Children of Darkness
                         Prologue
              271, Age of Arcadia, Midspring
    He heard the singing as he made his way through the 
forest to the gates of the city. It darted out of the 
trees like a fox, swelled and rose like the sea in storm, 
and was gone as quickly. For a moment, an impression of 
sweetness lingered in his ears, as the smell of apple 
blossoms does to the nose.
    Captivated, he turned his head slightly, looking in 
the direction of the sound. Nothing revealed itself to him 
but trees, tall and old, some dragging limbs cracked in a 
recent windstorm along the ground, some still guarding 
stubborn, slushy snowbanks. Cool green shadow breathed and 
slumbered among them. He searched most carefully, but no 
sign of life showed. Of course, none would, this close to 
a darkness Elwen city.
    Yet he knew he had heard something...
    The song bloomed again, unfolding upward, and Zadok 
made his way toward the sound of the voice, slipping among 
the trunks more silently than the fading night. He never 
thought about what dangerous creatures might make music 
like this to lure hapless young zorkro. The song spoke to 
him in a voice he did not entirely understand, giving him 
the heart to follow. He had to see the singer.
    Swelling and falling, the melody faded again suddenly, 
but this time Zadok had her scent. He made his way to the 
edge of a clearing and paused, wincing, as his eyes were 
assaulted with the edge of a light much brighter than the 
soft light of the auras around him. After taking a moment 
to adjust his gaze from nightsight to daysight, he looked 
out into the glade.
    A fire blazed there, outshining the moons who looked 
down from their heavenly halls in scorn of the intruder. 
Zadok grinned slightly as he saw a bowl of water sitting 
beside the fire; the grin bared lengthening fangs. So she 
had decided to stop for the night so near to Darkfang, had 
she? He wouldn't get much of a meal on one so foolish as 
she, but a soul was a soul, most said...
    And then the singer moved into view, stroking a pearly 
comb through her hair and singing softly once more, and he 
slammed his mouth shut.
    Her hair was a startling cascade of silver; the purest 
starlight caught in a net, it seemed, or her song forced 
into solid form. It foamed nearly to her hips, and seemed 
to quiver and shimmer with a life of its own. Her eyes, 
large and dreaming and blue as summer evening skies, 
looked into the brightness of the fire without turning, 
without flinching. Here was one used to light.
    Which was strange, because the firelight played over- 
or rather was swallowed up by- skin the same color as 
Zadok's own, a sable so dark it made the night seem pale.
    The woman likewise wore the dress of a hunter, perhaps 
one just returning home. Of a soft cloth that billowed and 
yet allowed the wearer to move freely, often making the 
darkness Elwens appear like angels in the startled eyes of 
their victims, it was of a weave and cut that could only 
indicate one of high rank. And there was only one rank, in 
truth, in Zadok's home that meant anything. 
    Soft breath hissed between his fangs. He knew who she 
must be, but had tried to deny it to himself for reasons 
unknown. 
    Still, he had to admit it made no sense. What would 
one of the zorkro Trulae, the real rulers of his people, 
who often claimed they were allied with the Light, be 
doing out here? They stayed in the city, where their 
presence was needed.
    And singing like that! Most zorkro did not sing like 
that, like normal Elwens, like birds; the drug they needed 
to live froze the voiceboxes that would permit such a 
sound. And the Trulae, who did not use the drug but 
respectfully mimicked their people, tamed their voices as 
well.
    She turned her head sharply toward him, and he froze, 
fearing his impossibly soft sigh had given him away. Her 
face, he noted absently, was beautiful yet imperious, the 
face of one given to command at a young age and never 
trying to revoke the choice. The delicate, angular planes 
that formed any Elwen's face seemed to rise to especially 
sharp points on hers; the diamond-shaped eyes were as hard 
as the jewels they resembled. She rested a hand on 
something by her side, likely a weapon, moving slowly and 
easily, while her lips pulled apart and her own fangs, 
shining white against normal dark teeth, lengthened.
    "Who is there?" She spoke in his own tongue, 
Tinniltinoc, yet without the graceful command of it Trulae 
normally had. She sounded exactly like a child found out 
doing something naughty.
    The temptation to stand up and reveal himself was 
almost overwhelming. Zadok gritted his teeth and kept his 
silence, his natural caution fighting the injunction that 
one must always obey a Trula. Something very strange was 
going on here, and if he stumbled into the middle of it 
without knowing what it was...
    The Trula relaxed minutely when no one answered her 
call, settling her lips back in place and laying the 
weapon down. She leaned over the fire, coaxing it into 
brighter life with a few passages of her hands; Trulae 
were almost always mages. Then she lifted the pot of water 
and set it to boil.
    Zadok shook his head slightly. Trulae might not eat 
souls like the rest of his people, but making a stew...?
    Abruptly, normal instincts took over, and he darted a 
swift glance at the sky. He spat a curse as he noted gold 
creeping up from the east. Even the forest so near his 
home was not safe after daybreak; the light would not harm 
him, but there were those who would kill him if they could 
catch him, simply because of what he was.
    He paused, lingering, to take a last glance at the 
most unusual Trula he had yet met, and realized she seemed 
unaware of the danger. Not even a Trula could remain 
outside Darkfang's walls when their time, the night, 
receded- part of the price they paid for living so close 
to a store of victims who found their courage with the 
light. Yet the woman sat quietly, staring into the pot of 
water, never blinking, barely breathing. 
    Zadok scowled. So now he had the choice of leaving her 
there, or breaking a mage's trance. Highly attractive 
choices, surely, with both resulting in almost certain 
death if anyone ever found out.
    Still... He hesitated, knowing he must save her, yet 
reluctant to reveal himself. Something about her song and 
odd actions had not inspired the normal faith and awe one 
found when facing a Trula, but suspicion and fear.
    A sharp sound rang out across the sky, and Zadok 
stiffened. It sounded like a whipcrack, like something 
heard any normal night by the pits, but he knew it was 
not. The light Elwens had hounds that barked so; the Dawn 
Chase had found a trail.
    More of the pack took up the chorus, belling eagerly. 
He barely had to listen to know they headed along the 
scents of two zorkro, toward the place where those scents 
converged.
    He had to run now- she had to run now- if they were to 
have any chance.
    Driven by fear, he found a stone in his hand before he 
knew what was happening. Before his induction into 
adulthood, he had been assigned to chase crows away from 
the reth fields, and had gotten quite adept at doing so 
without actually running at them. Yet he hadn't thrown a 
stone in years.
    Now, all the old skill came back to him, filling his 
arm with power and helping him to launch the pebble high 
and far.
    It hit the mage in the small of her back, stunning her 
from her trance. She started to her feet, angry eyes 
sweeping the trees.
    Zadok was a shadow already, slipping under the trees 
and toward the city with speed he could scarcely credit 
himself as possessing. He knew would what happen without 
looking. He could almost picture the sudden expression of 
fear on her face, the quick, practiced kicks with which 
she would bury the fire's embers and spill the water, the 
run she would take toward the city.
    The flash of a golden hound's body to the side 
prompted him to abandon his imaginings and run the faster. 
Thinking it had him, the dog snarled gleefully and sprang.
    Only to be knocked backward by the closing gates of 
Darkfang. Zadok leaned back against them, panting and 
cursing himself for a fool.
    Why did he do such ridiculous things?
    Because he was a fool, of course.




                        Chapter 1
                         Lemakush
    "Children of darkness, exiles from light,
     Long ago you sought the ways of the night.
     What will it take for time backwards to flow,
     And return you to the paths you should know?"
     -Shia Wildharper.

    "The petitioners will come forward."
    Zadok smiled slightly, knowing the haft of the spear 
he held would hide it. Lady Koris's voice held just the 
right amount of languid boredom, mixed with dangerous 
interest. If the petitioners were smart, they would march 
forward in double-quick time.
    They did, coming to kneel before the head of the 
Council in abject terror. Two females, Zadok noted with 
the indifference trained into Council guards, both tall 
and crystal-haired. Sisters, then, most likely, arguing 
over some scrap of a possession tossed to them by their 
unknown parents. He stifled a yawn. So many disputes like 
this had come before the Council that he could almost 
predict how the lines would go.
    "You are here." Lady Koris folded her hands on the 
table before her, draped with the same soft black cloth 
woven of solidified darkness that her clothing, and the 
clothing of the Council guards, and of the sisters, was 
made of. "Commence your argument." She tossed her head at 
the sister who looked shorter, and therefore younger. Not 
that age made any difference. "You first."
    "Yes, Lady." Flashing silver eyes much like Zadok's 
own darted a venomous glance at her sister. "Our parents 
gave to us a small music box that plays the most 
enchanting tunes, but they can only be heard by one person 
at a time, the person who winds the box. And the magic can 
only be used a limited number of times-"
    "How do you know?" Raising feathery dark eyebrows, the 
Lady pounced on the possible mistake like a hawk diving 
onto a mouse.
    "So said the note that came with the box, Lady," the 
petitioner replied unflinchingly.
    Koris sat back in her chair. One has to have served 
with the Council as long as I have, Zadok thought, to see 
how disappointed she is. That cool face reveals nothing. 
"I see. Continue."
    "I found the box, my lady. I should be the one to have 
it, should I not?" The petitioner did not clench her 
fists, as that would have been a fatal mistake, but she 
came close. "I do not think it unreasonable that that be 
the case."
    Koris nodded slowly, liquid dark eyes still revealing 
nothing more than similar pieces of obsidian. Abruptly, 
the head turned with a sound like a whipcrack toward the 
other sister. "Your turn."
    "Yes, my lady." The woman's face revealed only terror, 
one of the Three Acceptable Emotions, as was proper. "It 
is as my sister said; she found the music box. Yet our 
parents meant it for both of us-"
    "And how do you know that?"
    The words seemed to ring in the silent hall. The 
sister wrung her hands, not seeming aware of it, as 
widening crystal eyes clouded with shock.
    "I thought so." Lady Koris turned slightly, nodding to 
the guards on either side of her. "Take her to Master 
Akhivan. Tell him he is to do a better job this time. That 
other one only lived-" a minute pause "-twenty days. I  
want her to last a month."
