he 
didn't have to marry if he didn't want to.
    "I want him," she said.
    "Good."
    Jasmine turned to Olim. "Is that agreeable to you?"
    "It's better than dying."
    Jasmine studied him for a long moment, and concluded 
at last, with a sigh, that that was all she would get out 
of him for now. She turned to Desdi. "Have him brought to 
my chambers. I have something else to say to you."
    Olim was marched out, swearing steadily under his 
breath, but not struggling. He was wise enough to 
understand that it wouldn't do him any good, Jasmine 
realized, having to force herself not to glance towards 
him.
    Wisdom, too?
    "I want to know," said Jasmine, "why the marriage 
contract was changed."
    Desdi's face flitted through several looks. None of 
them were pleasant. But she finally settled into fear, 
which was just the look that Jasmine wanted to inspire in 
her.
    "My lady- I assure you-"
    "Oh, you can't assure me of anything," said Jasmine 
with a snort. "Not when you first break a marriage 
contract, and then allow me to be attacked in the hall of 
shi-kane."
    Desdi bowed her head. Even though the assault had 
happened too quickly for anyone to do anything about it, 
it had still happened in a hall supposed to be sacred to 
peace, and on her own ground, and from a male who was her 
own when he attacked. She should have been able to prevent 
it. "What does my lady want of me?" she asked in a 
submissive tone.
    A reminder whey I wanted to ally with the Dorianna in 
the first place, Jasmine wanted to say. But that would 
only stir up suspicions why she wanted Olim. If they had 
any idea of his real value, she was sure they would demand 
him back. "An answer will suffice," she said coolly. "Tell 
me why you changed the contract."
    "I- my lady- that is- we heard stories after you had 
begun your journey, nonsense of course, about how- one of 
your cousins-"
    Jasmine tightened her lips and fought to keep from 
flushing. Her cousin's defection was not her fault. 
Corinna had been caught lighting a fire, eating a fish, 
and breaking others of the Great Laws, confirming that her 
soul was lost to the Dark. But that taint was not going to 
reflect badly on the rest of the Alori.
    She would not let it.
    "But I notice that you did not break the contract," 
she said. "If you had truly thought all of our Line 
tainted by the Dark, you would have. So, my lady, what was 
it? Were you hoping for an alliance while foisting a 
lesser male off on me?"
    Silence confirmed it.
    Jasmine nodded shortly. "Treat me well for the rest of 
the time that I am here, and I will not call challenge on 
you," she said. "And no more touching Olim, either to 
harass him or in the normal course of things. He is mine 
now, and I will be listening to him if he complains of 
anyone touching him."
    "But, my lady, he could lie! And would you believe a 
man over a lady?" Desdi sank to her knees in front of 
Jasmine, holding up her hands.
    "Here? Of course I would."
    The loathing in Jasmine's voice finally seemed to 
penetrate Desdi's head. She lowered her eyes and nodded. 
"I'll have your rooms prepared," she said in a whisper.
    "Don't. I looked in on them earlier, and they're 
perfectly satisfactory." Jasmine didn't want anyone in her 
rooms. They would probably find some way to hide there, 
and then spy on what she was going to do with Olim. "I'll 
go to bed now. And, in the morning, I expect to see 
Sioland. That is the other price that I will claim from 
you. I want to meet him, and decide if he is the husband I 
want."
    "I understand."
    Well, at least that probably meant Sioland wasn't 
promised to someone else. She wouldn't want to have the 
complications of a Line struggle to deal with, on top of 
everything else. Jasmine nodded shortly once more, then 
turned and strode from the hall of shi-kane, the flower 
tapestries swaying in her passage.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "They are beautiful, are they not?"
    Though she had shut the door quietly behind her, and 
come into the room near as quietly, Olim did not start. 
That perfect hearing, she thought, eying his back. She 
wanted that for her Line.
    She just wanted him for the Line.
    "The trees? Yes, they're beautiful," said Olim, in the 
same kind of abstracted voice that she had used to make 
the comment to him. "But they weren't what I was looking 
at."
    "Truly?" Jasmine couldn't help smiling, wondering if 
he was going to pay her a compliment at last. Males were 
all the same, when you really got down to it, she thought, 
almost giddy. She wouldn't have to have a long and 
complicated courtship after all.
    "Of course not. Come here and see."
    Jasmine obligingly went and leaned on the windowsill, 
peering out at the thick jungle that surrounded Rinissen. 
