Silver Fire
                         Prologue
           1,000,100, Age of Life, Late Summer
    The blueness of the summer sky above seemed to throb, 
but it wasn't beating as hotly as the tempers of the two 
before him, Verkus Lorlenna thought irritably. The vermil 
tossed scarlet hair from his eyes and listened, though he 
didn't want to. There were times being a leader could be 
downright boring, even for a neutral creature.
    "And then, my lord, he claimed that I was no better 
than a silverini!" The flame unicorn darted a venomous 
look at the vermil who stood beside him. "You know there 
is no more lowering insult. Simply because I am a unicorn 
does not mean that I do not have honor. That honor has 
been smirched by this one, and I demand satisfaction!"
    The other flame Elwen was breathing hard, fists 
clenched; Verkus could see that he was just barely able to 
keep from bringing forth a lance of flame that would have 
burned even this unicorn. He fought to keep his voice 
steady, his blue eyes swinging to meet his leader's golden 
ones. "I see no need to company with unicorns. They are 
the weak place in our defense, as the silverini always go 
for them first." He returned the poisonous glare the 
horned beast had given him. "I will give him no 
satisfaction. He deserved the insult! I-"
    Verkus moaned under his breath- taking care neither of 
them heard it- and spoke telepathically to the figure who 
sat silently beside him, cloaked even in the summer heat. 
^Can you settle this, please? I was willing to listen when 
they first started, but three hours is enough.^
    ^Of course.^ The alien, tingling mind-voice was filled 
not with amusement, but with something closely akin to 
that emotion. His friend's head swung to face the arguing 
unicorn and Elwen, and Verkus felt the barest exercise of 
magic. He concealed a smile behind one red hand as he 
watched the results.
    The unicorn stopped ranting about his honor in 
mid-sentence. Turning to the vermil, he said warmly, "My 
friend, why have we been arguing? I cannot remember!"
    "Neither can I," laughed the fire Elwen. The good 
humor in his voice was genuine, causing Verkus to relax. 
"No doubt it was some trivial thing that does not merit 
memory. We both know how hot our tempers are." The two 
chuckled, sharing the joke, then walked away together, 
already discussing cheerfully how many silver unicorns 
they would obliterate the next time the equines chose to 
attack.
    Verkus turned a grateful smile on the cloaked figure 
and spoke in a voice like crackling flames. "Thanks, 
Marakesh. You're a lifesaver."
    "But of course," a voice replied with perfect 
seriousness. Marakesh raised slender hands to his cowl and 
flipped it back from his face, turning to gaze into his 
leader's eyes.
    The sun flamed on copper skin, burnished like a large 
plate of that glistening metal. Marakesh's hair was 
equally copper, but his eyes were ruby-red, save for a 
slash of glistening blue down the middle of each. Some 
still found that visage unnerving to look upon, but Verkus 
had been used to it for thousands of years. That was how 
long the copper alfar had been his friend.
    "The argument had to be settled," said Marakesh 
placidly, settling back and lifting his head toward the 
sun, which had ascended nearly to noon. "You must lead a 
united people against the silverini." His two-colored eyes 
gleamed curiously as he turned them on Verkus again. "One 
thing puzzles me. If the unicorns have granted us this 
period of Stargrace, why do they still launch attacks 
against us?"
    Verkus chuckled ruefully as he rose to his feet and 
stretched. He had been sitting in the cramped seat formed 
by two rocky spurs of the Soaring Mountains for far too 
long. "If I understood equine mentality, we might have 
defeated them by now."
    Marakesh nodded. His metallic face resumed its usual 
emotionless state, his eyes peering at a distant something 
that only he could see. The fire Elwen knew he had 
withdrawn into one of his trances and did not disturb him, 
instead loping to a lower position on the spur and staring 
thoughtfully out over Fhevu while he considered.
    The town of the diverse people he commanded lay before 
him, a conglomeration of larenta waterfall-homes, unicorn 
minarets, eluvor tree houses, and, most plentiful of all, 
the flickering, solidified flames that marked a vermil 
dwelling. It was a view he had been gazing upon for the 
past three thousand years, with the exception of brief 
excursions outside Fhevu- and in the past century, even 
those had stopped. The vermil tilted his head up, staring 
beyond the flaming boundaries of the enclave that still 
hung, a small spot of light, in a darkened continent.
    His eyesight was keen, even for an Elwen's, and it was 
a hot, clear summer day. He could see all the way to the 
green fields that had once been theirs. Once, they had 
held all the land between the Eluvorwave and Raitvoup 
Rivers. Once...
    He shook away the memories. Memories were his enemies. 
They reminded him that he had lived only three millennia, 
a tiny fraction of his race's two-hundred-century 
lifespan, and was likely to see more pain yet.
    I have had all the pain I could ever want, he thought 
to the stars, or whatever else might be listening. 
Sometimes he felt as if eyes were on him, judging, 
observing. Even if there weren't, he bore some thoughts 
too private to be shared with any but himself. 
    Still... he permitted a small smile to cross his lips. 
Recent memories were actually good. The brave fighters of 
Fhevu had forced the unicorns to grant them the 
Aeriefrill, or Stargrace- a period of peace in which to 
leave the continent. The enclave dwindled every day as 
more and more people fled their dying home. Verkus did not 
condemn them; such an action was perfectly understandable, 
though he would never loose his home soil until the stars 
called him. But lately things had taken a puzzling turn, 
as Marakesh had said. Why would the unicorns attack them 
when they had actually signed a peace treaty?
    Verkus thought back to what the flame unicorn had 
said. He smiled grimly. If the multicolored equine had 
honor, his silver cousins did not. The simple explanation, 
if not, perhaps, the right one.
    He turned and strode toward Marakesh, who had returned 
to himself and was gazing calmly out over the plains. 
Verkus studied him and shook his head, grinning. The alfar 
was the mildest person he had ever known; whether it was 
because he had never had cause to be angry, or something 
else, the vermil didn't know. "Will you come with me to 
see what progress Rodollen has made?" One asked, never 
ordered, an alfar.
    Marakesh considered, staring at the sun as if judging 
its heat. His cat-slitted eyes did not blink, even when he 
glanced directly into Uunul's heart. "I believe I will 
pass on this one, Verkus," he said softly, voice the sound 
of a cat's footfalls. "I feel the need of sleep." He 
settled back against the spur and drew his hood over his 
eyes again. Verkus knew that peering under that lowered 
cowl would reveal a most disturbing sight. Alfari did not 
close their eyes when they slept, and so appeared to be 
glaring at people who disturbed their rest. Verkus 
chuckled lightly and walked downwards, picking his way 
among the sliding shale with a delicate grace that belied 
his husky frame. Though many people feared and mistrusted 
alfari- particularly Marakesh, who companied with their 
leader- none would dare disturb the copper one.
    The vermil jumped lightly to the ground, disdaining 
the carved steps, and followed Rodollen's trail. It was 
not difficult; where his friend had walked, the grass grew 
in a bright, healthy swath of luxurious green. The fire 
Elwen wondered again how he and the other had become 
friends. When he- and others of his kind- did not watch 
their flames, they could easily burn the vegetation.
    Verkus began to suspect something when Rodollen's 
trail swerved away from the city, where he was supposed to 
have gone to test public opinion, and made for a large 
patch of tended forest. He sighed and walked resignedly 
along it anyway. He didn't have the heart to scold his 
friend for preferring the coolness of the woodland.
    He found Rodollen Forestdrum sprawled full-length in 
the grass, asleep. The eluvor snored like a gnawing 
beaver, a sound that should have warned the forest 
creatures away. However, they crouched at the edge of the 
clearing in which he lay, drawn towards him by some uneasy 
fascination with who and what he was. The animals- a 
beaver, a badger, a mockingbird- scattered only when 
Verkus approached, and then moved but a short distance 
away, to stand watching him. The vermil knew very well 
that, had he been an enemy trying to harm Rodollen, he 
never would have left the trees alive. Controlling his 
nervousness and his flame, he placed a scarlet hand on the 
other Elwen's shoulder and shook him gently.
    The snoring skipped a beat, then settled. The forest 
Elwen opened his beyond-green eyes- they gleamed like 
emeralds with marsh fire and springtime leaves set in 
them, so many shades of green that they nearly blinded- 
and sat up wearily, stretching and yawning like a bear 
awakened from its winter sleep. "Oh, it's you, Verkus," he 
said, reaching out a hand. The fire Elwen clasped the 
green-brown hand and pulled his friend to his feet. 
Rodollen blinked at him, the fog of sleep shading the 
blaze of his eyes and allowing Verkus to meet his gaze. 
"Really," he protested sleepily, "I meant to go to the 
city. I really did."
    Verkus tried for a stern look, but it was impossible. 
He burst into laughter, clapping his friend- lightly- on 
the shoulder. Rodollen's skin possessed the texture of 
wood as well as the color. "Rodollen, you do make me 
laugh."
    The eluvor smiled, pleased at the compliment. He 
blinked once, then again, and his eyes were back to their 
normal color, shining like exquisite jewels. "Someone has 
to," he said easily, falling into step beside his friend. 
As they passed through the trees, grass grew under the 
eluvor's boots, trees stretched their branches toward him, 
and a stag appeared from a thicket to stand watching them. 
Rodollen patted the branches and took a step toward the 
stag, scratching it under the chin as he would a cat. He 
glanced back at Verkus, his leaf-shaped mouth twitching in 
a sly smile. "You know you couldn't rule if it weren't for 
my excellent example."