    Screaming, the woman abruptly stumbled to her feet and 
tried to run. The guards moved like the hounds of the Dawn 
Chase, surrounding her so swiftly she had no chance to 
escape. Locking their hands on her elbows, they looked 
silently to the Lady for changes in the orders.
    Koris eyed the trembling girl for a long moment; her 
lips parted in a smile, revealing her fangs. "Forty days, 
then." The woman would have fainted, but the guards held 
her upright, to hear the next part of the sentence, for 
obviously the Lady was not finished. "And use the soul- 
whips."
    This time, she did faint. The guards dragged her out 
as the Lady turned a bland smile on the remaining 
petitioner. She did not watch her sister, being wiser than 
that, but kept her eyes on Lady Koris's face. "Well 
spoken," the older zorkro congratulated her. "You may yet 
rise far, especially free of such encumbrances as a 
jealous, spoiled sister."
    The silver eyes were wide. She knows it could have 
been her as easily, Zadok thought; just because she 
remembered the prohibitions this time doesn't mean she 
will again. "I may, Lady," she whispered.
    "Indeed." Koris waved her hand. "Dismissed." And as 
the woman jumped to her feet, obviously glad to be gone: 
"Remember one thing, sister."
    The young woman turned very slowly, sable chin 
uplifted. Fear glowed through the facade of dignity, 
however, and therefore it was not punishable. "Yes?" she 
said without voice.
    "Generalizations are a bad habit. A very bad habit. 
And prohibited."
    "Of course, Lady," the girl said with a bow of her 
head, and practically fled the room.
    "I will send the tax later!" Lady Koris shouted. And 
to Zadok she murmured confidentially, "Get the music box 
for me, if you will. It sounds valuable, too valuable to 
be left in the hands of a girl like that one, sure to trip 
up and fall sooner or later."
    "If you say so, my lady," murmured Zadok, with a bow 
of his head.
    Koris gave him a quick, affectionate glance out of 
dark eyes. "Ah, beyond the prohibitions of that age, and 
yet you still won't generalize?" She put a hand to her 
throat, as if to scratch an itch.
    Zadok obediently brought her a glass of wine as red as 
the blood that splashed so liberally everywhere when a 
Great Hunt soul-hunted elves. "It is, as my lady says, a 
bad habit."
    Koris chuckled as she took a sip of wine. "And you 
don't trip over the laws that proscribe your own age, 
either? You are remarkable."
    Zadok inclined his head sharply, feeling more pleased 
at the compliment than he knew he should. Still, it was 
not often that Lady Koris gave approval. She might be the 
sham head of a sham government, but it was not often that 
she gave compliments.
    The Lady had already turned away, though, seeing the 
door of the Council Hall open again. She was the only 
Council member there this afternoon, alone except for the 
required guards, and thus condemned to judge all the 
petitioners herself. "Stay your steps-" she began, voice 
echoing in the vaulted, seemingly empty great hall.
    "Zadok!" The voice was shrill, impatient, that of a 
child too young to be bound yet by any of the strictures. 
The Lady settled back in her chair; this was no 
petitioner. She sipped at her wine, eyes moving back and 
forth with amusement from Zadok to the small shape 
hurrying toward him.
    "Faflin?" Zadok cursed himself for a fool again, as 
usual, the moment he opened his mouth. He knelt down to 
gather his sister close, ignoring the feel of Koris's 
suddenly narrowed eyes on him. One of the few prohibitions 
on one of his age and rank, if it could be called rank, 
was not to show surprise. Those incapable of living up to 
the expectations of their peers were culled.
    His sister grabbed him and shook his shoulders, golden 
eyes leaping with all the passion of her ten years. "I saw 
them, Zadok!" she cried, shivering as she buried her head 
against his shoulder. "I saw the evil men."
    Zadok's stomach tightened, but he spoke calmly. It 
would be disastrous if Koris discovered his sister's 
attitudes; it could result in a rare early culling. But he 
couldn't hide them now, as he couldn't lie either. "What 
evil men this time, Faflin?"
    "The-" Faflin paused for a long moment. The cloud of 
curly black hair inherited from their unknown parents, 
whose color was the only trait she shared with her 
brother, stopped swishing about her head. "The Council 
guards," she said at last, in a very small voice.
    "They were punishing a criminal," Zadok said 
carefully, trying to impart the danger to his sister by 
tone of voice and posture of body. They had an audience. 
"A criminal the Lady Koris condemned. You can understand 
that, right?"
    "Oh. Of course." The little girl turned and curtsied 
to the Lady. "I'm sorry," she said, peering up from 
between black bangs, eyes wide and fearful. "I'm really 
sorry. I won't do it again. You won't cull me, will you? 
Or Zadok?"
    The Lady smiled, a tight pressure of lips that did not 
reveal her fangs. Either she wanted to avoid frightening 
the child- a highly unlikely idea- or she was considering 
her answer carefully.
    Zadok took a step forward, putting a hand on his 
sister's tiny shoulder. It worked; the dark eyes shifted 
to him. 
    And then the Lady blinked, and leaned forward, fingers 
digging into the darkness cloth. Her gaze remained on him, 
black and intent, weighing, for far longer than he liked. 
But Zadok did not allow himself to shift, or step, or make 
any other nervous movement. He met her eyes, exercising 
control over his features learned from the Lady herself. 
He hoped and prayed that her eyes could not penetrate her 
own mask.
    At last, Koris sat back. Doubt passed briefly across 
her face, like a skylark's shadow flicking along the 
grass, and was gone. "All right," she said. "I will cull 
neither of you. This time." But don't let it happen again.
    Those last words were not spoken aloud. Zadok bowed 
with cold precision. "If my lady will excuse me, that I 
might escort my sister home?"
    "I don't need-" Faflin began, but subsided when he 
squeezed her shoulder warningly.
    "I think it is as the child says," said Koris 
unexpectedly. "I don't think you need to leave, Zadok." It 
was one of the few times she had ever used his name, and 
she said it as if tasting the sound of it for hints of 
treachery. "You might be required here, at least until the 
others return."
    Zadok folded his arms over his chest as he slowly 
released his sister and stepped back to his place, his 
gaze never wavering from the Lady's. Her eyes told him 
quite plainly that she would be on him like one of the 
hounds of the Dawn Chase if he faltered now.
    He had seen it happen before, always firm ground 
faltering beneath the feet of the overly confident. He 
knew how suddenly it could take place. He had never 
thought to see it happen to him. This was his world, in 
which he moved like a fish through water and knew every 
rule.
    Only, of course, to be reminded that that in itself 
was overconfidence.
    Koris again touched her throat, and he brought her a 
second glass of wine. She studied his every movement, and 
sniffed delicately when he handed her the drink, as if for 
poison. Zadok felt his face flame darkly with humiliation 
as he watched Faflin make her foot-dragging way to the 
door. Stars, he would have to be careful now, for her 
sake, and for his own.
    Suddenly, his sister turned around, her eyes so wide 
Zadok was surprised he did not hear the sockets tear. "Oh, 
I have to tell you! I'm sorry I forgot."
    "Tell me what?" Zadok demanded in a growl, praying she 
would take the hint and be gone before anything else could 
happen.
    "The- Council guards." The pause in which she had 
almost said "evil men" was eloquent. "They were dragging 
the woman along, and she was sobbing, and screaming, and-" 
Faflin's face had started to screw up, as if the memory 
were too much for her. Zadok glanced at Koris for 
permission to hustle her out, knowing how the Lady hated 
displays of tears, but the Council member, looking 
fascinated, moved a languorous hand to stop him.
    "And then?" Koris seemed unaware that her parted lips 
showed her fangs. "Did they bring her to Master Akhivan at 
the pits? Did he begin to use the Art upon her?"
    Faflin shook her head, and now her eyes shimmered not 
with tears, but with awe. "No. A bunch of people came 
charging out of nowhere. I thought they were fighting, but 
then they grabbed the guards and threw them aside."
    "What!"
    Koris's pent-up breath exploded outward like the first 
wind of a summer storm. Zadok felt much the same way. To 
defy the authority of the Council, appointed by the Trulae 
themselves...
    "I'm not lying," said Faflin, and indeed she was not; 
her voice caused no buzz in the ears of either of the 
adult Elwens. "This really pretty woman- I think she was a 
Trula- told them they couldn't drag the prisoner off like 
that, and demanded to know who had sentenced her."
    "I hope they told her I did," said Koris, and in her 
voice, if not on that coldly perfect face, was the mixture 
of rapture and dread the Council members always showed at 
the thought of facing a Trula. 
    Faflin nodded, eyes altering again to an emotion Zadok 
did not recognize. "They did. She said she was coming to 
see you."
    Koris rose to her feet as if the Trula had entered 
already. Her voice beat and fluttered in the air of the 
Hall like a trapped bird. "A Trula, coming here? Oh, I 
must prepare-"
    Zadok rescued the glass of wine, left tilting on the 
arm of the chair in a precarious position, and stood 
holding it as he stared at nothing. He felt strange, 
almost as if he were the one the Trula wanted to see. 
Excitement sparkled and cascaded through him, along with a 
fear he could not define, even to himself. Not fear the 
Trula would kill him indiscriminately with her magic, 
though she might; such had been known to happen. Not even 
astonishment that anyone would so openly defy a Council 
edict, whatever her rank.
    Mad exhilaration, it was, as if he stood at the edge 
of a precipice, a cliff so high he looked down only on 
clouds, and not earth, at once intoxicated by the height 
and lured to dream of what would happen should he fall.
    Which was silly, of course.
    "Zadok?" The Lady's voice rose in peremptory command. 
"Come with me. We must make the Hall ready to receive such 
an honored guest-"
    "No need."
    The Trula came into the room like a waterfall of light 
into a forest, like song from the beak of a lark, like a 
stream into a desert. She drew every eye as she moved; one 
could almost literally look at nothing else.
    Her eyes were cold, blue, haughty, the color of ice in 
the frozen domains of mountains or the Frigid Waste. Her 
silver hair, bound high on her head like the crowns none 
of her kind wore, nonetheless gave the impression of being 
free and flowing. Her movements only accented that 
impression; she paced about the Hall like a wild thing in 
a cage, looking at the solidified darkness windows and 
walls with thinly concealed scorn.