This window had no shutters, as the rooms used in the dry 
season always lacked. She could see the shining flowers, 
the thick, luxuriant green fronds, the lesser greens of 
winding lianas. She drew in a breath, and smiled as the 
air, a little less humid than the air of the south, filled 
her lungs. This aws her favorite part of the year, with 
the rainy season past, and yet the dry season not far 
advanced enough that all the plants began dying.
    "I don't see what I'm supposed to be-"
    She felt Olim's hands grab her, one low, on the small 
of her back, the other high, on her shoulders. She started 
to turn, smiling, all the while thinking that he was going 
to grab her and kiss her. He really was just a male, after 
all.
    He pushed her out the window.
    It wasn't a long fall, thank the Light, but Jasmine 
hit on the stone one of Rinissen's raised platforms just 
under the sill. She picked herself up, swearing, and 
turned to look up-
    Just in time to see him calmly unfold a pair of wicker 
shutters from the Light knew where, and wrap them into 
place around the window.
    Fuming, Jasmine stood there for a moment. The night 
was coming on, thick and sudden as it always fell once it 
made up its mind to fall. She could see the glitter of the 
nearly full moon among the just-returned stars, and the 
air was thick and sweet with the scent of flowers. A 
breeze was even stirring, as if the heat were thinking 
about relenting on its assault for once. It wasn't really 
that unpleasant to be outside.
    It was the sheer effrontery of what he had done that 
shocked and angered her.
    She sighed at last, and started to walk around the 
front of the platform again, where she would find the door 
to the room. A mocking whisper from between the shutters 
stopped her. 
    "Don't bother. I shoved the bed in front of the door."
    And while she turned to gape at him, once more 
shocked, he shoved the shutters together, effectively 
shutting her out of her own chambers.
    Jasmine stood there. A frog called somewhere in the 
forest, and then came the harsh screech of a parrot in 
response. In moments, the jungle was alive with its night 
sounds, settling comfortably into the endless symphony.
    And she was out in it.
    Her mind still blank, she sat down in the grass, then 
lay down. Staring at the stars, she shook her head, while 
a scowl and a smile battled for control of her mouth. 
    Was there ever such a male?
    It looked as if she would be sleeping here, for the 
night at least. Oh, well. It wasn't that bad. And it would 
give her something else to play up the next morning to 
Desdi. Rebellious male, yap, yap, yap...
    She closed her eyes, and was just starting to roll 
over when something pulled her back to wakefulness. She 
sat up, rubbing her eyes, and stared around. 
    The sound came again- a deep growl.
    She turned her head, and her heart actually stopped, 
or at least it felt so, as she saw something on a lower 
platform of Rinissen, near the statue that Olim had shown 
her earlier. It was dark, and when it moved, more fluid 
than anything she had ever seen. It came to the edge of 
the steps that led up to the next platform, and for a 
moment she wondered if it would ascend them. Four-legged 
brothers and sisters in the Light usually found ascending 
the platforms difficult, one reason there were not many of 
them in Rinissen.
    This animal didn't bother. It leaped- easily leaped 
the twenty feet of steps, flowing along the next platform 
to the steps and doing the same thing. By now, she could 
see it, and could see that it was covered with smooth dark 
fur, so thick and soft-looking even from here that her 
hands itched to touch it. Its feet made no noise on the 
stone. She leaned towards it, attracted by the green 
flames of its eyes.
    It looked up at her.
    Teeth showed in the heavy jaws as it snarled at her. 
Its eyes were heart-rendingly green, with a hint of gold 
when it turned its head, and they caught the moonlight in 
odd reflections. Its paw tapped once on the stone, this 
time making a sound, and she saw the shining claws that 
gleamed there.
    It was probably the deadliest thing she had seen in 
her life, in the jungle where nothing save the rains and 
some of the frogs were as deadly. She leaned down, staring 
at it.
    She was fascinated.
    It stood there, gazing up at her, tail swishing back 
and forth as if it were considering coming up to her. Then 
a sound came from the left, somewhere lower down a 
platform.
    In moments it was gone. Jasmine didn't even see it go. 
It seemed to rise and ascend into the night, as easily as 
if it had dissipated and become part of the darkness.
    She lay back down, trembling and fascinated. This- 
that thing was so beautiful and graceful, for all the 
deadly power inherent in it, that she wanted to pursue it, 
follow it, see it again.
    If it wasn't just a fancy.