    Verkus snorted. Rodollen was the essence of 
irresponsibility; he might have been the son of Chilune, 
Goddess of Mischief. "Of course, Ro. I can lead by running 
off into the forest and avoiding my duties."
    Unabashed, the eluvor grinned, gave the deer a final 
pat, and stepped away from it. "You might try it sometime. 
At least it would relax the stern look on your face."
    Verkus laughed uneasily; the forest Elwen's last 
statement had been more than accurate, whether he knew it 
or not. "The stern look needs to be there. While you were 
sle- ah, gone, I had an argument on my hands that I solved 
only with the help of Marakesh's magic. How would you have 
settled that, if not with grimness?"
    "I would have told them to relax," said the eluvor 
pertly. He paused, seeming to consider something, then 
nodded. "Yes, I think I heard this little argument of 
yours. A unicorn and a vermil, wasn't it? Their voices 
disturbed me."
    Verkus tossed him an exasperated look. "Then why in 
the name of all that's flaming didn't you wake up and 
remember your duty?"
    Rodollen gave him a shocked look. "And move when I had 
just gotten comfortable?" He struck a dramatic pose. "How 
can thee doubt me? Surely I am wounded." He grunted and 
placed his hands on his chest, over the place where his 
heart beat, safe beneath inches of woody skin. The image 
of an arrow injuring him was so ridiculous that Verkus 
laughed in spite of himself. Rodollen popped one eye open 
and wagged a finger in his friend's direction. "See what I 
mean? You should do that more often."
    He sighed and threw the flame Elwen a mock salute. 
"Ah, well, duty calls." He paused, giving the vermil an 
inquiring look. The unusual solemnity in his eyes caused 
Verkus to peer at him in concern, but to his astonishment, 
Rodollen was also anxious. "I heard you screaming in my 
sleep last night," the eluvor said quietly. He hesitated, 
as if reluctant to pursue the subject, but then plunged 
ahead. "It's not your fault, Verkus, and you don't have to 
bear the burden of the world on your shoulders."
    "But I am responsible for a small part of it," the 
flamemaster finished softly, "and I must bear the blame 
for that. Who knows what the Minamaran unicorns have 
learned about us? Destria is dangerous, even in this 
period of peace." He stared at his clenched red fists, 
producing a small, flickering flame from one finger- 
covered palm. He met Rodollen's gaze again then, and tried 
to smile. "For those who stay faithful to this continent, 
as you, I, and Marakesh do, there is yet danger."
    "I am aware of that," said the forest Elwen quietly. 
He looked for the briefest moment as if he might say 
something else, but then shook his head wordlessly and 
clasped Verkus's hand in his own. Verkus blinked, drew in 
a breath, and he was gone toward the city. He moved as if 
nothing had happened, bounding like the deer he had so 
lately petted, singing a simple, sweet, wordless song of 
happiness like any bird. The vermil, trying to recover his 
usual tranquil mood, moved toward his own home on the 
outskirts of town.
    A few moments later, he was seated at a table of flame 
as solid as wood, head buried in his hands, fingers 
massaging his temples. He didn't have a headache- not 
exactly- but the sensation in his mind now came close. 
    Verkus looked up, his eyes idly traveling the length 
of the chamber. They stopped on a small silver frame that 
hung on the wall- still, despite his resolve, stated in 
public and in private, to take it down.
    The frame held a picture, a perfect drawing, sketched 
in Rodollen's even hand. From a distance or through the 
tears with which Verkus often regarded it, it appeared as 
a blur of red, but it was actually two figures, both 
wearing happy smiles. One was him, the other...
    The vermil turned away and strode outside with unusual 
energy. Time to get back to work.




                        Chapter 1
                     Without Warfare
        1,000,100, Age of Life, Early Autumn
    Destria kicked frantically, trying to escape the 
strands of the net that enmeshed him. His neighs seemed to 
go unheard, though he could see other silverini nearby.
    But then his people faded into a wavering mist, a fog 
that patted him with clumsy tendrils but did little else. 
He tried to call out again, but the sudden sense of a 
nearby presence chilled him. He curled up as much as the 
net would permit him to, now grateful for his prison, 
praying the hunter that stalked this night would not find 
him.
    Something that was not the fog touched him. Destria 
drew in a breath and waited, but there came no feel of 
fur-shredding claws or of fangs closing on his leg. 
Whatever had passed him had done just that- brushed 
against him as it walked its own way, disdained to glance 
at him. Somewhat more relaxed, he opened his eyes, 
prepared to continue his struggle.
    He was staring directly into the great yellow eyes of 
some unknown creature, its form too horrible to show 
clearly. He could smell the fetid breath on his face, and 
he screamed as it began, slowly and with pleasure, to 
feast.
    Agony tore through him, then abruptly dimmed. Was this 
death? Shivering, he dared to open one eye.
    For a single moment, he thought something even bigger 
than the hunter was glaring at him, an eye blue on dark 
gold, scattered with faint specks of silver. Then he 
realized what he was truly seeing- the night sky of 
Arcadia in the declining year. Panting, he sat up slowly 
and glanced around.
    His legs were entrapped, but not by a net. In his 
tossing, he had managed to wind the silver blanket spread 
for his comfort thoroughly about his legs. Destria grinned 
foolishly as he called mentally for a slave, not wanting 
to wake his wife and son, the other members of this small 
cavalcade. Still, he could not help speaking aloud as a 
curalli rushed to free him. "A dream," he murmured, 
delight and relief palpable in his voice. "Only a dream."
    He had not told Kumota, his mate, about his dreams. He 
considered doing so for only a brief moment. It was well- 
known that nightmares could bring insanity, but only to 
unbalanced unicorns. He had nothing to worry about.
    Yet seeking reassurance, he glanced at the shadowed 
Elwen who delicately lifted his hind hooves out of the 
blanket, not wanting to muss a single hair. Feeling his 
gaze, the curalli turned his head. He could not return his 
master's look- he had been born without eyes and with only 
rudimentary ears, thanks to Destria's tinkering- but he 
could smell the slightest changes in scent, feel the 
lightest shift in the air. "Yes, Master?" he asked 
courteously. His voice was not completely Elwen either. 
Destria had altered that also into a series of cadences 
more pleasing to a unicorn's ears.
    "I want to commend you on your speed," said Destria 
soothingly. Slaves- especially his malleable curalli- got 
most anxious if they thought their masters displeased. "I 
shall have to breed more like you."
    The shadowed Elwen returned the compliment with a 
puppyish smile and stepped up beside Destria at the 
unicorn's whispered command, stretching his hands out. His 
fingers were long, slender, defter than a spider's legs, 
and bore small ridges- in other words, they were perfect 
for combing a unicorn's coat. Destria closed his eyes, 
lulled by the gentle rhythm of the combing.
    At last, when he looked his gleaming silver self 
again, Destria dismissed the slave. He lay down with legs 
folded beneath him, to avoid another incident. Still, he 
found himself unable or perhaps unwilling to return to 
slumber. Instead, he occupied his mind by rationalizing 
once again the reasons for their journey. 
    Surely, Tharassia's invitation had been meant for him 
alone, but there was no rule saying he could not bring his 
family. Kumota was a delicate, fragile thing, even for a 
mare, and Sesaldon....
    Destria chuckled, casting a tender glance at his son, 
who slept with his chin resting on outstretched forelegs. 
The colt was not yet old enough to assume command of the 
minald in his father's absence.
    Of course, he never would be. He would age- slowly- to 
Destria's physical state, and there stop. The Wellspring, 
the water that gave immortal life, had decreed it. But 
that didn't mean he couldn't be trained in leadership. And 
that didn't mean he had to be left in the minald- an 
increasingly dangerous place of late.
    Destria's jaw tightened. Once his people had given him 
everything short of worship. Once they had believed him an 
agent of the Blue Moon descended to earth. That respect 
had come partially from his conquests of Areil and the 
Barren Desert, partially from his character and more 
mundane actions. Now, however, it was mostly unicorns 
outside Crownia who cowered in awe of his name. The 
ungrateful colts and fillies in his home minald had 
forgotten him and were talking nastily about deposing him.
    Destria shook the thoughts away. If what happened 
happened, then he would never live in fear of a revolt 
again. As Emperor, he would be entitled to dwell wherever 
he wished, not simply in Crownia. He lowered his head to 
the grass, trying not to muss his fur, and closed his 
eyes.
    Instantly, as if it had been waiting for him, the 
dream was there, gripping his mind in its powerful hands 
and drawing him into a swirling maelstrom of nightmarish 
images. Destria twitched and whimpered, trying not to let 
it overwhelm him. He was a unicorn, he reminded himself 
through rising panic. The pinnacle of creation. More than 
that, he was a silverini, proudest and highest and...
    His nerve broke and terror washed over him in a dark 
flood. He screamed and convulsed, losing all thought of 
the world beyond these close black borders.
    Around him, the dream laughed.
----------------------------------------------------------
    It was morning when he woke again, Uunul peacefully 
shedding its sweet, radiant light down upon silverini and 
slaves alike. Destria licked his lips as he stood and 
called Tracker in a low voice. Once again, he was awake 
before his wife and son, and he saw no harm in letting 
them sleep awhile. Much as he hated to admit it, they 
could not help him to understand the dreams. Reputed 
silverini dream-sages had tried and failed. He needed a 
non-unicornic perspective on this.
    Soundless as always, Tracker appeared before him like 
something born of the autumn mist. Shining red, almost too 
bright to look at, he bowed his head respectfully. "How 
may I serve you, master?" he asked, in a purring, rumbling 
voice.