    She had changed, even the hint of gentleness fading 
from her face, leaving behind only the regal arrogance 
that permitted the Trulae to hold their chaotic people 
together. But Zadok knew her. The woman he had looked upon 
in the forest the night before was not so easily 
forgotten.
    She halted before Koris, who waited with eyes on the 
floor and hands clasping her dark, almost shapeless gown. 
"Look up, child." The voice, for all its musical and 
unrestrained beauty, barked and snarled.
    Slowly, Koris did so, until her eyes met the Trula's. 
At once the woman's hand shot out and slapped her across 
the face, knocking her to the floor.
    "Did I give you permission to look upon me?"
    "No, mistress," whispered Koris, holding her head 
level but her eyes on the far side of the room.
    "Better," observed the Trula with a swift nod, and 
turned to make another circuit of the room. Her eyes slid 
past Faflin as if she were not there- most adults 
discounted children, as they could not hurt them- and 
stopped on Zadok.
    Silver eyebrows rose. "Do you encourage disrespect 
among your guards, Councilwoman Koris?"
    Zadok's face heated again, though the ebony skin only 
grew darker, with no more visible sign, as he realized he 
was looking at her. His eyes were supposed to be on the 
floor. Yet, somehow, he could not move them.
    "No, Lady," Koris whispered, her voice soft and full 
of hatred for Zadok, and relief that the Trula's attention 
was focused somewhere else. "You may kill him for such 
disobedience, if you wish."
    The woman did nothing but reach out and grasp Zadok's 
chin in her hand, turning his face toward her. The guard's 
muscles tensed, and he fought down the urge to bat the 
hand away. Well he knew that Trulae could kill through 
touch alone, but knocking aside her fingers would only 
earn him a more certain demise.
    "Interesting," the Trula said at last, after long 
moments had passed. "I think I know his mother."
    "My lady!" Koris sounded scandalized. It was no light 
thing for anyone, even a Trula, to speak so casually of a 
zorkro's parents, of whom he or she was stripped at birth. 
Only siblings were known. "Please, I beg you, don't 
disgrace your mouth with words about this worthless dog's 
parentage. Kill him, or let him go. He is not otherwise 
worth a moment of your time."
    Zadok could not hide the flame that he knew leaped to 
life in his eyes. He walked the edge of death anyway; what 
matter if he reacted with anger to Lady Koris's 
pronouncement?
    The Trula laughed gently, blue eyes holding his in a 
gaze longer than Zadok had ever shared with anyone, save 
Faflin. "He seems to disagree with your assessment, 
Councilwoman. As do I, as a matter of fact. He is worth 
something. What, I'm not quite sure."
    Zadok smoothed his face back to normality, though by 
now sore confusion was his only discernible emotion. 
Everyone had changed from the way he was used to them 
behaving, and now acted like strangers.
    "Lady Lemakush," said Faflin, with a note of both 
pride and worry in her voice, "he's my brother. Zadok. 
Don't hurt him. Please?" Her voice waned to a high note of 
both hope and desperation as Lemakush did nothing but 
stare at Zadok as she might a glittering toy.
    "Doubt," Lemakush murmured after a moment, greeting 
him as she would one of her own rank, by saying the 
meaning of his name. "Your name means 'I doubt.'"
    Zadok gritted his teeth and responded in kind; the 
firm grip on his chin was beginning to hurt. "Destroyer of 
destruction, yours means."
    The hand at last fell away. "Yes. And I mean to live 
up to it." Turning away as if she had forgotten his 
existence, Lemakush addressed Koris. "What did you mean, 
sentencing that woman to such a horrible fate?"
    "She had broken two prohibitions, one in trying to 
flee from justice," Koris said, her face reflecting the 
confusion that reigned in Zadok's own soul. No one knew 
how to act or what to say anymore. "Surely, the punishment 
I meted out lay well within the strictures-"
    "Perhaps, but it was still unnecessarily cruel."
    Zadok blinked and studied Lemakush a bit more closely, 
hoping, almost, to find a gleam of madness in her eyes. 
Surely only a madwoman could say such a thing. There was 
no such thing as cruelty in a darkness Elwen's world, and 
barely right and wrong. There was only what happened to 
you or those you cared about, and what happened to others.
    But blue eyes, now the color and firmness of steel, 
looked at Koris without the slightest sign of a glaze. 
Lemakush was telling the truth, at least as she saw it, 
and demanding an answer.
    "My lady-"
    "Never mind. I can see I will get no reasonable answer 
from you." Lemakush turned away with a suddenness that 
left the Councilwoman shaking on the floor and oriented on 
Zadok. "Why did she give the woman the punishment she 
did?"
    Zadok, confused, not knowing what the Trula wanted to 
hear, spoke the unadorned truth for the first time since 
his childhood. "Because she wanted to see how long Master 
Akhivan could keep her alive with the Art."
    For a single moment there was silence. Then the 
Trula's eyes lit with something very like approval. She 
nodded slowly, then rotated to face the gaping Koris so 
fast the Councilwoman had no time to respond to Zadok's 
accusation. "I see that you have not trained the spirit 
out of all your guards."
    Miserable, as frightened to jump in any direction as 
Zadok now, the Councilwoman still tried to give the Trula 
what she wanted to hear. "No, Lady. I haven't."
    Lemakush's face abruptly clouded over again, though 
she kept those haughty blue eyes on Koris, without moving 
them toward Zadok at all. "I mean, of course, spirit that 
allows them to question your orders. I wasn't particularly 
pleased when they questioned the orders of a Trula."
    "They did?" Koris gawked, and Zadok felt even his 
face, though he willed it to be cool, flicker with 
surprise. He had only dared defy her command to reveal 
himself last night because he had no audience; even one 
person watching would have made him obey without thought. 
"Tell me the names of the guilty ones, Lady, and I will 
punish them without fail."
    "I already have." Lemakush shrugged it off as of no 
importance. "They will not be troubling anyone ever again, 
and neither will that young woman-"
    Zadok saw questions gathering in Koris's eyes, though 
she did not speak. Why would anyone, even one of the 
unpredictable Trulae, criticize the punishment of a 
prisoner, then kill that prisoner himself?
    Lemakush's next words, of course, put it in 
perspective. "-If she's smart. I rescued her from one 
danger. I don't want to have to rescue her from another."
    "You let her go?" Koris's voice, soft and cold with 
disbelief, broke one of the prohibitions, but Lemakush 
didn't seem inclined to notice.
    "Yes." The Trula folded her arms and leaned close to 
the downed Councilwoman, who strove frantically to avoid 
meeting her eyes. "There is a new order in Darkfang, 
though you know it not. For too long, the Trulae have not 
interfered with our people, though your behavior every day 
violates our morals. Now is the time to end that."
    This was so ridiculous, and Lemakush seemed so little 
interested in the prohibitions, that Zadok dared a tactful 
cough. He smiled slightly when those burning blue eyes 
fell upon him, no longer awed by the fact that she was a 
Trula, comforted by the fact that she also had to be an 
idealist of some kind. "My Lady, though you strive, I 
doubt you will change the zorkro. We have been as we are 
for too many years."
    "And how long have you lived?" the Trula challenged 
him sarcastically, just as if they sat at the Debates, 
where one selected commoner with a grievance might speak 
openly to any one Trula. "Centuries?"
    Zadok shrugged, unperturbed. "Certainly a shorter time 
than you, mistress." He saw blended outrage and curiosity 
in her eyes at his shift to the lesser form of address, 
and decided his chances were at least good. "But since the 
dawn of this Age. And close to three centuries is long 
enough to read histories and know the truth. I was 
educated as a child."
    "Yes, you must have been." Lemakush's lips twitched, 
seemingly fighting a smile. She turned her eyes away from 
the dazed Koris and to him entirely. "You speak with 
surpassing eloquence, but you cannot defuse the 
Starsgifted, Zadok. We have grown too powerful."
    "Starsgifted?" The male zorkro flipped one black brow 
upwards. "Is that your name for your little band of madmen 
and madwomen?"
    Lemakush's voice and face filled with heat. "How dare 
you call them-"
    "With the same voice and daring that makes you 
proclaim them the new order." Zadok shook his head very 
slightly at the confusion in her eyes. In one way, the 
horrible way his people raised their children was good: it 
toughened them, made them ready to face realities. The 
look Lemakush wore now was that of a little girl who had 
never been made to grow up. "It will not work, lady. Not 
unless you have powerful help, and that help has something 
at stake in the continued order, or lack of it. Besides, 
you Trulae have always claimed you loved your people too 
much to convert us to the Light. When did that change?"
    "Since I learned we must change or die," murmured the 
lady, her blue eyes filling with tears. No zorkro save the 
Trulae ever wept freely, and yet, to the surprised Zadok, 
it did not appear unnatural. "The other races will 
annihilate us if we hesitate. They have endured our 
feeding on their souls long enough."
    Zadok examined her minutely. She truly seemed to 
believe what she was saying, facing him with shoulders 
thrown back beneath the piled crown of silver hair. She 
blinked once and again, the tears not sliding down her 
face but fading from her eyes. She looked ready to go on.
    And, the male realized with some surprise, she was 
waiting for his answer.
    He opened his mouth to give it, but Koris cut in, 
abruptly jumping to her feet. "Zadok, I command you to 
obey me. The Trula is mad. You know the procedure in 
situations like this."
    He did indeed, having performed it two or three times. 
Trulae occasionally went insane- from the horror all 
around them, it was said, and not being able to seek 
solace in reth. The normal action was to escort such mad 
ones to their homes and incarcerate them there until the 
other Trulae could decide what to do with them.
    Even in the throes of their evil, Zadok thought with a 
bitterness he had never expected to feel, they decide 
their own fates. They do not suffer us poor little ones, 
us ordinary ones, to interfere in their lives.
    And yet, for all his bitterness, for all his prior 
experience, he hesitated. Lemakush did not look mad, not 
now. She had met his arguments with rational logic, or 
rational to her, at the least. She gazed at him with the 
calm look of one born to inspire awe, to inspire 
followers. She seemed confident he would obey Koris, but 
she was not worried about it.