    Even as Jasmine thought it, though, she remembered the 
green eyes and shook her head. No. She had a good 
imagination- she thought that Olim would actually submit 
to her in the end, for instance- but she couldn't imagine 
those eyes, nor that grace, nor the sheer fluid power of 
the creature.
    Well. Now she had three things to look forward to- 
gentling Olim, the Line struggle between Dorianna and 
Alora that had begun tonight, and finding out what the 
hell that thing was.
    Closing her eyes, schooling her body, she began to 
drift away. 
----------------------------------------------------------
    A sound woke her in the night. She was well-used to 
all the usual noises of the jungle, so it had to be 
something pretty unusual.
    It was.
    A scream, rising and then falling away again, dying 
into a long, low growl near the end. A second scream 
followed it, one that was higher-pitched and had the sound 
of death in it.
    Jasmine found herself sitting up, staring at the 
jungle. Nothing came out of it, but she watched the fronds 
dance until morning, waiting.
    Hoping.




                        Chapter 3
                         Kenniel
    She bathed her face slowly, running her hands down her 
cheeks and her fingers thorough her long, dark hair. Her 
skin was soaked with sweat, and the water was only more 
wetness, but at least it was marginally cooler wetness. 
She sat back on her heels and glared at the sun.
    What the hell was wrong with the weather, anyway?
    They were in the mountains, the lower slopes of the 
Northwall, not that many days' journey from Dombrona, all 
told. It was supposed to be cold, or at least cooler than 
that. Even someone from the Great Woods, who was now 
further into the Northwalls than she had ever been before, 
knew that much.
    It wasn't cooperating.
    Kenniel shook her head disgustedly, and rose to her 
feet. It was past time to be getting back to the small 
shelter she had established, for all that she felt like 
kicking her feet and screaming like a child.
    "Getting ready to die for the Dark was easier than 
this," she muttered, shoving the branch of a rowan out of 
the way and walking, with slow, heavy steps, back to the 
shelter in the shade of a pine grove.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "Lor, you have to eat."
    "Why should I?" The voice that responded was hoarse, 
from long screaming or long weeping or both. At this 
point, Kenniel almost didn't care which. "I don't want to 
eat food that they will only feed off. I don't want to 
feed children of the Dark."
    "Lor."
    Kenniel smiled a little, sourly, as she ducked into 
the shelter. Deymi had an inhuman patience with her lover 
that only fit what she was; the kaidi had been created by 
the Dark as guardians, and she had taken to her task of 
guarding Lorelyn well enough to fall in love with her. But 
even she was getting impatient after five days of this.
    Deymi looked up as Kenniel came into the shelter and 
gave her a brief greeting. She was in human form at the 
moment, tall, with the dull coppery skin that made her 
look a Summerlander at one moment and a Kivla Arevi at the 
next. Her hair was long and dark and tied back, her eyes 
blue as calm water. She aws holding out a bowl of a cupped 
leaf to Lorelyn.
    "Welcome back, little darkie."
    Kenniel controlled her temper with difficulty as she 
looked at Lorelyn. All right, granted, she was darkling, 
less than four feet tall and black of hair, skin, and eye. 
But Lorelyn didn't have to use the term that had been an 
insult longer than the reign of the Light.
    "Good morning, Lorelyn," she said to the woman in 
front of her, trying to conceal her shock at the change. 
Lorelyn looked worse even in the hours since she had gone 
walking to clear her head, and take a bath, of sorts, in 
the stream.
    Lorelyn would have been a tall woman with red hair and 
blue eyes if the circumstances had been better, the pale 
skin of a Rovla worn as proudly as the golden cloak of the 
Lleyni wrapped around her. But the cloak was tattered now, 
stained from their flight through the woods. And her eyes 
were haunted, and her hair hung bedraggled around her 
face, and her face was drawn and sick with lack of sleep 
and food.
    "Lor," said Deymi gently, with real love in her voice. 
Every time Kenniel heard it, she wondered why Lorelyn had 
started accusing even her lover in the past few days of 
being unfaithful. There was no way that Deymi could ever, 
ever be. She had the sound of a woman who had given her 
heart, and never planned to ask for it back. "Come on. You 
have to eat."
    "I told you! I don't want to eat food that will only 
be taken by the little brats in my stomach." Lorelyn 
buried her face in her knees, and began to cry once more.
    Deymi put the food down in a moment, and tried to put 
her arms around Lorelyn. Lorelyn fended her off, sobbing, 
"You're of the Dark, too!"