    Destria turned relieved, amused eyes on the young 
magmacat assassin, his only non-unicorn friend. Tracker 
was anything but humble; he worked for the silverini only 
because he was in awe of them and saw mutual benefit, not 
because he feared or loved them. "By giving me insights," 
the unicorn replied, leading the feline a distance away 
from his sleeping family. Tracker padded beside him, 
golden eyes curious, paws stepping lightly so as not to 
raise too much of the molten rock his kind had been named 
for. "I have been having nightmares, dream-images that I 
fear have a special purpose. However, they are nothing if 
not inconsistent. I have never had the same one twice, and 
thus it is highly unlikely that they are portents of the 
future-"
    Tracker interrupted. He had been gazing into the 
distance, a thoughtful look on his face, but now he swung 
his head around and stared directly into his master's 
will-stealing silver eyes. "With all due respect, Master 
Destria, you give yourself less credit than you deserve. 
You may well have precognition. Who is to say that you do 
not? You are telepathically and telekinetically talented, 
after all, where no one of your kind has been before you." 
He waited politely for Destria to finish basking in his 
praise, then leaned forward, mobile Cat's face intense. 
"Tell me some of your dreams."
    Destria did so. It felt wonderful to be speaking about 
them at last to someone close to him. The dream-sages had 
analyzed him, of course, but they had been unknowns. 
Tracker's expression of concern and deep silence when the 
stallion finished were extremely gratifying.
    "I would say," said the Cat at last in a musing 
fashion, "that you have a powerful enemy in your 
subconscious." He turned to lick his flank, his way of 
artfully pausing. Destria waited patiently through the 
grooming, until the Cat straightened, tongue still 
radiating heat that Destria could feel.
    "If you tame your imaginings," proclaimed the feline 
in a bugling voice, "then you will have subdued what is 
worst in yourself, the part that is still slightly non- 
silverini. Nothing will stand against you. You will be at 
last what you have truly been meant to be."
    After Tracker's declaration, the world seemed oddly 
silent, despite a bird singing in a hylea nearby and the 
soft breathing of Destria's family and the other slaves. 
Destria stared at the magmacat in fascination; the feline 
was watching the singing avian with equally intent 
interest. "You really are something, you know that?" the 
unicorn breathed softly.
    The magmacat glanced at him, seeming faintly annoyed 
as the lark took fright and wing at Destria's voice. His 
irritation faded almost at once, however, borne down by a 
servile yet smug smile. "Thank you, master," he purred, 
rubbing his hot fur against Destria's cool coat. "I 
endeavor to make myself meaningful to you."
    "You do," Destria reassured his slave, nudging him 
until he moved slightly. The unicorn did not like to walk 
too close to the blazing magmacat, though they had been 
friends for ninety-eight years, since he was a creature of 
ice, Tracker of fire. There remained some differences 
between them and always would.
    The assassin did not seem disappointed. He trailed his 
master and sat watching as the minald leader awakened his 
family.
    Kumota came awake at once under his hoof, stirring and 
blinking up at him, her violet eyes lovely even through a 
fog of sleep. "Hello, love," she whispered, scraping his 
chin with her horn. "Sleep well?"
    "Extremely," lied Destria, beaming at her. He saw no 
need for his wife to worry herself over him. It was not 
only the Moon-Lore, the code of the unicorns, which 
stressed selflessness; it was Destria's own heart. He was 
a silverini everywhere save in his dreaming mind, and if 
he fought the nightmares as Tracker had suggested, they 
would soon cease. Nothing was going to drive him insane 
without his consent.
    "That's wonderful," said Kumota with true warmth, 
rising to her hooves and stretching lazily. That done, she 
trotted away to forage while Destria turned his attention 
to waking their son- a task at least as formidable as 
Kumota's.
    Sesaldon resisted his father's first light taps, 
drawing a few leaves over his head as he turned, murmuring 
something unintelligible. Destria steeled himself and 
kicked Sesaldon sharply in the horn.
    The colt grunted with pain and sat up, his head 
shaking, no doubt from the aftereffects of the crystal 
ring that still echoed through the air. "How dare you!" he 
roared, glancing furiously about. "Impudent slave! I-" He 
faltered as his blue-tinged silver eyes fell upon the 
stallion watching him. "Oh. Hello, Father," he said 
meekly.
    Destria took a moment to study his enigmatic son. 
Sesaldon was in many ways a typical colt: exuberant and 
rambunctious when allowed to gallop wild, submissive to 
his parents (when he remembered), and taking a joy in life 
that put a squirrel's to shame. He held a firm belief in 
his own superiority and self-worth, and he had killed his 
first slave when he was a yearling. All normal unicorn 
traits, and ones that Destria found secretly reassuring. 
Perhaps, though a bit precocious, Sesaldon was not the 
child of destiny that Aldoran the mage had predicted he 
would be.
    Still, there were things about Destria's son that were 
different from the norm, not even counting his blue-tinged 
silver eyes. He would lapse into quiet trances, sometimes 
for hours at a time, lying without blinking in the grass 
of the normal world while his mind traveled somewhere 
quite different. He never responded during these times, 
though he could be led; then he walked like an automaton, 
eyes unfocused. He could even follow simple commands, if 
his body were moved, but he had no memory of what had 
happened on awakening. This was annoying, especially when 
he would fade out to his otherworld in the middle of a 
lesson.
    Still more frightening, at least to his parents- 
Sesaldon accepted it as normal, in the manner of all 
children- were his powers. He had inherited his father's 
unusual mental gifts, and more. He could find water in the 
middle of the driest plain, could see things at a distance 
as if Elwen-eyed, and could occasionally peer into the 
past, though not the future. Aldoran had tried to take him 
on as an apprentice, but had pronounced him unteachable 
after one of his fading spells. It had seemed to Destria 
that the mage was frightened, but Aldoran had ignored his 
questions.
    All of which did not increase Destria's tolerance for 
his son's behavior this morning. "I suppose you could not 
smell that I was a unicorn?" he inquired icily.
    The colt lowered his still-young horn- it bore a spot 
of gold about its base- and spoke a sheepish apology. "I'm 
sorry, Father. I wasn't thinking." He cast a beseeching 
glance upwards as he continued, voice gradually growing 
smaller. "Please, Father, don't be angry. The last 
creature I saw before I fell asleep was a slave. It's 
natural that the impression should stick in my mind." He 
winced and touched a hoof to his horn. "And you do hit 
rather hard. It feels like being given a love tap by a 
boulder."
    "How would you know what being given a love tap by a 
boulder feels like?" Destria asked affectionately, then 
held up a hoof. "Never mind, don't answer that. I woke you 
up for a reason, Sesaldon. We'll be moving soon."
    His son nodded quietly, his rebellious spirit dying as 
quickly as it had been birthed. He stood, stretched, and 
abruptly frowned fiercely. "Depli!" he barked.
    The third slave traveling with them, a normal, 
pureblooded curalli who had been named for the resemblance 
her blue eyes bore to the deadly flower, hurried over. 
"Yes, Master?" she inquired alertly, her voice free of the 
slurring baby talk used by so many slaves. As always, 
Destria gave her a sharp glance. Those azure eyes 
contained a bit more intelligence than he was comfortable 
with in a lesser creature.
    "There is a hair out of place on my chin," snapped 
Sesaldon with proper unicorn scorn, lifting his head to 
show the proof. "You claimed that you had combed it very 
carefully last night. How did this happen?"
    "I'm sorry, master," murmured Depli, casting her eyes 
down. "I must not have been holding the comb properly." 
She stretched out one silver hand and teased the hair back 
into place. "There," she said, with all the tenderness of 
a mother caring for a sick foal. "Will there be anything 
else my lords require?"
    "Some oak leaves- the red ones, mind you," Destria 
interjected quickly. Though Sesaldon was generally as hard 
toward the slaves as his father could wish, he had a 
peculiar habit of searching for food on his own. "The 
large, juicy ones, not those withered by premature frost."
    Depli hesitated the scantest moment before bowing 
obediently. Destria glared at her, but her blue eyes 
returned his gaze with bland innocence, something no 
non-slave could do. Then the curalli was scampering toward 
the nearest trees, her fingers reaching for those leaves 
that the unicorns had made brilliant crimson all year 
round through the use of magic. Sesaldon turned a 
reproving eye on his father. "You didn't have to do that. 
She would have obeyed soon enough." He shook his horn, 
seeming hard-pressed to articulate what he was feeling. 
"Blue Moon, Father, why do you dislike Elwens so much?"
    "I don't dislike all Elwens, just curalli," said 
Destria in a mild tone which nonetheless stopped the 
colt's protests. "You would do well to remember that, 
Sesaldon, as well as to remember that you are a guest on 
this journey." He met his son's blue-tinged silver eyes 
with a stern look. "Should you behave badly at this 
Council, I will send you home in Depli's company."
    Sesaldon nodded his understanding and scraped at the 
ground with a hoof as Depli returned. He ate a few leaves 
from her outstretched hands, then glanced at his father, 
his excited eyes proving that he had shoved their argument 
from his mind already. "Do you really think you have a 
good chance of being elected Emperor, Father?"
    Destria smiled in both relief and approval as he 
ambled over to nibble up his fill. "My boy, as your mother 
would say, all things are possible."
----------------------------------------------------------
    The six continued their journey within an hour, 
falling into the comfortable positions they had maintained 
for two days. Destria and his mate walked together, 
chatting idly about the Council- the largest gathering of 
unicorns within their lifetimes- and what it was likely to 
accomplish. Sesaldon trotted a good way behind them, his 
coltish interest constantly attracted by some new 
butterfly or rare flower. Destria was not worried for his 
son's safety; besides his powerful magic and his 
unicorn-friendly surroundings, the blind curalli and Depli 
were with him. Few things wanted to tangle with a curalli. 