    And besides, Faflin stood between him and the Trula, 
unusual golden eyes pleading.
    "Please, Zadok- no! I know her. She's nice, she's 
good, she wouldn't hurt anybody!" His tiny sister shook 
her curls out of her eyes, gaze never wavering from his 
face.
    In those eyes he saw all the trust of a child whose 
big brother had never disappointed her.
    But those eyes reminded him of something else. Faflin 
was too young yet to eat reth, and so too young to eat 
souls; she still needed ordinary food. That cost money. 
One way of getting money was his Council job, one of the 
reasons he had taken it in the first place. He couldn't 
disobey Koris, or he would lose it.
    He lowered his eyes to the floor, to avoid the gazes 
of both sister and Trula, and moved forward. Faflin 
wailed, and tried to stop him, but he moved her gently out 
of the way with one arm even as he grasped Lemakush's arm 
with the other hand.
    "I hope, lady," he said, trying not to reveal how 
awful he felt, "that you won't make this any more 
difficult than it needs to be."
    He could feel her gaze on him, and the cool voice 
spoke the truth they both knew. "Struggle, you mean? No, 
child of Council, child of tradition. I won't struggle."
    Her words were only truth, yet stung. He met her eyes 
before he could conceal his anger, and then left them 
there, for she seemed to gaze into the depths of his soul 
with understanding. He heard Koris make an impatient 
noise, but it was still a long time before he could tear 
his eyes away and exit, pulling Lemakush behind him. 
    Faflin trotted at their heels forlornly, a puppy 
abandoned by people she had trusted.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "My house is on Zamina Street, near the Water Garden," 
said Lemakush in a voice silvery with winter's cold as 
they stepped from the Council Hall. "Do you know it?"
    Zadok sent her a sharp sideways glance, wondering if 
she were taunting him. He often went to the Water Garden- 
circumspectly, for it belonged to the Trulae- to gaze into 
the fountains some said were capable of telling the 
future, and to dream.
    But the blue eyes met his with grave deliberation, 
none of the malicious sparkle he'd expect from a teaser. 
He nodded, and set off down the street, silently arranging 
the spreading tree badge of the Council openly on his 
chest. There was no other way for someone to safely 
manhandle a Trula.
    The lady continued walking silently, not giving him 
any trouble. At last, Zadok let her wrist go, as a test. 
When she continued walking obediently at his side, he felt 
free to begin paying attention to their route.
    He knew the streets around the Council Hall well, 
since not only his place of business but also the communal 
barracks where he and Faflin lived were there, but beyond 
that, he had to rely on sketchy memory. He hadn't been to 
the Water Garden in some time. Also, to keep the commoners 
in place, the Trulae switched the streets outside the 
Common District around with their magic.
    The boundary between the Common District and the rest 
of the city was subtle, an invisible line whose presence 
was signaled most clearly by the sudden increase of magic. 
Zadok felt the air tighten and tingle around him, 
something he had never been able to distinguish from his 
own fearful reaction. A hot, sugary, sweet scent came to 
him, as Trula defensive spells examined him minutely. They 
had orders, he knew, to kill any commoners not accompanied 
by a Trula or wearing the livery of a Trula servant.
    He stood, and sweated, and wished he had thought to 
bring his stolen livery.
    At last, the feeling of eyes scrutinizing his every 
move went away. He glanced over at his shoulder as he 
guided Lemakush on, and saw that Faflin had halted at the 
line, her resentful, smoldering golden eyes fixed on him.
    It was the first time he had ever betrayed her, and 
Zadok sighed heavily. Well, better now than some other 
time, some harsher time. Better she learn the truth 
gently.
    "You seem familiar with the procedures of the 
Eaa'Mvann," Lemakush observed in her cool voice, giving 
the Trula part of the city its formal Tinniltinoc name. 
"Have you been here before, often?"
    Once again, Zadok cursed the prohibitions of his age 
that kept him from lying. "I have been here several times, 
yes."
    "Ah." The cold look in her eyes did not soften with 
her smile. "So you are a member of the Eaa'Vgadi?" 
    A long moment passed. The silver brows lowered, and 
the voice became a low hiss, dangerous in its ferocity and 
speaking of an intellect perfectly undamaged by the 
madness Koris had proclaimed her lot. "Well, answer me, or 
I shall cull you here and now."
    Zadok nodded slightly. That had been a silent test, to 
see how she reacted to being crossed. She liked it not at 
all, it seemed, and her strong reaction could be a 
weakness. "I am not, Lady. But I have managed to convince 
several of your kind that I am."
    Lemakush blinked. He had the feeling she didn't know 
whether to be amused or outraged.
    Strangely, her response was passionate, but she did 
not fasten on his point, as he had suspected. "Why do you 
call them my kind? They are your people, too."
    Zadok breathed a sigh of relief as he heard splashing 
water. Soon they would be on Zamina Street, and then he 
could be free of this encumbrance, this woman who had 
ideas even Faflin had given up years ago. "No, my lady. 
Your kind and mine may share the same color of skin, but 
we live in different worlds." He gave her a sidelong look, 
unable to resist tossing a barb. "The Trulae are quite 
thoroughly segregated. I was always under the impression 
that that was the way you liked it."
    Was it his imagination, or did a faint black flush 
touch her cheek, making it as satiny and dark as the petal 
of a flen flower? Her voice showed nothing of possible 
embarrassment, however. "Some of us do like it, yes. 
Others have always tolerated it because we are reluctant 
to change. But if I change the structure of zorkro society 
in general, then I can see about changing my own folk, as 
well."
    She spoke so blithely of toppling something that had 
endured so long that Zadok laughed. Lemakush stiffened; it 
was her turn to look sideways at him. "I wasn't aware I 
had said something amusing."
    His grin died, but remained there inside. "You didn't, 
lady, not to you. But I happen to think it will take more 
work than simply waking up one day and deciding you don't 
like the way society's organized."
    She flushed again, but said nothing.
    They turned onto Zamina Street, whose only 
distinguishing features were the Water Garden and the 
wonderfully sculptured Trula mansions. Otherwise, it 
looked exactly like any other avenue in Darkfang: wide to 
foil the flight of lawbreakers, crafted of solidified 
darkness, and lined with lawns of the blue-black grass 
known as dobluth, which could grow without the sun. A good 
thing, that, for zorkro magic ensured no sun reached here. 
    Zadok would have liked to pause a moment and look upon 
the Water Garden, filled with artificially channeled 
streams, fountains, and pools, thick with dobluth, flen 
flowers, otherwise known as black roses, evening glories, 
night-lilies, and more night-blooming plants. But Lemakush 
leaned and pointed to a mansion just before the Garden.
    "There. That is my house."
    Zadok had to admit it was a nice house, though his 
opinion on such things had been forged entirely by his 
ventures into the Eaa'Mvann; the communal barracks were 
not much to look at. Long wings, walled quadrangles that 
no doubt surrounded gardens, swept out to the sides as if 
to embrace the carefully and lovingly tended lawns of 
dobluth. The house itself was a quadrangle, with, 
seemingly, another garden in the center. The four columned 
walls were little more than that, walls, though they might 
hold a few private rooms: bedchambers, audience rooms, 
study rooms, kitchen. Trulae, like children, ate ordinary 
food, though they grew most of their own instead of buying 
it.
    The things hovering about the house lent it even more 
of a mystical and other-than-ordinary air. The scents of 
flowers and dobluth filled the air with a thick, sweet 
miasma that almost made Zadok choke, even at this 
distance. And the green, barely visible trails of light 
racing about the porticoes and columns, twining themselves 
along the roof as if to bask in the invisible sun, and 
darting merrily in and out of the gardens gave it an 
undeniably magical aspect.
    Those trails of light came down to tag at their heels 
as Zadok led Lemakush toward the house. The Council guard 
did not fear them; he knew what they were. The last 
remnants of a curse once put on Darkfang, dispelled when 
darkness Elwens had again taken up residence, they guarded 
the city still from intruders not of zorkro birth. To the 
inhabitants of the city, however, they were nothing but 
kind and affectionate.
    As they stepped onto the first series of stairs that 
led up from the street to the house, perched on a small 
hill, a figure emerged from between the columns. A young 
male zorkro, Zadok saw, with silver hair and silver eyes, 
in the livery of the Eaa'Vgadi. He stood still for a long 
moment, his widening eyes not moving from Lemakush.
    "Mistress!" he cried at last, and rushed toward them. 
    Zadok shifted his stance, prepared to draw one of the 
brace of spears strapped to his back if need be. But 
Lemakush laid a hand on his arm, the first time she had 
touched him since the Council Hall, and shook her head. 
Looking up into her blue eyes, bright with tolerant 
amusement, he relaxed.
    The servant slowed his run when he realized Zadok was 
not using his lady as a hostage, or making any other sort 
of threatening movement. He came at last to Lemakush and 
bowed, sliding to one knee while splaying his arms out to 
the side.
    "Mistress, command me," he murmured reverently.
    Lemakush moved forward and laid a hand on his head in 
some kind of blessing. "Rise, Gihal," she murmured 
affectionately, and looked toward Zadok. He saw a new look 
in her eyes, the look of one who led not through fear or 
even birthright, but through love and respect freely 
given. "Gihal, this is Zadok, my escort from the Council. 
Lady Koris has declared me insane, and that means I must 
stay at home until I can come before the Tri."
    The Eaa'Vgad stood and scowled at the guard. "I warn 
you, if you try to hurt Lady Lemakush-"
    "I will not." Zadok made no effort to keep his own 
amusement out of his voice, and ignored the way the 
servant stiffened and straightened. He looked at Lemakush 
with a cocked eyebrow. "Will you continue your history of 
not giving trouble, or must I escort you into the house?"
    "I do not require your presence to enter my home," the 
Trula replied equably. She paused for a long moment, 
causing Zadok to wonder what this unpredictable woman had 
on her mind next. Gihal seemed to know better than he; his 
face had assumed a resigned expression, and he looked at 
his mistress with the first hint of disapproval Zadok had 
seen from him.