    Deymi sighed and rose to her feet, a green tint coming 
to her hair and eyes as she walked to the entrance of the 
shelter. "I'm going flying," she said to Kenniel, for a 
moment a hint of her true, winged form shining about her. 
Kaidi usually kept themselves either hidden in shapechange 
or dimmed; their beauty was enough to drive anyone, 
whether loyal to Dark or to Light, mad. "I'll be back in a 
little while."
    Kenniel nodded her understanding. "Keep a watch, if 
you will."
    "Of course," said Deymi, with a faintly offended look 
in her eyes. 
    Kenniel smiled a little and bowed. Of course the kaida 
would keep watch; not only was her lover here, but kaidi 
kept watch, always.
    Deymi stepped outside the shelter and leaped into the 
air, her wings forming seamlessly across her back as she 
shapechanged into something like her true shape. Kenniel 
waited until she was sure that Deymi was gone; as much as 
she needed to say these words, she wouldn't have the 
courage to say them when Deymi was nearby. The kaidi were 
as likely to attack even friends when they were in love if 
those friends threatened their lovers.
    Kenniel turned back, and pulled Lorelyn's hands, 
clasped over her face, sharply away from that face. As 
Lorelyn stared at her, shocked, Kenniel said, "You can 
live or you can die. At the moment, I wouldn't really care 
which way you decided. But your choice affects more than 
just you. There are the twins to consider."
    "I was raped!" Lorelyn screamed.
    Kenniel ground her teeth. That was Lorelyn's excuse 
for everything, and most of the time she had to admit that 
it was a pretty good one. But Lorelyn could have retired 
to one of the Healer's Isles, if she really wanted gentle 
treatment and every effort taken not to remind her of the 
rape. She had chosen to remain in the world, instead, 
which to Kenniel bespoke strength. But she also seemed to 
expect the world to bend to her will when she was in one 
of her moods.
    "I know that," said Kenniel, when she could trust 
herself to speak. "But you refuse to come to terms with 
it, to have anything to do with it, even as you use it as 
an excuse to make us feel sorry for you. I have offered, 
before, to try and find flowers or herbs to prepare some 
kind of a poison if you like. It would be hard, as Lleyn 
banished all the herbs that he thought would harm from the 
world, but I am sure that I could come up with a 
combination to flush the children from her belly."
    "How can you speak of killing?" Lorelyn looked at her 
in horror.
    Kenniel threw up her hands. At the oddest moments, 
even though the woman had helped her, a leader of the 
Dark, to escape, Lorelyn was still Lleyna. "You seem to 
think it's the best idea," she said. "Given that not 
eating will kill you in the end anyway. Why not kill the 
children, so that you at least can go on?"
    "How can you speak of killing children?" Lorelyn 
whispered, lowering her head. "Babies who can't even 
defend themselves, who had no choice about coming into 
existence-"
    "I was thinking of you," Kenniel growled. She really, 
really hoped that Lorelyn wasn't going to make her do what 
she was thinking of doing. "You keep calling them brats of 
the Dark. I had the impression that you wanted them out of 
your belly."
    "Not that way."
    "Then make a choice. You can eat, which means feeding 
them as well as yourself. You can take poison, and hope 
that it will flush the children out. Or you can die. At 
this point, I don't really care which you choose. Your 
utter refusal to come to any sort of decision ends today."
    "You can't make me decide-"
    Kenniel lost her temper, and snapped her fingers. A 
flame sprang into being at the ends of them, and she 
reached out and towards Lorelyn's face. Lorelyn shrieked, 
cowering away.
    "Fine, then." Kenniel lowered her hand, feeling 
enormously tired. "You make the decision." She nodded at 
the leaf, then at the forest outside. "As a matter of 
fact, I'm only going to give you two. Your death would 
devastate Deymi."
    "I don't-"
    "Care about her? But you want her often enough, and 
you've depended on her endlessly since your rape, if half 
the things I hear from both of you are true. Now. Are you 
going to make a decision, or do I make the decision for 
you?"
    "I was raped!"
    "That's what I thought." Kenniel picked up the leaf 
and walked towards Lorelyn.
    "Don't touch me," whimpered Lorelyn, cowering away 
again.
    Kenniel halted. "I'm not going to burn you."
    "I don't want you to touch me." Lorelyn's eyes were 
full of loathing. "You have the corruption of the Dark to 
spread to me, even if you don't have fire in your 
fingers."