Tracker, as was usual, took the point without being 
ordered to do so and stalked along like the assassin he 
was, grimly watchful and alert for danger- the only dark 
spot in an otherwise bright morning. 
    They stopped at noon, more to rest from the heat than 
to eat, for Tharassia was now near. Destria lipped grass a 
short time, lazy, his eyes eagerly searching for some sign 
of his birth minald. He had not been back to Tharassia in 
over a thousand years, and he speculated hopefully, 
wondering if the unicorns he had known then were still 
alive. Some of the oldest might have died before the 
Wellspring's water could be applied...
    Kumota stirred restlessly against him, and he turned 
to look at the one he loved more than torturing slaves. 
Her violet eyes blazed with warmth, and yet a little 
worry. "Will they accept the attendance of a mare at the 
Council?" she whispered anxiously.
    He nose-nuzzled her and touched his horn to her chin. 
"Didn't I tell you when we first mated that you were to 
consider yourself the equal of any stallion?" When she 
nodded hesitantly, he gave her a sympathetic nudge. 
"Ingrained habit dies hard, I realize that, but it does 
die. Believe it or not, I think they may be glad to have 
you there." He smiled gently, his voice taking on a 
teasing tone. "As you always remind me, mares have a 
perspective that stallions lack."
    "Of course," Kumota agreed, seeming revitalized by his 
reassurance. She leaned her head against his flank and 
closed her eyes, her soft breathing mingling with that of 
their son and the slaves. Destria lay still for a long 
time, not wanting to disturb her slumber or the feel of 
the warm weight rested so trustingly across his fur.
    At last, however, a cloud somewhat dimmed the sun and 
its nearly tropical heat, and Destria nudged them awake. 
They came towards Tharassia with Tracker walking beside 
the others, for Destria did not want them to mistake him 
for a free creature and hurt him. Though immortal as any 
unicorn, the magmacat was still vulnerable to some 
attacks, primarily ice and water.
    They crossed Tharassia's magical boundary without 
incident; unlike the inhabitants of the more rustic 
Crownia, the capital minald of Minamar relied on magic 
instead of camouflage to protect itself. Destria nodded at 
the salutes of the slaves working in the fields, stifling 
an inner sigh of envy. Crownia's slaves outnumbered the 
unicorns by nearly three to one, and still they would 
number only a tenth of the Elwens and elves simply working 
here!
    The track through the fields, faint, its dirt packed 
hard with hoofprints, eventually became a real road, paved 
with silver and crowded with more of their own kind. The 
first stallion to pass them stared curiously at their 
deeper silver coats, tanned by the western sun, but did 
not stop. No doubt he saw strangers of all sorts arriving 
for the Council.
    They reached the gates of the minald, heavy gleaming 
things, modeled on the fluted portals of Elwens but built 
with never-melting ice. Elwens patrolling its top wall 
wore the silver-gray tunics of stalkers, the combination 
assassin-guards favored in the more populated minalds, 
where constant commerce made them necessary. Destria felt 
uneasy passing under their emotionless gazes, but he 
forgot his fear as he stepped, for the first time since 
being sent to Crownia by his father, into the minald where 
he had spent his childhood.
    It was almost exactly as he remembered it, the streets 
paved with silver and glittering white stone, reflecting 
waves of heat back in the sunlight. All avenues were broad 
and wide, even the ones that wound between close rows of 
silver minarets and slave stables, giving escaped slaves 
no place to hide. Of course, there was also an aesthetical 
reason: the unicorns loved sunlight and wanted no darkened 
places in this most holy of their minalds.
    Those streets were open enough not to be jammed by the 
traffic that crawled along them, everything from slave- 
drawn carts to young groups of unicorn colts who had 
obviously just had their first drink. Destria drew the 
smell of the minald into his nostrils, a mingling of 
stone, silver, wood, sweat, tears, fresh vegetables, and 
slave blood. The fragrance that ultimately distinguished 
Tharassia from every other place he had ever visited. He 
turned a beaming smile on Kumota. "What do you think, 
love?" he asked softly.
    The mare's violet eyes were wide, but he suspected it 
was more wonder than fear. "It's like nothing I ever 
dreamed of," she admitted in a whisper that was almost 
overwhelmed by the town's cacophony of sounds. "I almost 
wish we lived here instead of in Crownia." Destria smiled 
in approval of her attitude and turned to check on his 
son.
    Sesaldon was paying no attention to his surroundings. 
Instead, he was trying frantically to lick Depli's peeling 
skin. The curalli made no sound of pain, but her reddened 
cheeks and the fact that her skin was flaking told Destria 
all he needed to know. The curalli could not stand the 
heat. In fact, even his improved blind curalli looked 
discomfited.
    The stallion sighed impatiently. It seemed that 
vulnerability to the sun was the one thing that could not 
bred out of curalli. He trotted over to Sesaldon, 
physically jerking him away from the suffering shadowed 
Elwen. "Never do that!" he hissed in fury, conscious of 
curious eyes turning on them. Doubtless the passerby were 
wondering why a unicorn would bother being kind to a 
slave.
    The thought made him even angrier, and it did no good 
when Sesaldon gazed at him with pleading eyes. "Please, 
Father. She might die if I don't soothe her skin. My 
tongue is cool. Just let me soothe her until we can reach 
shelter. Then I-"
    "You will do nothing of the sort!" said Destria in a 
chilling voice. He turned his eyes on Depli, noting with 
disgust the delicate trails of frost covering her silver 
skin. If she lived, it would be because his son had chosen 
to waste his coolness. "You are a unicorn. Do you know how 
far beneath you it is to lick a two-legger like a happy 
hound?" Destria kept his voice steady, his eyes locked 
onto Depli, who seemed afraid to return his gaze.
    "Of course I know!" It was Sesaldon's turn to be 
angry, and Destria concealed a dark smile. With all luck, 
his son would forget about the curalli woman until she was 
dead, lost in his own assertion of superiority. "I am a 
unicorn, if only a colt, and I obey the commands of the 
Moon-Lore!" Sesaldon stamped his hooves, trying to draw 
away but helpless to do so; Destria gripped his horn with 
powerful teeth. The young unicorn took a few deep breaths 
and proceeded in a calmer voice. "I know that we are meant 
to rule the world, but how can we prove we are better than 
slaves if we let them die?"
    Destria blinked, momentarily disconcerted by the 
passionate conviction in his son's voice, and that made 
him relax his grasp. Sesaldon pulled free and regarded his 
father with challenging eyes both so like and unlike his 
own. "You treat me as a baby, simply because I am younger. 
I'll have you know, Father, that we'll live forever, but I 
won't wait that long for you to acknowledge me as an 
adult. I won't play the colt forever!" He lowered his horn 
and neighed fiercely. Destria froze, heart pounding. He 
recognized the machinery of the challenge; he had tutored 
his son well in it.
    Tutored him well in offering a battle to the death.
    "Think, my son," said Destria carefully, though his 
throat had suddenly gone dry. "You don't want to do this. 
We must attend the Council, and we may be here for months. 
I would rather spend those months with you by my side, 
intact. I-"
    Sesaldon stared at his father hatefully from beneath 
his lowered horn. "So you say. I'm not sure I believe you 
anymore- and I grow weary of this." He sprang forward with 
a long, ringing cry.
    Destria froze, unsure what to do. If he stayed still, 
he would be skewered, but should he strike back or even 
leap out of the way, the challenge would be accepted. 
There would be plenty of witnesses; he could not back out.
    He closed his eyes and waited for death, fully aware 
that an immortal creature could kill another immortal 
creature but unable to face the agony that would come from 
killing his own son.
    "What is this?" commanded a sharp voice. Destria heard 
Sesaldon come to a stop. He opened his eyes cautiously, 
just as he had done in the dream, half-expecting death to 
be staring him in the face again.
    His heart skipped a beat. Sesaldon stood still, his 
horn barely an inch from the fur that protected his 
father's most vital organ. Destria held his breath, an 
ability he had gained with his immortality. Ever-living 
creatures did not need to breathe.
    "I said, what is this? The Council has forbid dueling 
in the streets of Tharassia!" repeated the stern voice 
that had stopped the colt's plunge. Destria craned his 
neck to see over the silver unicorns that tightly ringed 
his family. He thought the voice slightly familiar...
    He released the breath explosively as a familiar 
figure cantered into the ring. It was an old mare, her 
horn white with age and her joints slightly arthritic, but 
bearing no sign of disease or injury. Her pale indigo eyes 
flashed fire at every silverini in sight. That fearsome 
gaze permitted Destria to look at her, strip away a 
thousand years, and see the middle-aged mare who had once 
been his friend.
    "Well met, Anni," he greeted her. The magic teacher 
turned to look at him, at first glaring, then widening her 
eyes in surprise.
    "No... it can't be..." she whispered. She cantered a 
few steps forward and peered at him. So piercing was that 
well-remembered gaze that he turned his head aside self- 
consciously. A moment later she laughed, a sound that had 
a note of almost hysterical joy in it. "Young Destria! It 
truly is you!"
    Destria looked back, smiling despite his attempt to 
keep a dignified manner. The shorter mare reared, wrapping 
her forelegs about his neck in the silverini version of 
that Elwen gesture, a hug. He nuzzled her neck, drawing in 
the scent of the teacher who had always believed in him. 