    "Lady," the Eaa'Vgad said when the silence continued 
to stretch, a pleading note in his voice. "You have come 
this far. You are home; you are safe. Please, come inside 
and do not push away the luck the stars have granted you."
    The use of the unusual phrase caused Zadok to stare at 
him a little more closely. Though the stars had created 
his people, or the ancestors of his people, it was not 
usual to swear by them. Thus, the glittering silver star 
pendant at Gihal's throat, which the guard only now 
noticed, seemed out of place.
    So did the pendant beside it, displaying a white owl 
flying on some unseen wind, wings spread. Zadok paid it 
little attention, however. Compared to the star, it wasn't 
important.
    Time to test his theory, and gather, if he could, 
information to bring back to Lady Koris. "I assume he is 
part of your Starsgifted?" he remarked to Lemakush. 
"Funny, he looks almost sensible."
    Gihal's chin went up, and Zadok nodded inwardly. Here 
was one who reacted with more passion than sense. "If you 
are suggesting the insanity Koris has mantled upon my 
lady's shoulders is real-"
    "I already know it is. I just wanted to see how you 
would react."
    Gihal would have charged him then, but for Lemakush's 
restraining hand on his arm. "No, Gih," she said with 
restrained ferocity. "We fight only the Council, and 
others who obstruct what is right. This Zadok is too young 
to know any better."
    Despite himself, Zadok bristled. It must be his 
unusual distance from Koris, and the feeling Lemakush 
wouldn't punish him for breaking the prohibitions, that 
was letting him express his anger so freely. "I am young, 
yes, lady, but I long ago learned what truth and reality 
are. You could stand with a little educating in them. Both 
of you could."
    Lemakush did not react to his words except with a 
slight smile, the kind of sad smile the Tenders used when 
the children disobeyed them. "So, Zadok, you think you 
know what truth is? The truth of the world?"
    "Not that, but the truth of Darkfang." Zadok cut 
himself off with a grimace. What was he doing? He was 
supposed to escort the Trula home, not engage in 
philosophical discussions with her. "If you will excuse 
me, lady, I should return to the Council Hall. Lady Koris 
will be expecting me."
    "Stay a moment, Zadok." Still holding Gihal back with 
one hand, the Trula reached out to clasp his arm. "I do 
not have many guests, save for your sister, Faflin, and 
she does not come to this house except in my company. I 
would enjoy having you as a guest for a few minutes, at 
the least."
    Zadok paid no attention to her last words, but stared 
at her intently. "My sister!" he repeated softly. "You do 
corrupt them young, don't you?"
    Lemakush shook back her silver hair; it spilled over 
her shoulders like a glittering waterfall of starfire. 
"Not corrupting them, Zadok. Saving them." She tugged 
gently on his arm. "Come in, and allow me to speak to you, 
and you will see what I mean."
    Against his better judgment, Zadok allowed himself to 
be pulled along. He owed it to Faflin, he told himself, to 
hear the bitter nonsense this witch had been pouring into 
her ears.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The inside of Lemakush's house bore the same sweeping 
grandeur as the outside. As he had suspected, some spaces 
between columns had been walled off, making them into 
small private rooms. But every one had at least a single 
window, letting the occupants view the garden in the 
center, a miracle of tangled heather and vines and almost 
tropical vegetation.
    "Wine?"
    He turned from the window to see Lemakush holding a 
carafe of glass, one eyebrow upraised. He nodded absently, 
fascinated with the faceted glass of the wineholder. Most 
things in Darkfang were made of solidified darkness, but 
the zorkro did trade with the outside world for things of 
beauty and usefulness- like carafes; wine spoiled in 
darkness carafes, for some reason. Still, few but the 
Trulae ever saw what the merchants brought, as their needs 
had to be met first.
    Gihal snorted, removing Zadok's attention from the 
lively play of auralight in the glass. The servant had 
made it abundantly clear he wasn't happy to have the 
Council guard here, in his mistress's private sanctum. He 
lounged against the wall in a deceptively casual pose, 
never taking his eyes from Zadok.
    Zadok shook his head and turned to accept the goblet 
Lemakush held out. That, too, was glass, though of a 
smoky, rare red color that it took extra effort to blow. 
Zadok sipped his wine judiciously, appearing to take in 
far more than he actually did. Let Lemakush think him 
drunk if she so desired, and more amenable to her 
persuasions. In reality, he would remain on the alert.
    The Trula offered wine to the Eaa'Vgad; Zadok 
suspected he accepted only so as not to seem impolite. 
Certainly he did not drink it, clutching the goblet in his 
fist as he watched Zadok fixedly.
    Somehow, the guard managed to ignore those intrusive 
eyes. Lemakush made it easier by leaning forward, splaying 
her hands on the table, and beginning to speak in a low, 
soft voice, thick with passion.
    "I think I tell you the truth when I say that the 
youngsters who are converted to the Starsgifted and the 
worship of Nirnez are better off than the average child of 
our people, Zadok."
    Caught, Zadok felt his eyes narrow. "You said nothing 
about the Goddess of Wind before," he remarked 
suspiciously, taking another sip of wine and letting his 
speech slur slightly. He could not lie directly, but he 
could lie through his actions, making himself appear 
drunk.
    In answer, Lemakush tucked a few radiant, unruly 
strands of hair away from her neck. Zadok stared. There 
nestled two pendants much like Gihal's, though her owl 
pendant was bigger, clearly made of diamond, and depicted 
a bird sitting on a branch, head cocked in a listening 
attitude.
    "Yes," the Trula declared in the silence. "I am a 
priestess of the Lady of the Wind, the Lady of the White 
Owl. Nirnez." She leaned near Zadok, who controlled every 
muscle in his body to keep from flinching away. Her eyes 
burned with a fanatic's light. "She will be the salvation 
of our people."
    "Where did you learn of her?" Zadok charged. "I was 
not aware such a cult existed in Darkfang."
    "Not a cult," said Lemakush, looking offended for the 
first time in hours. "A religion. And a message. The Lady 
has charged me to lead our people forth." She spoke 
rapidly but without raising her voice, eyes and face 
glowing with more than wine. Behind her, Gihal nodded, his 
face reflecting oddly mixed rapture and distrust as he 
clutched his owl pendant.
    "Where?"
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "Where will you lead them?" Zadok took one more sip of 
the wine, among the sweetest he had ever tasted, and set 
the glass down, leaning forward himself. No use 
pretending, he knew now; at best, Nirnez would tell her 
priestess of the guard's deception. "You admitted yourself 
that the other races of the Rivadan would like nothing 
more than to annihilate us. Any zorkro who leaves us is 
killed within a few days. Where would you go?"
    "To a new place," said Gihal, before Lemakush could 
answer. His eyes blazed with an ardent conviction that 
altered into love whenever he looked at his lady. Zadok 
wondered privately which he loved more, the message or the 
bearer of the message. "And not necessarily a physically 
new place. A new place of the spirit. Darkfang will be 
brought out of the darkness into light. Already the 
Starsgifted have taken to calling this place Lightsgift."
    "Although that isn't really appropriate, either," the 
priestess noted, with a slight rebuking frown at her 
convert, "considering what we preach-"
    Zadok clutched the cloth that covered the table. He 
couldn't really care less about what they preached. "Do 
excuse me, but I've never heard such stupidity in my 
life." He shook his head in wonder when they merely stared 
at him in silence. "You really think that Lady Koris, and 
all those whom she represents, who have almost succeeded 
in subduing their consciences without the influence of 
reth, will simply and quietly disappear?"
    "They will fall before the power of right-" Gihal 
began, but Lemakush cut him off, her voice soft and almost 
rational once more. Only the pendants around her neck and 
the remaining glow in her eyes reminded Zadok that he 
faced a priestess, one whose very existence was based on 
something other than reason.
    "You obviously have little conception of the power of 
our message, Zadok. Because it is the truth, we win 
converts daily. We teach zorkro to return to their denied 
hearts, to their emotions."
    "Obviously," Zadok muttered dryly.
    Lemakush flushed, but accepted his retort stoically. 
Her words barely showed any consciousness of being 
interrupted. "Nirnez encourages us, in all things, to 
imitate the wind. It roars and rages without taming its 
fury; neither does it tame or restrict the laughter of the 
gentle breezes. We must change to survive, and our best 
hope of surviving is to live as the wind has for billions 
of years-"
    "The wind is not a living thing, not in the same sense 
we are," Zadok interrupted. He wished he could stalk out 
of this house right now, but loyalty to Faflin and concern 
about what else she might have heard compelled him to 
remain. "I suppose you also suggest we tear down 
buildings, as the wind does? And tear leaves from trees? 
And behave as wildly and erratically as it does?"
    Lemakush impatiently tore hair from her face as she 
shook her head and answered. "No, Zadok. I do not accept 
every part of Nirnez's teachings; I cannot. They were 
created for the use of races different from the zorkro. 
But I do think they have much to give to the darkness 
Elwens. We will take what is best and live on it." Again 
her face glowed as if suffused with light shining through 
her skin.
    Zadok sighed heavily. Was there no way to reach her, 
make her see life as it was?
    Perhaps- yes. It would mean revealing something he had 
not wanted to reveal, but perhaps it was worth it. No, it 
had to be worth it. He wanted his sister back, and their 
association with this crazy priestess finished.
    "It does not seem as if you are quite ready to abandon 
traditional darkness Elwen ways. Or was it the trance of a 
priestess I saw you in last night?"
    Lemakush froze. The light became brittle, a mask 
hiding fear, and cracked. "You- saw me?" she whispered, 
barely moving her lips.
    "Yes." Zadok folded his arms, ignoring the glance of 
Gihal that said, as plain as words: I will kill you now. 
"It was I who saw you, and wondered at what you were 
doing. It was I you almost discovered. And it was I who 
saved your life-"
    "From the hounds of the Dawn Chase," Lemakush 
completed for him. "Yes, I remember. Yes, I owe you 
something for that. But why did you not come from hiding 
when I called on you to do so?"
    "I don't know," Zadok answered her bluntly. "I simply 
felt that something was happening I didn't want to get 
involved in. I would have been happier if I hadn't 
stumbled across you at all."