    Kenniel shook her head. She could never comprehend why 
all Lleyni seemed to think loyalists of the Dark intent on 
spreading this "corruption." What would be the point? The 
Dark wasn't out to convert people, just to find a place 
for itself in the world again.
    And it wasn't above using force to make sure that some 
things happened that had to happen to win that place. Like 
now. Kenniel pried open Lorelyn's jaw, while the woman 
screamed and didn't even try to fight her, lest she come 
into contact with Kenniel's body, and poured the messy 
mixture of dried leaves and fruit down her throat.
    Lorelyn tried to spit it back out, but Kenniel rubbed 
her throat until she swallowed. Then it started again, 
with another mouthful, and another, and another, until 
Lorelyn was full from her first meal in five days, and her 
stomach was no longer complaining with the loud growls 
that Kenniel had come to detest almost as much as her 
constant weeping.
    "There." Kenniel sat back. "That should rest you for a 
little while."
    "How dare you," whispered Lorelyn.
    Kenniel hid a smirk. Lorelyn was licking at her lips 
even as she spoke, trying to get the last drops of the 
mixture down. "Why don't you sleep now?" she asked. 
"You're going to topple over soon anyway, whether or not 
you want to. It might as well be by your choice." 
Privately, she felt that Lorelyn didn't deserve a choice, 
but she had taken enough of the woman's pride away for one 
day. She could always make this choice.
    Lorelyn grunted at her and closed her eyes. Kenniel 
turned from her, then turned back. She was asleep already, 
breathing lightly and steadily.
    Kenniel smiled, then ducked from the shelter. It was 
simple, really, just logs leaned against trees until they 
formed walls that would keep the rain off if nothing else. 
She swatted needles from her clothes and was starting back 
to the river, to fetch water, when wings flapped just 
above her.
    Defensive instincts flung her backwards. She didn't 
think a brightdrake could have come this close without her 
sensing it, but still, she wasn't about to wait for the 
claws to snatch her up.
    "It's me!"
    Kenniel started to look up, then hid her eyes before 
Deymi's bright glow. "Would you not do that, please?" she 
asked plaintively between her fingers.
    "Sorry." The glow dimmed, and it was an almost human 
Deymi who helped her to her feet. Kenniel thought she 
could feel the bite of claws just under the human skin, 
though, and she could see Deymi's back rippling anxiously, 
as though she was going to sprout wings any moment. "There 
are people coming this way."
    Kenniel was alert at once. No pursuit coming from 
Dombrona in the past five days had made her relax. "How 
many?"
    "Close to a hundred."
    Kenniel managed a little grin in spite of the 
situation. "They must think we're dangerous."
    "They're right."
    Kenniel smiled a little at the shine of green ferocity 
in Deymi's eyes. She had taken on a brightdrake in the air 
over Dombrona, though she was less than a tenth the 
drake's size. She must be brave enough. "That's a good 
woman," she said. "Now, Lorelyn ate-"
    "She did?" Deymi smiled at once.
    "With help," said Kenniel, and the kaida's smile 
didn't fade that much. "Not enough to move far or fast, 
though, and if we try to move her now she'll probably fall 
asleep in the middle of the run. So, I think we should 
attack. Rush them, make them think we're greater and more 
dangerous than we really are."
    Deymi nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
    "Yes, it does," said Kenniel. She wasn't entirely 
happy with the plan- but, on the other hand, it was her 
wildfire that had stopped the Dombronans tracking them in 
the first place. She could light another one if she had 
to. "Let's go."
----------------------------------------------------------
    Kenniel crouched in the bushes, watching the rustling 
where the Dombronans were moving. They were so noisy in 
the woods that she almost thought that she would have 
heard them herself if Deymi hadn't come and pointed them 
out. Still, it was good to have some advance warning.
    Wings rustled, much more softly than the leaves, and 
Deymi landed beside her. "What is the plan?" she asked 
softly, assuming part of her human illusion again.
    "I hit them with fire. You hit them from above. And we 
try not to hit each other."
    "Simple." Deymi nodded approvingly. "I like it."
    "You just like the chance to defend Lorelyn," muttered 
Kenniel, but Deymi had leaped into the air and was gone 
again. And Kenniel couldn't blame her, really, given that 
she was a kaida, and did love Lorelyn- so much that 
Kenniel envied them.
    "Oh, really," she muttered to herself. "You envy a 
woman who was raped and makes sure that everyone knows it 
at every chance she gets, and the kaida who loves her so 
much she hardly notices the annoyance?"