"It's so good to see you again!" the mage-instructor 
declared, dropping to all fours and eying him warmly. 
"What brings you to Tharassia?" She answered before he 
could. "Ah, of course, the Council. I knew it was too much 
to hope you'd come back to visit an old, decrepit mare."
    "You're not old and decrepit," teased Destria, nudging 
her chin with his horn, a gesture of affection that he had 
used often as a colt. Anni had been like a second mother 
to him. "You're immortal and decrepit."
    The laughter lines around Anni's face crinkled inward. 
"Gotten feisty in our eternal age, haven't we?" she 
snapped smartly. She turned her eyes on the colt who had 
been about to skewer him and on Kumota, who had been 
hanging back, studying the older mare with curiosity. 
"Mind introducing me to your traveling companions?"
    "More than mere companions," Destria said proudly, 
feeling a welling sense of contentment. There had been 
those, years before, who had claimed he was too 
irresponsible and ambitious to settle down and raise a 
family. "My wife, Kumota," he said, and the violet-eyed 
marelady gave Anni a shy smile. "And this is my 
disobedient son, Sesaldon."
    Anni glared at Sesaldon for a moment, then wagged a 
hoof at him. "A fine father you have," she boomed 
warningly. "It would be well if you did not shorten his 
life." She drew back her lips from her flat teeth, not 
normally a greatly threatening sight, but an unmistakable 
warning. The colt nodded and trotted slowly to his 
father's side again.
    "I'll show you where the Council's gathering," Anni 
offered generously. "At least they had the sense to choose 
the largest building this time." She snickered at some 
private memory. "The last time they held a Council, I was 
only a filly, but I remember it well. They chose a 
building that was a private residence for several 
families, thinking it would be large enough." She laughed, 
tossing her mane to the other side of her neck. "So many 
unicorns crowded into it that it collapsed! Luckily, no 
one was hurt, but it was so funny to watch those stallions 
crawling from the rubble, trying to figure out what had 
happened."
    Destria had heard the story before, but it was amusing 
the third time around. "That's way I brought Kumota," he 
said, with an affectionate glance at his wife. "She has a 
mare's perspective, and should be able to tell us if the 
building holds too many. She tends to notice common sense 
things like that, while the rest of us have our horns in 
the stars." His mate smiled, but did not comment.
    Anni, still snickering, nodded and led them along a 
street to the north. As they trotted, the bell-sounds of 
their hooves mingling with the ringing of countless others 
of their kind, Sesaldon whispered to Destria. "I'm sorry, 
Father."
    The stallion gave him a sharp glance, but the colt 
looked genuinely contrite. His heart softened. "I'll 
forgive you, son, but I must insist that you don't do it 
again."
    Sesaldon gave him a shocked glance. "Of course not, 
Father. Never again. Believe me, I've learned my lesson." 
He bowed his head humbly and trotted ahead to catch up 
with his mother.
    Destria was left wondering whether his son truly meant 
it- or whether, like Tracker, he had seen a momentary 
benefit in keeping quiet. His thoughts were still troubled 
when they reached the gathering of the Council, and not 
even the sight of the most magnificent building in 
Tharassia could cheer him up.
    The building was not a mere minaret, but a collection 
of them. Towers that were everything from stumpy to tall 
and slender crouched on the ground or soared into the air. 
The sheen of silver in the sun was nearly blinding in the 
best of times, and under the golden autumn sky, it was 
breathtakingly lovely. Destria heard Kumota gasp and 
Sesaldon echo her a moment later, and he smiled bitterly. 
Perhaps his son would be too awestricken to make trouble.
    They had no trouble in forcing a path through the 
growing crowd. Anni was well-known, and feared for her 
sharp tongue and equally keen hooves. Besides, she 
bellowed out his name as they went, and soon everyone was 
respectfully silent, forming the sides of an aisle so that 
they could peer at the great hero as he passed them.
    Destria walked with head up, basking in the near- 
tangible wonder and in the whispered comments that soon 
began to emanate from the younger unicorns, despite the 
hushing of their elders.
    "Look at him! Isn't he magnificent!" The next words 
proved this remark came from the mouth of a young mare; 
indeed, Destria caught a glimpse of her, leaning out from 
a gaggle of friends and flirting her tail to catch his 
eye. "I envy his mate," she sighed, falling back into the 
crowd when he appeared to pass her without notice.
    Destria turned and winked roguishly at her then, and 
heard a thump as she swooned. He chuckled softly to 
himself and listened to other praises, wishing he had the 
power to command them to be sung.
    "We owe our immortality to him, you know."
    "Of course I know! I also know that he was the one who 
conquered Areil. The 'Threat of the Silversinger', 
remember? We heard it at the tavern yesterday."
    A sniff. "I don't got into such disreputable places, 
and I'm willing to bet that he doesn't either. I want to 
be just like him, you know. I'm making him my role model."
    A chorus of voices drowned out that particular boaster 
with shouts of, "We know, we know!"
    Destria shook his head in wonder. He had known they 
adored him, but he still thought this reaction incredible. 
His chances of being elected Emperor had jumped from slim 
to horn-thick. If nothing else, these older Council 
stallions must at least consider the opinion of the 
populace.
    He heard dissatisfied murmuring as they mounted the 
ramp leading into the collection of minarets, and he 
glanced back, curious. Dozens of strong gazes met him 
head-on. He was their hero. They didn't want him to go 
inside, beyond their sight.
    Sympathetic, knowing how it felt to lose a hero- he 
had lost Snarreln, the old field commander- he decided 
impulsively to give them a dramatic gesture. He reared, 
his tail swishing behind him, his horn a-gleam in the 
sunlight. A little melodramatic, perhaps, but it did the 
trick, sending the crowd surging forward with wild cheers.
    Destria neighed, trying to convey a personal message 
for each one of them, and heard several more thumps as 
young mares fainted. He smiled wickedly, shrugged at 
Kumota's scowl, and followed Anni into the pleasant 
coolness of the main hall.
    This hall was built under a dome of frosted glass; 
both the material and the shape were rare things in 
silverini architecture. Fascinated, Destria peered 
upwards, basking in the sunlight that fell on the floor 
like golden rain, and only a sharp nudge from Kumota's 
horn compelled him to look at his surroundings. 
    A large number of unicorns were already gathered here, 
silver coats gleaming as they milled about near the front 
of the hall, arguing in low voices. Destria searched in 
vain for another he recognized among them, but soon his 
eyes were caught and held by a strange sight. A golden 
shape had detached itself from the silvers and was gliding 
toward him with an unmistakably Elwen grace. A free-willed 
slave? He raised an eyebrow in Anni's direction.
    The mare looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't want 
to allow him here, but he says he has matters of 
importance to speak to the Council about." She spat the 
words, sounding disgusted.
    Abruptly, Destria stiffened. He had recognized the 
figure- not the identity, but his race. "That's an 
alalori," he whispered, naming the dawn Elwens, the only 
race of the diamond-eyed species to surrender willingly to 
the unicorns. "What would an alalori be doing here?" The 
nearest dawnlight forest was more than ten thousand miles 
away. The unicorn turned a curious eye on Anni. "Do you 
know who he is?"
    "He calls himself Alluster Dawnrise. I-"
    "I have heard of him," breathed Destria, eyes wide in 
startlement. "He's a famous alalori. He it was who 
coordinated the original peace settlement with my kind and 
helped in the taking of Rowan." He narrowed his eyes as he 
remembered another part of the tale, one that put Alluster 
in a less flattering light. "He also persuaded the 
silverini who conquered Rowan- my father among them- to 
spare Rainsong Deerfriend's life. He seemed to think him 
important in some way." The stallion laughed sharply. 
"More likely it was his line. There are rumors that dawn 
Elwens helped establish the Deerfriends, you know."
    Anni nodded, her mane rippling. "And this Rainsong was 
allowed to keep his name?"
    Destria nodded in return, gritting his teeth. It 
reminded him too sharply of Aklflam Durillo, the 
troublesome Areilien leader who had also been permitted to 
keep his name. If someday a descendant of his inherited 
the founding father's dangerous mutation...
    He put such notions from his mind as the golden figure 
reached him. Alalori possessed the heart-reading ability 
of all Elwens, and should Alluster brave Destria's soul- 
stealing gaze and discover what he was thinking...
    The dawn Elwen, however, showed no inclination to 
condemn the unicorn. He simply bowed, smiling with a 
gentle curve of his lips that was more unicorn than Elwen, 
then straightened and stood studying Destria curiously, 
though he did not meet the silverini's eyes directly. He 
looked oddly pleased, and when he spoke after a moment, 
Destria heard an echo of that same pleasure in his voice.
    "I have been wanting to meet you for a long time, Lord 
Destria," said Alluster softly. His voice was the sound of 
a morning laugher heralding the dawn. "Allow me to 
introduce myself. I am Alluster-"
    "Dawnrise," concluded Destria brusquely. When the 
alalori blinked, he explained, allowing a note of superior 
smugness to enter his voice. "Your fame has gone far and 
wide, nearly as far as my own."
    "It is indeed a compliment to be compared to you," 
murmured Alluster, and Destria felt himself relaxing. Of 
course, that might be an effect of the dawn Elwen's peace 
aura, but it was nice nonetheless. "I have come to offer 
you something," the sunrise Elwen continued.
    Destria could not stifle a chuckle. "Forgive me, 
Master Dawnrise, but it has been long and long since a 
two-legger could give me something worthwhile."