    "I was doing nothing contrary to the spirit or 
traditions of our people. But what I was doing, you don't 
need to know." The words were spoken quietly, proudly. In 
her eyes he saw once more the core of steel that had 
forged this woman into a leader both religious and 
secular. He nodded despite himself, impressed.
    The priestess relaxed and looked away, combing one 
hand through her silver hair. "Coincidence," he heard her 
mutter. "It must be. No more."
    "What must be?" Zadok asked with a curious brow 
raised. 
    "I came to the Council Hall seeking not Koris, but 
you." The Trula gazed squarely at him. "Faflin is 
committed to the Starsgifted with a strength wonderful in 
a child so young. She had told me so much about her 
brother that I wanted to see if the same spirit burned in 
him."
    "I hope I have disappointed you," Zadok ground out 
from between gritted teeth. To have a Trula interested in 
oneself almost invariably spelled disaster, either from 
their magic or the jealousy of other commoners.
    "Ah, no, you did not. What has disappointed me is that 
this spirit is apparently at the service of my enemies." 
Lemakush made a tiny gesture, as of throwing something 
away. "I would be happy to have you on our side, Zadok. 
But so long as you spy on me in my own home, this can 
never be."
    Zadok clenched his fists to stop them from trembling. 
She had known all along. "Then let me go, Lady. And let 
Faflin go. You rightly named her still a child. She cannot 
choose her own sides and principles until she understands 
a little more of what life is about."
    "She does understand," said Lemakush, her voice softly 
accented with- regret? Zadok thought incredulously. "Far 
better than you, Zadok, you who so willingly closed your 
eyes so long ago. She embraces the message of Nirnez 
willingly and wholeheartedly. Will you not even try, for 
her sake?"
    Zadok met her eyes, saw there the compassion and 
cunning that begged him to yield, and for a moment 
hesitated. Surely he could pretend to go along with these 
people for just a little while, until he could convince 
Faflin to break free?
    But his response surprised him. It was composed of 
words he had never even thought, much less spoken. "I do 
not join something merely because another joins it, Lady, 
or give my heart where it has not been won. My respect 
must be earned."
    Lemakush blinked, and Gihal sat up as if he had just 
threatened the priestess. Zadok covered his own discomfort 
by gazing at them steadily, the usual mask draped over his 
features, allowing them to think what they would.
    At last, the Trula gave up her efforts to read him. 
With a slight nod, she made a gesture toward the door. "If 
that is the way you feel, I would be a fool to delay you 
any longer. It is quite obvious that you will not change 
your mind. Again, though, I find it a pity that so strong 
a spirit belongs to one with a closed mind."
    Zadok sighed and lowered his eyes. The mysterious 
strength and defiance were gone as swiftly and 
unexpectedly as they'd come, leaving him feeling empty and 
tired. "Lady, will you at least not require me to make up 
my mind tonight? I would like some time to think about 
this, and about Faflin and everything else."
    "But of course!" said Lemakush immediately, rising to 
her feet. "I gained none of my converts overnight, Zadok." 
As she reached out to grasp his arm, she added beneath her 
breath, for his ears alone, "But do not think to stop 
Faflin from coming here."
    The Council guard simply stared at her, then bowed 
toward the ground and took his leave.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Once outside Lemakush's house, he drew in a great 
breath of fresh air, and made his way toward the Water 
Garden, steps both firm and light, as if he had every 
reason to be there. He might as well visit it while he was 
here.
    The fountains and streams plashed softly as he let 
himself in through the gate, unlocked as always, The 
Trulae assumed that someone with absolutely no right to be 
here would never make it this far into the Eaa'Mvann, and 
saw no need to lock the gate against children or anyone of 
that kind.
    Darkness and gentleness surrounded him the moment he 
stepped inside, cutting him off from the noises, faint 
though they were, of the rest of the city. He breathed in 
the scent of a climbing flen flower that twined the gate, 
wondering idly why he had likened the sweetness about 
Lemakush's house to a miasma, when this seemed to him to 
be freedom.
    He shook the thought away; he was not in the mood for 
speculation. He moved over the dobluth, which released a 
crisp, fresh scent when crushed, to one of his favorite 
fountains.
    Its centerpiece, a hippocampus or water horse, had 
long ago gone missing a forehoof and a fluke on the 
dolphin-like tail. Water spouted from a still perfectly 
sculpted mouth, leaping high into the air before making a 
splashing journey back into the basin. The edge of the 
fountain, which cradled his hands reliably and was thus 
perfect for leaning and dreaming, was carved with 
cavorting dolphins, dreamlike creatures with elongated 
snouts and flukes.
    Gazing into the clear water calmed Zadok, and so he 
did it for several minutes, uncaring of the possible 
danger. Here, in the heart of their own district, any 
Trulae who found him would question him before striking. 
And he had news of Lemakush that he could offer in return 
for good treatment.
    Lemakush. His smile faded, his good mood souring. He 
was unable to understand her. Had she really freed that 
woman, or was she only bluffing? And did she really 
believe she could change anything about zorkro society?
    For a moment, laying away the weight of reality that 
pressed all around him, Zadok dared to entertain the idea 
that the priestess could lead his people into the Light. 
How wonderful might it be, his recalcitrant mind mused, to 
live without prohibitions, to love where one chose, to see 
one's children-
    Reality crashed down, a crushing weight as thick as 
the scent of evening glories. Zadok shook his head in 
despair. No matter what happened, Lemakush could not rid 
her people of a fundamental evil, something that had 
driven them to the darkness in the first place: they ate 
souls.
    It wasn't always so, whispered a voice in Zadok's 
mind. He shook his head again, unable to tell if it were 
remembered history or his own stubborn hope.
    Of course, he did remember his history, remembered 
reading that the darkness Elwens and light Elwens had 
been, in the old fullness of time, one people. Something 
had happened to change the darkness Elwens, and the 
lukalia would no longer embrace them as kin, shunned to 
walk beside them. So Zadok's ancestors chose to accept and 
flaunt the change, eventually warping themselves into 
creatures of another kind altogether.
    No, they were different, and they could never return. 
Heaving a sigh two parts relief and one regret, Zadok 
stood and made his way back toward the Common District.
    He did pause out on Zamina Street, though, to stare at 
Lemakush's house and dream once more, briefly, of what 
could never be.




                        Chapter 2
                           Bait
    "I do not believe an Elwen can be honest with himself  
unless he sees the truth in the same light as the lies he  
holds dearest."
    -Yubro Deerfriend.

    Still thinking, Zadok barely noticed when he crossed 
the line into the Common District. He did notice when a 
small shape barreled into him, arms wrapping around him as 
firmly as a clingspider's.
    "Did you see her house?" So many emotions in that one 
question, ranging from envy through hope. "Did you talk to 
her? Did she tell you about the Starsgifted? About 
Nirnez?"
    "Faflin!" Zadok knelt and put his hands on his 
sister's shoulders, gazing sternly into her eyes. "You are 
not to speak the Goddess of Wind's name anywhere but here, 
on the border of the Eaa'Mvann. Some of the Council 
members are very jealous of their power, and if they 
thought Lemakush was corrupting people so-"
    "Saving!" Faflin stuck her lip out, one of her more 
unattractive features. "The word is saving, Zadok. Didn't 
she tell you?"
    "Will you listen to me?" He gave her a small shake. 
"Do I have to remind you of the prohibitions? If someone 
asked me directly what Lemakush does, I wouldn't be able 
to lie, and then whatever powers she worships had better 
help her. The only thing I can do if Koris remains 
interested in her is get her killed. Better to distance 
ourselves from her as much as possible."
    Faflin looked up at him as he rose to his feet again, 
and a maturity he had never seen before glowed in her 
golden eyes. "No, Zadok. You still don't understand." She 
spoke in clear, precise tones, an imitation, conscious or 
unconscious, of his voice when he helped her with her 
history or mathematics. "Everyone who dies in Nirnez's 
cause receives a place at Her right hand. I fear death no 
longer, because I know it is merely a gateway to a better 
and brighter place."
    Those had to be the priestess's words; no such 
thoughts would have entered the head of a child on their 
own. Zadok cursed, something he rarely did aloud because 
it showed anger, and latched firmly onto his defiant 
sister's shoulder. "You come with me, you-"
    "Master Zadok?"
    The Council guard spun around, falling into a 
combative crouch. The other nodded approval of his 
readiness even as he lifted a hand in the traditional 
zorkro signal of peace. "It is nice to know our Lords and 
Ladies have such strength and quickness at their disposal, 
but you need not use it against me," he remarked.
    Zadok straightened, feeling foolish for not having 
recognized him at once. "Yurin," he acknowledged with a 
dip of his head. The minor Council functionary nodded, 
arranging the golden spreading tree on his chest more 
openly, to the point of removing the chain from a fold of 
cloth.
    "The same. The Lady Koris requests your presence, 
though she is sure you would rather return home after your 
trying experience. To cross into the Eaa'Mvann is not- a 
pleasant thing." His face, smoothly ageless as that of all 
Elwens yet exuding an indefinable sense of age, wrinkled 
as if in contemplation of a personal trial.
    Zadok nodded in resignation. Couched though it was in 
words of politeness, words of sympathy, there was no 
mistaking what it was- an order.
    He knelt down beside Faflin. "I want you to go 
straight home," he instructed her between teeth clenched 
in longing to hit someone or something. "Do you understand 
me? Go as a darkness fog, and don't stop to speak to 
anyone."
    Faflin drooped a little, though she could see the 
sense of it, and nodded. One of Darkfang's few exports was 
zorkro children, usually snatched right off the streets, 
sold by the merchants as curiosity pieces. Still, being 
Faflin, she had to push it. "Not even Rera?" she begged, 
referring to her best friend.
    "Not even Rera," said the guard firmly. Already his 
teeth had parted, his breathing calmed, and the coolness 
that ruled all his actions in the Common District out of 
necessity had come to the front. "Go straight to your room 
and stay there until I get there."
    Unlike most children, Faflin did understand the market 
for those of her age, and also understood adult 
seriousness. Head drooping even more, she nodded again. 
Then her small form fogged under his hands, becoming 
roiling darkness that rolled gently over the top of the 
nearest building and vanished.