    Well, yes, she did. Not their circumstances, but their 
love- and even the circumstances, if those had somehow 
combined to produce their love.
    The leaves rustled again, drawing her attention back 
to their true targets. She held up her hands, her fire 
smoldering in her hands. It would have been simpler, and 
less wasteful of life, to just sing darkness down on them, 
but unfortunately it was the middle of the day, and her 
voice didn't have the same effect on the Sun that it did 
on the moon.
    The first person stepped into the open meadow in front 
of her, and she flung fire, hearing Deymi scream like the 
hunter she was as she dropped in the same instant.
    Kenniel thanked the stars who had given her her gifts 
for her control of her fire a moment later. She dissipated 
the fire in midair, and called sharply to Deymi, "Deymi, 
don't!"
    Luckily, Deymi trusted her so much that she spread her 
wings and sheared away in the last moment. She soared up 
into the sky, muttering obscenities to herself all the way 
Kenniel was sure, and then flew out of sight. She was 
probably hovering just above, waiting.
    Kenniel stepped into sight of the woman who was now 
glancing, worriedly, towards the sky, and then towards the 
bushes. She ran towards her, and flung her arms around the 
taller woman's waist, feeling her stoop to embrace her as 
well, and for once not embarrassed at her short height. 
With these, it had never mattered.
    "Parl," she murmured.
    The woman she had found freezing one night on the 
streets of Dombrona and helped survive by teaching her how 
to make fire gave a little chuckle that was meant to hide 
the tears gathering in her eyes, and didn't really work. 
"My lady Kenniel. I didn't think that we would find you."
    "What led you in this direction?" asked Kenniel, 
leaning back and grinning into Parl's face.
    "A feeling, more than anything else," Parl admitted, 
stroking Kenniel's hair. Kenniel smiled. The gesture was 
somewhere between a sister's and a lover's, and nothing 
like the caress that one would give a child.
    "Don't go Lleyna on me, now," she teased.
    "I'm not."
    Kenniel could almost feel Deymi staring a hole in her 
back, no doubt wondering who the hell these people were 
and if it was safe to bring them near Lorelyn. Kenniel 
thought it was- like Lorelyn, most of these people hadn't 
begun in the company of the Dark, but had turned there 
after being accused of Dark-worship- but she supposed she 
would have to mention it to Parl and the others.
    "We heard that you escaped," said Parl, on cue. There 
was something odd in her voice, and Kenniel drew back to 
look at her curiously. "With help."
    Kenniel gaped at her. It was jealousy. Parl had been 
the one who had wanted to help her escape, when she had 
gone to jail and been sentenced to die so that the Dark- 
Workers could escape.
    "I assure you," said Kenniel, "I would have escaped in 
the end, and it didn't matter through whose agency it 
came. I had to live."
    "For us?"
    "For you," said Kenniel, with a nod, though she hadn't 
really entertained many thoughts of finding the Dark- 
Workers in the vastness of the mountains. It was what Parl 
needed to hear just now, though; she beamed. "And for the 
sake of a woman whom you shall meet in a short while."
    "Not without my consent."
    Parl turned on Deymi, who had swooped down behind her 
silently. "It's at the lady's pleasure, not yours- ah!"
    Deymi reached out a clawed hand and lifted the woman 
easily in the air. At the moment, she looked less human 
than Kenniel had ever seen her. Her skin was green, and 
the shining light of her maddening beauty aws struggling 
to burst through it. Her hands had claws, her mouth fangs. 
Her wings shone and flapped, and her eyes shone and 
blazed. Even her green-gold hair curled and flew about her 
with a life of its own. "If you go near Lorelyn before I 
decide that I can trust you," said Deymi, "I will kill 
her."
    Parl's eyes were shaken, and impressed, when Deymi 
lowered her back to the ground. In fact, they were 
something like adoring as she gazed at the kaida.
    "I have been wanting to meet a true servant of the 
Dark for so long," she whispered. "Will I- can I touch 
your hand?"
    Deymi stared at her. "You are a true servant of the 
Dark as much as I am. I can see that in you." As she 
calmed, her human semblance returned, until she had the 
skin and most of the hair back. Only her fierce green eyes 
and wings remained. And the claws and fangs, Kenniel 
noted, giving her a fierce look of her own. Deymi shrugged 
a wing at her and then glanced back at Parl.
    "You may touch me," she said, and held out a hand.
    Parl took it, fingers stroking the skin as if to rub 
away the coppery tone and feel the green beneath.