    Unperturbed, Alluster smiled and brushed back a strand 
of fine golden hair, adjusting it almost as fussily as a 
unicorn would. "That I know, Lord Destria. However, I also 
feel that my proposition is a sound one." His glimmering 
golden eyes took on a calculating look. "It is well-known 
that you are an obvious choice for Emperor; however, there 
are other candidates as well." 
    He waited for the stallion's nervous nod before 
continuing. "You have won prestige mainly for your part in 
conquering Areil and the Barren Desert, and in bringing 
immortality to your people. However, in some parts of the 
continent you are being forgotten, especially among the 
younger generation."
    "I know all this already," Destria snapped, unable to 
stop himself. Was this alalori offering to help him? But 
why? And how could he?
    "In my opinion, this unusual forgetfulness results 
from the nature of your exploits." Alluster folded his 
arms and leaned back against air, as comfortable as if 
something existed there. "You are proficient in the arts 
of war and of governing a single minald, but you have not 
been given an opportunity to demonstrate how you would run 
a larger government." His voice dropped to a persuasive 
whisper; so intense was the golden gaze that it made 
Destria feel as if he and the daybreak Elwen were the only 
creatures in the room. "You have not been given an 
opportunity to demonstrate diplomacy."
    There was a little silence. Destria could feel wonder 
emanating from Kumota and Anni and saw his son staring. He 
looked steadily into Alluster's eyes. "The art your kind 
are best at," he said, acknowledging the dawn Elwen 
proficiency with a slight nod. "Still, where would you 
have the chance to use it? And why serve me?"
    "I am serving you because you are the best choice for 
Emperor," the dawn Elwen replied unhesitatingly. "Were 
another better than you, I would serve him- or her. I know 
what will make you the obvious favorite and compel even 
those unwilling to elect you do so."
    Destria snorted quietly. "Elwens do not have a 
monopoly on stubbornness. My people will not be persuaded 
by anything short of a miracle- and if things stand as you 
say, another military victory will not impress them."
    "That is where I come in," coaxed Alluster. He paused 
dramatically. "What if Fhevu were to surrender?"
    Destria drew in a sharp breath. For a single moment, 
the dawn Elwen's words made sense. If he could settle the 
persistent problem of Verkus Lorlenna and his rebels 
without warfare, without loss of silverini life, his fame 
would know no end. Of course, people wouldn't have to know 
that he hadn't physically gone to Fhevu.
    But no. The unicorn shook his head sharply, sending 
the dream-images scattering. "Thank you for your offer," 
he told Alluster, speaking with sincere regret. "But the 
problem will settle itself eventually, without 
intervention, Master Dawnrise. A peace treaty was signed 
with Verkus Lorlenna's enclave of rebels five years ago, 
one that gives them a period of Stargrace to leave the 
continent and never return."
    "I had heard about this, of course," murmured 
Alluster, intent golden eyes thoughtful. "How long is it 
supposed to last?"
    Destria shrugged his ignorance, but was able to give 
at least a semblance of an answer. "It was known by the 
signers that some Elwens are stubborn. I believe it would 
be at least half-a-century- not such a long time in a 
unicorn's or Elwen's life. Though there may be some who 
will stay and refuse to yield, in the end they will be too 
weak to resist. We shall overwhelm them then." He paused, 
seeing Alluster's smile. "You have found a loophole?" he 
asked hopefully, wanting to believe that his marvelous 
dream-images could be made real.
    Alluster's eyelids drooped, and he spoke in a lulling 
voice. "Indeed, my lord. Not merely one, but two. First, 
the Stargrace Treaty says that unicorns cannot force the 
rebels to leave with warfare. It says nothing about- ah- 
persuasive intervention." His grin widened. "Second, I 
happen to know the leader of the rebels- not personally, 
but by reputation. Verkus Lorlenna is neutrally aligned, 
and surely sick of warfare by now. He will listen to me."
    Destria struggled to hold back his hatred of the flame 
Elwen. Verkus Lorlenna had scarred him permanently long 
ago, something not even Aklflam Durillo, whom many 
considered his greatest rival, had done. "If you can 
persuade them to leave," he said sincerely, "you shall be 
entitled to anything that it is within my power to give."
    Alluster raised an elegant golden eyebrow. "My lord, 
you mistake me. The service itself shall be my reward. I 
have seen too many Elwens die," he concluded in a whisper, 
face suddenly averted. "I would keep as many of my kin 
alive as I can."
    "It is necessary to kill at times in the name of 
peace, Alluster," Destria said, somewhat sharply. "You 
know that. How far would the doctrine of peace and 
brotherly love have spread if we were too merciful, if we 
allowed the other races to keep their heresy without a 
struggle?"
    The sunup Elwen faced him, his face free of tears. 
"You are right, of course, my lord. Forgive me. I simply 
have an unruly mind at times." One of his lips twitched. 
"It gives me un-alalori thoughts, such as sparing life 
when I know our cause cannot afford mercy."
    "And yet you want to spare these kin of yours?"
    Alluster's eyes didn't blink. "This time, we can 
afford mercy. A handful of Elwen slaves more or less 
cannot make much difference."
    Destria nodded his agreement, then hesitated and 
licked his lips, trying not to appear too eager.
    "Yes?" Alluster encouraged gently, evidently 
recognizing the look.
    "How are you planning to travel to Fhevu?" Destria 
asked softly, lowering his voice even more, until he was 
not sure his own family could hear. He knew Alluster's 
Elwen ears would be able to catch the words, however.
    "The same way I arrived here," Alluster replied, 
looking slightly confused. "By morning dragon."
    Destria breathed a sigh of relief. "Can you carry 
something with you that will allow me to speak with you 
when I wish?"
    "That is possible, but why would you w-"
    Destria anticipated the question and cut him off, 
seeing no real harm in telling him. "Verkus Lorlenna is an 
enemy of mine, one I wouldn't mind seeing fall to slavery. 
If you could report on the progress of your negotiations, 
I would be pleased. I also may be able to suggest ways to 
go around him if he proves intractable, as I suspect he 
will, since I will be removed from the immediate 
conflict."
    Alluster still looked curious, but he nodded. "It 
shall be done, my lord. Is there anything else you would 
wish me to do?"
    "No." Destria was satisfied. "Simply report to me upon 
landing there and several times throughout the process of 
convincing him- ah, them- to surrender."
    Alluster nodded a second time, then glanced up as 
someone called his name. Destria saw the head of a golden 
dragon- a morning dragon- peering through the glass dome, 
its neck twisted to find Alluster. The dawn Elwen raised a 
hand and spoke in a clicking tongue, one that slid around 
the vowels. Destria guessed it to be Draconic. The great 
winged serpent nodded and raised its wings, swooping 
gracefully toward the ground.
    Alluster bowed. "My lords, ladies." He glided with 
sinuous grace toward the entrance, and Destria relaxed. He 
had concluded a profitable deal with the dawn Elwen, but 
had their conversation gone on any longer, someone might 
have wondered why he was talking to a slave. Worse, it 
would have spoiled his image.
    "What, exactly, was that all about?" Kumota snorted at 
last. Destria relaxed as he noted curiosity, not 
disapproval, in her tone. "Why would the dawn Elwen want 
to save lives that don't matter greatly one way or the 
other?"
    The unicorn shrugged, but he replied contentedly. "It 
matters not to me what he does. If he can persuade the 
Elwens to surrender- and Verkus to accept slavery as 
atonement for his crimes- then I will be happy. If not- 
well, there is no reported case of a small enclave of 
rebels withstanding dragonfire." He smirked. "Morning 
dragons are not nearly as peaceable as the alalori they 
bear." Then his smile faded. "Of course, they could 
survive it if they are flame Elwens." He felt his eyes 
burn at the thought of Verkus continuing to live free.
    "You really hate him, don't you?" Kumota asked softly.
    Before Destria could reply, he felt the first 
stirrings of a telepathic link, and someone whispered into 
the usually silent interior of his mind. ^Lord Destria, I 
know how important this mission is to you. I will not fail 
you. If I cannot persuade Verkus at first, I will stay 
until I do so.
    ^But, if you do not believe me, or would like added 
insurance, contact the one who will appear at the Alicorn 
Inn on the first night of the full moon. This is one who 
hates Verkus as much as you do and has no reason to want 
him alive- on any grounds. Contact her. She will be 
wearing a silver tunic and a silver-gray tunic and 
leggings.^
    ^A stalker?^ Destria asked nervously, concentrating 
hard on forming the mental sounds. His mind's tongue was 
long out of practice; he had found little reason to use 
his unusual mental powers in the years following the fall 
of the Barren Desert. 
    ^No.^ Alluster sounded amused. ^She appears to be one, 
but she is like the magmacat assassin at your side- a 
slave who has retained her free will by the grace of her 
master. I can understand why. She has a quick mind. 
Contact her,^ the dawn Elwen urged once more before fading 
and leaving Destria with an inexplicable sense of unease.




                        Chapter 2
                         Emissary
    Verkus Lorlenna stared absently up at the ceiling, 
knowing it didn't matter greatly to the one beside him if 
he made eye contact or not. "You don't understand, 
Marakesh. The people are nearly evenly divided. Half of 
them are sick of warfare and determined to leave the 
continent, but the others-" He shook his head, unable, as 
was usual, to articulate his true feelings. "The others 
are slightly like us. They're suspicious the Stargrace is 
a trick and that the unicorns will renege on their promise 
at any moment." He smiled grimly. "Given the long record 
of the lack of silverini honor, I must admit that is more 
than likely."