    Zadok stood and turned to face Yurin, who waited for 
him with the patience only a Council functionary or a 
snake is capable of summoning. "Shall we go?"
    Yurin nodded without haste, and set a similarly 
leisurely pace through the streets, Zadok at his side.
    As they paced the streets toward the Council Hall, the 
guard allowed his walk to remain relaxed and loose, but 
his mind darted and spun, busy with first one thought and  
then another. Would Koris demand to know his information 
right away, or would she worm it out of him? What if she 
were to ask some question that forced him to reveal 
Faflin's involvement with Lemakush?
    I would die first, he vowed, without considering the 
consequences of such a promise. He would do whatever he 
must to keep himself alive, of course, so that Faflin 
could still have a protector. But if it came to the choice 
between betrayal of her and death...
    He knew which he would choose, not least because it 
would cause him less pain.
    The Council Hall loomed into view. Zadok studied it 
coolly, objectively. He often forgot what it looked like, 
seeing it from the outside only when he approached it in 
the morning. Somehow, he had forgotten its bulk and slight 
leaning posture, amplified by the cell-holding wings, like 
a vulture leaning over carrion.
    Shuddering, he banished the comparison, and turned his 
eyes on Yurin. The calmly pacing functionary had hair as 
dark as his own, but crystal eyes whose surface, like a 
mirror, reflected whatever emotion his masters deemed 
appropriate. At the moment, it seemed, that was a content 
such as a sated snake might exhibit.
    Yurin looked at him, waiting for an invitation to 
speak but not extending one himself. Bloated spider, Zadok 
thought, gladly hurling his anger and anxiety at a target 
more available than Koris or Lemakush, waiting for a fly 
to fall into his web. Well, this fly won't.
    Somehow keeping his voice civil, he inquired, "What 
information will the Lady Koris want from me?"
    Yurin never blinked, but merely nodded, as he always 
did when someone cut to the heart of the matter. "All 
information you obtained from the mad Trula Lemakush, of 
course," he said, in a voice like wet footsteps squelching 
across darkness. "One can never be too careful in cases 
like this."
    Zadok cast him a sidelong sharp glance. The glittering 
eyes watched him with no emotion other than calm and the 
contentment thought an appropriate mask for zorkro of that 
age rank and occupation. Still, the possible double 
entendre in those words, suggesting he knew of Zadok's 
betrayal...
    What betrayal? the guard asked himself angrily, his 
fury abruptly flaring as bright as a beacon fire. All I 
did was listen to her! I promised nothing, not even for 
Faflin's sake. Where is the betrayal in that?
    "Of course not," he echoed smoothly. "That is, if your 
lordship says so."
    He was rewarded with a brief flash of doubt and 
wariness in the faceted gaze. Now Yurin had to consider 
what he meant by addressing him as a lord, when he was 
not, and was this part of the constant rat's nest of 
intrigue that extended all over the city.
    It was not. Zadok simply wanted peace again, and time 
to think before he approached Koris.
    In one way, he supposed, Lemakush has corrupted me 
already. Never before did I pick and choose among what I 
told my Lady; I gave her everything I collected, without 
qualifying any of it.
    Or did I?
    Doubtful, and not particularly caring for it, Zadok 
shoved the thoughts of rebellion firmly out of his head. 
He must be confident. The doubtful ones died.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "Zadok, my dear. I have been anxiously awaiting your 
return. What did you find?"
    The Council guard bowed in exactly the right way to 
Lady Koris, or so he hoped, face showing nothing of his 
inner debate. "My Lady, I found out and learned some most 
disturbing things about and of Lady Lemakush," he said 
directly, with full truth. Such baldness in the beginning 
might lull Koris, push her into ignoring the lies he then 
would have to tell. 
    Koris did not relax in any way discernible to 
outsiders, but he saw her lips melt into a slightly more 
welcoming smile, her fingers stop tapping the stem of the 
wine glass and instead grip it more firmly. "Excellent," 
she breathed before catching herself. "I mean, of course 
that is terrible. The poor woman." Wearing a good frown of 
concern, she signaled for more wine, and Yurin brought the 
carafe. "Do you know when the Tri will convene?" she asked 
then, naming the jury of peers that would judge the 
priestess.
    "My Lady, I do not. But it seems as if Lemakush will 
be no trouble." Not in the sense you mean, not political 
trouble- I think. "She agreed meekly to the incarceration 
in her own home, and said she would reside there until the 
Tri did convene."
    Koris nodded, being unable to say anything until she 
had swallowed her mouthful of wine. That done, the black 
eyes abruptly hardened, the unusual openness that had 
shown him her glee fading from them. "And what were some 
of these disturbing things, Zadok?"
    Carefully, carefully. Calming his breathing once more, 
Zadok folded his arms and leaned back against air. A 
deliberately casual posture, it would hopefully hide the 
things he was hiding from her and belittle those truths he 
did toss to her. "Lady Koris, she does run an organization 
known as the Starsgifted, whose confused and fanatic 
principles seem incomprehensible to the true zorkro ear. I 
was unable to find out exactly what they do-" that was 
true enough "-but what I learned is enough to make me 
uncomfortable and disgusted." He breathed a silent sigh of 
relief. One gauntlet danced.
    "I can see your point." Koris nodded thoughtfully, 
again gesturing for wine. "One would not care to inquire 
too greatly into such affairs, lest one found oneself 
caught in the same net."
    Zadok permitted himself a small smile. Exactly as he 
had learned from watching the Councilwoman herself at 
work: give your enemies just enough information that they 
could make their own, always false assumptions. "Indeed, 
Lady. I would not care to be caught in this net." That, 
too, was an unshaded truth.
    Koris nodded, swallowed most of this newest glass at a 
gulp, and fixed him with a predatory gaze that gleamed in 
the auralight. "I have learned a little about her while 
you were gone. Apparently, she makes a practice of seeking 
out the young as converts, though one wonders why. Even a 
child should be able to see through those foolish, 
dangerous, and irrational arguments." She shook her head 
for a moment, as though sadly contemplating the stupidity 
of the young. Zadok held his tense poise, not fooled. 
Koris did not wander with her wine, and should know better 
than to try the trick on him.
    Her focus sharpened on him, as if she had realized her 
trick would not work. "Thus, I have a job for you."
    "My Lady?" Zadok inclined his head warily, not letting 
any of the wariness show out of instinctive habit.
    "You are young, only a little more than two hundred 
fifty years," said Koris with mock casualness, looking at 
her fingernails as if they needed cleaning. "She seemed 
interested in that, as well she might be, if she means to 
gain converts." She looked up at him suddenly, as if 
hoping to find him discomfited, but Zadok faced her with 
the same cool mask. She continued without exhibiting any 
of the disappointment the guard knew she must be feeling. 
    "You are to be bait," she said directly. "Listen to 
her, lure her out, trick her into one of those mistakes 
that not even a Trula can make with impunity. You can do 
it; she will trust you."
    Zadok swallowed dryly. He knew what some of those 
"mistakes" were, and he was not anxious to trick even 
Lemakush into making them. "With all respect, Lady, why 
me? I have a younger sister to protect. If something 
should happen to me-"
    Koris waved a hand airily. "There are always the 
Tenders. With all due respect, Zadok, siblings are an 
extra commodity that some children happen to have. The 
Tenders can raise her well enough without you."
    In other words, the guard thought, don't overestimate 
your own importance. He nodded, knowing his other 
objections, half of them formless anyway, wouldn't be 
accepted. It was supposed to be an honor to do things for 
the Council, if not quite as much of an honor as for the 
Trulae. 
    What is wrong with me? he had to wonder suddenly. Even 
two days ago, I would have been thrilled to accept this 
task, to aid her in ferreting out a possible threat to our 
people. And Lemakush is a threat, far more than any 
potentially insane person. Why can't I feel happy about 
this? Why can't I?
    "Good man." Koris smiled affably as she reached up to 
slap his shoulder. "Now, I have kept you from your home 
long enough. As you say so eloquently, you have a little 
sister, who will be most disappointed if you do not come 
home on time."
    Don't work as I expect you to, and you'll never come 
home again.
    She might as well have said the words, Zadok thought 
as he bowed coldly and stepped out of the Council Hall. 
Koris surely knew of the little game-within-a-game, his 
awareness of her intrigues. Unless, of course, that was a 
sham too, and she were only guessing, or...
    Shaking his head, Zadok raked his fingers through his 
hair and looked up to study the immense clock that stood 
over the city. It bore pictures, on half its round face, 
of the sun in various stages of rising and setting above a 
horizon line; the other half did the same thing with the 
moons. The top of the clock tower, above the magical 
darkness and in sunlight, transmitted magical impulses 
that made arrows point to the correct picture.
    To Zadok's surprise, the arrow of the day hung on the 
last picture of the sun. His usually good sense of time 
had failed him, making him think it earlier than it was. 
He must hurry, if he were to get outside the city without 
being crushed in the nightly exodus.
    He made his way swiftly and silently through the 
streets to the barracks where Faflin waited for him, past 
other zorkro heading for the gates of the city. They did 
not talk, save for a few quiet words spoken to a hunting 
partner, or laugh, save for the sneers of those who 
hovered momentarily on the Council's favor or that of the 
Trulae. Commoners parted for the rare Trula, or servant in 
the livery of the Eaa'Vgadi. No one really looked at 
anyone else.
    No, Zadok thought, though he could not have said to 
what thought he was answering. A moment later, he knew, 
for the words completed themselves. We are not two 
different worlds, Lemakush- yours, and mine. We are many 
thousands of separate worlds, turning, alone, surrounded 
by darkness...
    Shivering, and not knowing why, he hurried around the 
few corners necessary to reach the place where he lived. 
He named it home in his words to Faflin, but never in his 
thoughts.
    Harsh and unlovely, the steps all but grated beneath 
his feet as he climbed to the balcony that ran along the 
outside of the second floor. He made his way to the door 
that did not look like a door, one of many, and knocked in 
an intricate, prearranged code.
    The door opened almost before he was finished, and he 
swept inside to give Faflin a swift hug and the words, 
"I'm going out. Do you want me to buy you something from 
the market on the way back?"