    He rolled over, meeting the copper alfar's eyes now, 
having long ago learned not to be disturbed by the fact 
that his friend almost never blinked. "Then there are the 
ones like us- admittedly few- who know the Stargrace is 
real but wish to fight to the end anyway, simply to show 
the unicorns that we can." He spread his scarlet hands. 
"You see why I no longer feel comfortable simply ordering 
my people into battle?"
    "No," replied Marakesh, his response for Verkus's last 
four explanations.
    Verkus sighed and shook his head, scarlet hair 
blurring about it in a wild halo. They were in the flame 
Elwen's own home, Verkus seated on the bed and Marakesh on 
the floor. Though the vermil had been trying to make the 
copper alfar understand that united action was no longer 
possible, and though Marakesh was not of the diamond-eyed 
breed, he was proving as stubborn as any Elwen.
    The alfar stood now, glided over to Verkus, and 
gripped his shoulders. "My friend." he murmured in his 
highly accented voice, face still as blank and impassive 
as a sheet of metal despite the intensity of his words, 
"you can do it. Once they followed you, trusting you 
completely. They will do so still, if you renounce the 
Stargrace and resurrect your daring exploits against the 
minalds."
    The fire Elwen lowered his hands, which he had raised 
to cover his face in exasperation, and stared helplessly 
at his friend. "Marakesh, that is one thing I cannot do. 
My word is the only thing that lets them trust me, and I 
gave my word that I believed the Stargrace was real. More 
than half of our people have left, or are making 
preparations to leave. I could not change their minds now, 
not even with a stirring speech. Besides, words are not my 
strength." He smiled sadly, memories of other days filling 
his mind. "You know as well as I that that was Galar's 
province."
    He might have gone into a memory-trance, recalling the 
viaquia with such intensity that not even an alfar would 
have been able to reach him, but Marakesh intervened. 
"Verkus, you didn't allow yourself to be devastated when 
the young desert dragon brought the news of our friend's 
demise. Why should this time be any different?"
    The vermil let a small spurt of flame leap from hand 
to hand, an instinctive irritated reaction. He was 
contrite instantly when Marakesh flinched and stepped 
back. "I'm sorry, Marakesh. I keep forgetting."
    "Not your fault," the copper alfar replied quietly, 
sitting on the floor again, the blue centers of his eyes 
glimmering up at his friend and leader. "It was certainly 
not your flame that harmed me upon that occasion." He 
raised a slim, almost non-existent copper line of eyebrow. 
"Have you made your decision?"
    Verkus nodded gloomily, stood, and glided toward the 
door, opening it with only a small effort. He smiled 
thinly in spite of his mood. Few would dare to lean 
against a flame Elwen's door, and evidently this woman, 
messenger from another continent, was not one of them.
    "Won't you come in?" he invited in Aril, simply to see 
her reaction.
    The woman blushed and shook her head. In most 
respects, she was a normal Elwen, with diamond-shaped eyes 
and flowing green hair. Even her burnished copper skin was 
not so very unusual. But she bore hard chitin where she 
should have worn soft flesh; her legs were long and 
slender, and her hands bore more resemblance to pincers 
than to the organs they had been meant to be. Most telling 
of all, a giant scorpion's tail arced over her back. She 
was a friyuma, a scorpion Elwen, a member of a race that 
did not exist in Arcadia.
    "Have you decided?" she asked in a husky voice, 
clipping a strand of green hair in one hand and brushing 
it absently from her face.
    Verkus nodded. "You may take all who are willing to 
go," he announced, ignoring Marakesh's uneasy shift behind 
him. "However, I will force my people neither to go nor to 
stay behind."
    Disappointment filled the friyuma's eyes. "You are 
sure on this?" she whispered wistfully. "Even on the high 
seas, we have heard tales of you, leader of the last to 
defy those loathsome silverini. I assure you that you 
would be honored and welcomed in Gwynna." Her face took on 
a persuasive look. "Gwynna is a small continent, that is 
true, but wonderful nonetheless. There, for example, land 
Elwens and curalli have never hated each other."
    Half-smiling, Verkus lifted one scarlet hand. "I know, 
Fira, I know. Believe me, I wish sometimes that I had been 
born there." His eyes softened as he glanced about. "But 
this is my home, and I shall not leave it."
    Her brown eyes filled with reluctant admiration, Fira 
bowed. "I understand," she said quietly. "I would not wish 
to abandon Gwynna to the shifting winds of fate, either."
    She stood, tail and chitin rattling. For one moment, 
she glanced over the vermil's shoulder, seemingly trying 
to get a glimpse of Marakesh. There were many alfari on 
her continent, she had told Verkus, but few Elwens ever 
tired of seeing one of the mysterious race. That done, she 
looked back at the flame Elwen, as if wanting to memorize 
his features. "I shall not forget you," she promised.
    "Thank you."
    Fira nodded, then glanced over her shoulder and 
rattled her tail sharply. A contingent of Elwens appeared, 
carrying everything from simply bags containing a few sets 
of clothes to huge stacks of books. Most of them avoided 
Verkus's eyes, but a few met his gaze defiantly, as if 
daring him- or begging him- to forbid their departure.
    The flame Elwen did nothing of the sort; one thing he 
had always refused to do was to condemn those different 
from him, as the unicorns had done. He leaned against the 
doorframe and watched the procession go past, face calm. 
As it continued, the gazers at him became more frequent. 
Verkus cocked his head, puzzled. Why would they be having 
second thoughts now, when they had resolved to go?
    As if out of the air, Rodollen appeared at his side. 
The forest Elwen's green-brown face was sympathetic, and 
his green eyes blazed brightly as they roamed over the 
trotting Elwens. Not even a hint of a smile tugged his 
leaf-shaped mouth today. "Not easy, is it, my friend?" he 
asked softly.
    The flame Elwen did not glance at him. "It is their 
choice."
    The eluvor snorted, and now Verkus did look at him, 
unable to help himself. The jade-on-emerald-on-marsh fire 
eyes met his, filled with laughter. "Blind, my friend?" 
Rodollen asked in a tone of light mockery. "Yes, it is 
their choice, but they wish it wasn't." A few sharp 
glances began to come Rodollen's way from the file of 
Elwens, but he paid no attention to them, save to raise 
his voice. "I know you only led those who wished you to 
decide for them, but that was an awfully large number. How 
do you think they feel now? Going out into the world- onto 
a continent they don't even know, for stars' sakes- 
without the approval they worked to gain for so long."
    A stone came the forest Elwen's way, but he ducked it 
without looking at it and spoke even louder. "They love 
you, Verkus; some of the ones who are staying are the ones 
most frightened of the silverini but most dedicated to 
you. Unlike some, I know you don't think leadership too 
tiresome, but in this case, you couldn't quit if you 
wanted to. They wouldn't let you."
    Verkus blinked. It was a job like any other. If one 
leader was bad, you replaced her or him- immediately. He 
had made some mistakes, was perhaps making one in 
believing the silverini. Why should they care so much? 
They were ultimately independent entities who made their 
own choices. He took his normal defensive course and 
shifted the topic as another stone came their way. "You 
might want to cut off the scolding, my friend."
    Rodollen's green eyes blinked innocently, the movement 
of his lids nearly obscuring the gleam of mischief in the 
depths of his gaze. "Scolding? Who's scolding? I'm merely 
the personification of their conscience. You know," he 
remarked conversationally to the increasingly angry 
Elwens, "that little voice that sits in your head and 
tells you when things are wrong." He raised his voice yet 
again. "Like this. 'It's wrooong to leave your continent. 
It's wrooong to leave your leader. It's wrooong to leave-"
    Verkus grabbed Rodollen and flung him to the floor, 
controlling his flames carefully, then whirled to meet the 
spurt of fire that an exasperated vermil had tossed. The 
flamemaster caught it in his own palm, feeling a brief 
surge of ecstasy as it mingled with his own heat. Then he 
lowered his head, affixing his golden eyes to the face of 
the offending Elwen. "You wanted to say something?" he 
inquired in a level voice.
    The flame Elwen was pale, but he snapped his answer in 
a glib voice. "Yes. Can't you keep your pet eluvor quiet?"
    Behind Verkus came an indignant splutter and the sound 
of someone standing up. The vermil leader smoothly 
interposed his body between his friend and his once- 
follower, before Rodollen could irritate him once again. 
"He's not a pet," said Verkus quietly. "I don't decide for 
him or control his actions. Just as I don't control 
yours," he couldn't resist adding.
    "You surely wish you did," sneered the vermil at him, 
and hurried on. Verkus blinked after him. What had he 
said?
    "I told you," murmured Rodollen's disgruntled voice 
near his ear. "The only parts missing are the altars and 
the sacrifices."
    "You forget the knives," said Marakesh in a deadpan 
voice, exiting onto Verkus's porch. The alfar watched the 
Elwens pass with his blue pupils compressed to the 
smallest of vertical slits. Fira's procession hurried on. 
An alfar could bring gloom to the most happy party.
    Rodollen, to Verkus's astonishment, had never been 
intimidated by the copper one. "Marakesh," he greeted 
happily, slapping the cat-eyed one on the back and 
ignoring his inscrutable look. "Have you been trying to 
reason with this Elwen wall, too?"
    After a moment, Marakesh relaxed. Everybody who didn't 
eventually go crazy learned to do so around Rodollen 
sooner or later. "In some ways," he responded, cryptic as 
usual, wheeling his eyes toward the vermil. "In other 
ways, no. He seems to be good at making decisions for 
others, but not for himself."
    Verkus smiled to conceal his hurt. "I hereby make a 
decision. I'm hungry, and there's some particularly 
delicious food in my larder that shouldn't have spoiled 
yet. Do you want to share it?"