    "I don't want you to go out at all," Faflin murmured, 
leaning her cheek against the darkness cloth of his 
leggings. She seemed content to have him home, yet half- 
asleep, as if he'd awakened her from a nap. Certainly 
awareness of what she was saying did not rule her next 
words. "Eating souls is wrong, according to Nirnez. If you 
want to be-"
    Zadok's breath hissed between his teeth louder than he 
would have liked. Faflin looked up at him in all 
innocence. "Is something wrong, Brother?"
    Zadok knelt down to her level and spoke carefully, 
trying not to let his eagerness overwhelm him. Young as 
Faflin was, she was not stupid, and not blind to all the 
realities of her world. "Fafi, did Lemakush tell you that 
Nirnez said that?" Here was proof positive, if true, that 
the priestess was mad.
    "Of course. She didn't really say it, of course; She 
gave the knowledge to Lady Lemakush," Faflin added on 
second thought. "She wants us to be good, and-"
    But Zadok was already rising, turning away, moving in 
a daze. If he could get to Koris after the hunt, without 
being observed by any of Lemakush's servants, and tell her 
this, it might remove the Councilwoman from his back. She 
could take her proof before the Tri, and leave both him 
and his sister alone.
    "I'll be back in a little while, Fafi," he said in a 
voice he did not recognize as his own. "I'll bring you 
something from the market, I promise. Right now, I'm 
hungry." He felt the muscles of his stomach tighten and 
clench in confirmation, but could not tell if it were from 
true hunger, or fear and anticipatory excitement.
    Behind him, Faflin's resigned voice said, "All right, 
Brother." 
    He turned to regard her. The little girl stood with 
eyes cast on the floor, patiently awaiting his return, as 
she had all the nights of their life together, since she 
had gotten old enough to stay in their rooms without a 
Tender by her side.
    But he had thought, for a single moment, that the 
golden eyes of the one he loved best in the world had 
lifted and flashed accusation at him.
    Dismissing that as a fantasy caused by fear, he made 
his way out of the barracks and down the stairs, rubbing 
briskly at his arms. At the bottom of the stairs, his 
hunting partner waited, a young female zorkro about his 
age whom he had not hunted with before. She had silver 
hair and crystal eyes, the exact opposite of the 
triumphant sister in the petition earlier that day. 
    Actually, one could say they were both triumphant, 
since the other had escaped punishment...
    He pushed the thought from his mind as the woman 
looked up, smiling gravely at him. In one hand she held 
two leaves of reth, a paler black than her skin and so 
clearly distinguishable, sticky in appearance and both 
firm and pliant, like rubber.
    "Eat, brother," she said formally.
    Again the clenching of his stomach, but this time from 
a more familiar cause. Zadok accepted the leaf with a 
ceremonial nod of thanks and held it to his lips for a 
long moment, inhaling the scent, before actually sticking 
it in his mouth. The leaf smelled rich as night, yet with 
a faint hint of the sweet sickliness that comes from 
burned flesh.
    His teeth crushed the leaf to powder within a few 
seconds. It burned down his throat and stomach as the 
finest wines were said to do, and...
    ...And the Change began.
    One moment, he was Zadok, standing in place with the 
merest pretense of calm as he waited for the drug, 
appropriately named "oblivion," to take effect. The next 
moment, Zadok went somewhere else, leaving in his place a 
creature without soul or conscience, who could make the 
decisions that would allow him to survive.
    He opened his eyes and nodded to the woman who stood 
at his side, and who had undergone a similar change. Like 
him, her grin was wide and feral, her eyes empty.
    "Let us go, Brother," she told him, chuckling at that 
last, meaningless word.
    He nodded, chuckling with her, feeling the burn of 
reth in his veins and blood, reshaping the darkly musical 
Elwen laughter into something without remorse, wildly 
glorious. Still laughing beneath his breath, he followed 
her out of the city.
    The darkness, never a blanketing cloak to the eyes of 
one such as he, seemed to have receded even farther when 
he stepped out of the city's gates. The night sky, filled 
with the light their prey so foolishly took as a sign of 
hope, helped. Yet the darkness itself was less stifling, 
somehow, clearer and purer than light.
    He plunged with his running mate into the thickness of 
the forest, slipping between trees and vines, thickets and 
bushes, with the grace of a hunter born. She was obviously 
more affected by the drug than he; she performed little 
skipping dance steps, laughing beneath her breath even 
now, leaping wildly into the sky now and then as if she 
would seize the moons.
    He could not think of what lay ahead, except as a 
vaguely pleasurable sensation, to be enjoyed when it came 
and as promptly forgotten. He thought more of the feel of 
grass under his feet, the brush of vegetation past his 
body, the brightness of a patch of moonlight lucky enough 
to squirm through entangling branches. A side effect of 
reth is the amplification of physical sensations, as well 
as psychic ones; thus, he felt the burning in his mouth as 
his fangs began to lengthen a moment before his mind 
actually told his consciousness that it had located the 
presence of intelligent beings a short way off.
    He and she could sweep down on the starlit, dozing 
camp of travelers like a midnight wind, taking what they 
wanted before the few pitiful sentries could give any 
warning. But that, of course, was no fun. One thing the 
reth-altered creature who had once been Zadok did value 
was fun, the excitement and passion of the chase that 
pulsed and thrummed in his blood like nothing else.
    Thus, they halted some distance from the camp and 
tilted their heads back to regard the stars. Uncaring of 
the death that would be wrought here this night, the 
creators of Elwenkind, both the silver ones visible to 
normal sight and the black stars that those of darkness 
Elwen birth could see, sparkled gently on their children.
    To those stars, the more gentle cousins of the zorkro 
lift their voices nightly in the uplifting, lovely ritual 
known as elwensong. This music, often seeming an audible 
reflection of starlight both dark and silver, calms and 
cleanses the soul. But reth does not allow a darkness 
Elwen to sing normally, paralyzing the voicebox necessary 
for elwensong as it does. Still, the zorkro are Elwens, 
and they sing.
    It has become something twisted, dark, and horrible, 
but they sing.
    These thoughts passed through his mind and were gone, 
leaving no more permanent impression than a landing duck 
does on a pond. He opened his mouth, and the hunting song 
of a darkness Elwen pack started forth.
    A thin, keening sound at first, it might have been 
mistaken for the wind. Even the female's joining notes 
could have been excused as the second of a pair of 
breezes, twining about each other as living things do, 
seeking pleasure in each other's company. 
    But quickly, it altered into a savage scream the trees 
bowed away from. The breath of the singers withered the 
leaves it touched, creating a carpet of black finery on 
the forest floor. Unheeding of their movements, caught up 
in the music, the singers began to run, as if the song 
itself propelled them forward. The notes danced about 
them, foul as decaying corpses and richer with the 
whispers of death.
    The camp was long awake by the time they got there; 
indeed, the two darkness Elwens found the camp deserted. 
He who had been Zadok knelt down to touch a doll left 
behind by a fleeing child too afraid for her life to save 
even such a beloved possession. His fingers gently brushed 
the toy's silken dress.
    Into his mind, psychic impressions mixing with the 
song until it was difficult to tell which was which, came 
a sense of the child, her life and experiences, her dreams 
and hopes, her childish fears and hatreds. He half-closed 
his eyes, singing, singing, pouring all the force of his 
heart into something whose corrupt strength only increased 
with that addition.
    Slowly, the notes altered. Now he sang the girl's life 
mixed with her approaching death, something incomparably 
foul and beautiful at once. It was a song whose loveliness 
drove victims mad, whose evil inspired them to run 
weeping. It was a song that linked him to his victim. He 
would be able to follow her no matter where she ran.
    The female had been unable to discover a similar 
artifact, but she had stumbled on a small patch of dirt 
scarred with tiny footprints. The little girl's brother, 
her song told him without words, as her voice became 
almost that of a boy on the threshold of manhood. Still, 
it was the boy's slayer, not the boy himself, singing the 
song. An important fact to remember.
    That done, they moved into the forest, slowly, easily, 
building speed as they did relish for the hunt. This 
family was Elwen, able to run nearly as fast as they, 
equipped with nearly as much determination to survive as 
the zorkro had to take their souls. The hunt would be a 
good one.
    It would end, of course, as they all did.
    His perspectives multiplied as they moved in pursuit, 
growing excitement sometimes forcing them to a rapid trot, 
having to express emotion in motion. One moment he saw 
only wildly swinging branches before his face, and heard 
only his song, and felt only his mad exhilaration pumping 
through him in thickening tide. The next, he felt the hot 
prickly touch of fear in his throat and stomach, and 
tasted the silvery blood that comes from biting the inside 
of one's mouth. His eyes blinked open to reveal treetops 
jolting past, as they might be seen by a child carried on 
her parent's shoulders.
    Ah, this is a good one! What remained the hunter in 
him exulted silently. Seldom did a spirit-song meld the 
spirits of victim and killer so perfectly as to allow the 
one to see through the eyes of the other.
    The child breathed- panted, more accurately, her 
breath rasping in her lungs. She had run a long distance, 
at least for short legs, before her father scooped her up 
to ride. She knew without being told that the increased 
burden would mean they turned to bay sooner than they 
might have otherwise, but she said nothing. An Elwen 
family abandoned none of its members.
    Like smoke, sudden and fresh and yet always known, her 
name drifted into the mind of he who had been Zadok. Hina. 
Her name was Hina. He was Hina. She was Hina.
    He pulled himself sharply back, aware of the dangers 
should the bond grow too tight. He might not be able to 
kill her, to take the soul he so desperately needed, if he 
fell too far into her mind and heart.
    Still, he saw through her eyes, saw her mother and 
brother stumbling ahead. Her mother clutched her brother's 
hand with the weary stubbornness of one who has given up 
hope, but refuses to admit it. Her dress had been snagged 
and torn by thorns, to the point where it was little more 
than tatters held on by force of will. Both her legs and 
the boy's, bared by leggings in a similar state, were 
marked with long, shallow grooves that bled molten 
starlight in a constant stream.
    Her hands clasped her father's neck anxiously, and she 
knew with odd clarity that they were going to die.