    Rodollen opened his mouth as if to agree, but Marakesh 
jumped in before he could. "No," said the alfar firmly, 
copper mane shimmering, throwing the golden sky's hues 
back at it, as he tilted his head. "Today I want to take 
you to a special place."
    The two Elwens exchanged glances over the shorter 
alfar's head. Though they had known Marakesh for several 
centuries, he had always been a private person, seeking 
solitude when they least expected it. For him to be taking 
them to one of his haunts was almost unbelievable.
    "Believe what you like," said Marakesh softly, reading 
their minds in the prompt and irritating manner of all 
alfari. "Only accompany me- or not."
    Verkus decided impulsively to accept the alfar's 
invitation. After all, who knew when his friend might next 
decide to share a private sanctum?
    Rodollen nodded at the same moment. "So long as it 
goes nowhere near flame," he added lightly.
    Marakesh's red-blue gaze speared him, silencing even 
the chattering eluvor for once. "Do you believe that I 
would risk exposing myself to what I most fear?"
    Rodollen laughed, but the vermil could tell the sound 
was designed to cover his unease. For all his loyalty to 
them, Marakesh was still an alfar, with an alfar's 
instincts and tendencies. "Fear? You? An alfar, afraid?"
    Marakesh abruptly seemed to relax, obeying some 
unpredictable inner dictate. "On occasion, it has been 
known to happen," he admitted freely. "Come with me, now." 
He glided with a grace almost eerie in its beauty off the 
porch and into the nearest stand of trees. Verkus followed 
cautiously, not wanting to get too close to his fire- 
hating friend, both to spare the alfar's sensibilities and 
his own. He disliked excessive magic.
    The vermil took a slight moment to be guilty as they 
stepped through the trees. Though he had had nothing to do 
with the incident that had prejudiced Marakesh against 
flames, he still felt partially responsible. Had he been 
on the alert, the evil vermil would not have dared to 
launch a spurt of flame, as it was well known that the 
copper alfar was Verkus's friend. Marakesh had been too 
stunned to react, had not believed that anyone could hate 
him enough to hurt him simply because he performed magic. 
It was the one time he had seen the alfar jolted into an 
emotion beyond his kind's normal five, though the pain he 
had felt at his burning had certainly been real enough. 
Ever since then, Marakesh had refused to come too near 
fires. They remained friends only because their bond had 
been deep and strong before the incident, and because they 
were wise enough to look beyond racial traits, to the kind 
of person beneath the colored skin.
    The two stepped into a clearing, and Verkus's nose 
wrinkled. His nostrils were clogged with magic, though he 
could not tell if it was recent or ancient.
    The alfar glanced back at them, his blue-on-red eyes 
alert and happier than Verkus had ever seen them. "My 
friends," he whispered, his words instantly inspiring an 
air of mystery, "I have brought you here for more than one 
reason." He lowered his head, copper hair shifting like 
molten metal in the sunlight; though thick branches shaded 
the clearing, shafts of brilliance mysteriously penetrated 
the canopy, falling in golden glory to the grass. "I 
wanted you to see this, yes, but it is also a place where 
we can talk privately."
    He faced Verkus and spoke frankly. "I know you dislike 
magic, my friend, but there are things you need to hear 
without others' ears intruding. Therefore, I have used a 
silence spell to shield this glade. I hope you aren't 
angry."
    Verkus concealed his half-hearted flash of fury. 
"Anger? No. I am confused, perhaps, but not angry." He 
shifted his weight defensively, seeing Marakesh raise an 
eyebrow in disbelief. The alfar, however, continued after 
a moment, though he continued to watch the flame Elwen.
    "You both know as well as I do that the silverini, 
despite the Stargrace, have no feelings for us."
    "Of course not," snorted Rodollen, leaning against a 
tree and tilting his head back. The branches of the 
sapling, slender and willowy, still bearing waxy summer 
leaves, came down to encircle his throat like a soft 
collar. He opened his brilliant eyes after a moment, gaze 
tranquil. "And if I'm inferring your suspicion correctly, 
Marakesh, I can understand why you used a silence spell."
    "Thank you," said the alfar with no hint of emotion, 
"but the real test is to see if Verkus is willing to 
listen to us. He is the one upon whom everything depends." 
Both sets of eyes swung toward the vermil.
    Damn alfarian honesty! Verkus nodded, albeit 
reluctantly, inwardly wishing he could express himself as 
freely as his friend. "I still prefer the open, not secret 
discussions," he remarked as he stretched lazily. "This is 
certainly one of the latter." He fixed Marakesh with his 
golden eyes, not to intimidate the alfar- it was no use- 
but to drive his point home. "There had better be a good 
reason for this."
    Marakesh laughed, a sound that caused the fire Elwen 
to start. It was a noise high and clear, like that of 
glass shattering. "Ever blunt, my friend. I like that." 
The half-smile vanished from his face as he continued, and 
his features resumed their metallic inscrutability. "That 
bluntness is also your weakness, Verkus. You would be 
willing to tell your people of every movement, every plan, 
every decision."
    "Of course," murmured the flamemaster, bristling 
slightly. "That is the essence of leadership. Hidden 
machinations do nothing for the people."
    "Except," said Rodollen, his voice as vibrant as the 
leaves touching his neck, "when they are formulated to 
combat the enemy's own hidden machinations."
    Verkus made the necessary logical leap and flushed in 
anger, glaring accusingly at first the forest Elwen and 
then the copper alfar. "You're saying that there's a spy 
among our people, aren't you?" He didn't wait for their 
answer, but whirled and stalked toward the entrance of the 
clearing. "I'll not listen to anymore of this," he called 
over his shoulder. "Elwens can heart-read, and we were at 
war until very recently. I would know by now if there were 
any of us not dedicated to the cause of freedom."
    He truly meant to leave then; not even a magical 
barrier would have deterred him. But Marakesh's next words 
did, cutting through even his stubborn refusal to believe 
in betrayal.
    "Verkus, until recently you thought it about everyone 
in our enclave."
    The vermil stopped as if his fire had been drained. He 
stood so a long moment, then shifted to look back at 
Marakesh. His voice, even in his own ears, had lost its 
defiance. "Marakesh, that was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. 
There, my confidence crossed the line into arrogance, as 
you often warn me it will. I made one mistake. Be assured 
I have learned my lesson and will act more carefully the 
next time."
    "Strange," mused the alfar, raising an eyebrow in an 
expression that was the nearest his kind could come to 
cynicism. "I thought, in the customs and way of your 
people, that there won't be a next time."
    "What I meant," murmured Verkus, "was that I will not 
be so blinded by trust again." He sighed. "All right, I've 
been a fool. I'll listen, though I'm not sure I'll believe 
it."
    "Your ears are all I have ever asked for," said 
Marakesh simply. He leaned forward intently, the look in 
his glimmering eyes drawing even Rodollen close to him. 
"Besides, perhaps I will increase your willingness to 
listen by telling you this: I am not sure there is a 
traitor among us. There may be, however. You remember that 
they did not detect the traitor in Areil until it was too 
late." He smiled at the flamemaster's expression. "And I 
am sure you will never forget who that traitor was. The 
example is a parable for our experience."
    The vermil nodded, aware that his golden eyes had gone 
dreamy but not caring. "Yes, a close friend." He sighed 
longingly. "If I could have even a snatch of Aklflam 
Durillo's character-"
    "We're not going to start this again, are we?" asked 
Rodollen, his voice unusually sharp. "Aklflam was 
unusually weak, if you ask me." He ignored the dirty look 
Verkus gave him, instead leaning against a tree and 
yawning as if his next words did not matter greatly to 
him. "I think the story got skewed by those refugees that 
came north." One eye opened, sending an almost physical 
beam of green light toward the face of the eluvor's 
friend. "From everything I have heard, Daomilla 
Darkleader, not Aklflam Durillo, was the strong-willed 
one. She is the one you should be admiring, if anyone at 
all."
    "If she was so strong, why didn't she get herself 
elected to the position of leader?"
    Rodollen snickered. "The same reason I wouldn't want 
to be leader of my people, or any other band. It's boring, 
it's tedious, it's ultimately unexciting. Come on, Verkus. 
You can't tell me you wouldn't rather be out doing things 
sometimes."
    The flamemaster shrugged his acquiescence, knowing it 
would do no good to lie. Rodollen howled in triumph and 
slapped his knee, then flinched. It hurt even for an 
eluvor to hit the wood-hard skin with all his strength.
    The vermil turned his head back toward the alfar, who 
was staring into space and singing in his own language, 
patiently waiting for them to finish. Strangely, he 
returned to the real world before Verkus could speak a 
word and continued as if he had never been interrupted. 
"Destria is noted for his subterfuge. Notice his conquest 
of Areil, accomplished with the aid of a traitor, and how 
he subverted the deserae in the body of an alalori. He is 
a brilliant general, but impatient."
    The alfar folded his arms, not caring, seemingly, for 
the impatient expressions on the faces of his friends. "He 
will become anxious to rule the continent completely. I 
believe he has learned his lesson from Areil's near-win; 
even small flies in the flank can perk up and bite at the 
most unexpected times. He will not leave us to peacefully 
disperse. I am not suggesting, my friend, that you begin 
to see traitors in every friend and assassins in every 
shadow. However, I do wish you would be more on your guard 
than you are now."
    Verkus nodded. He had not survived this long by 
disdaining the advice of his friends, especially the 
otherworldly yet wise alfar. "What do you suggest I do?"
    Marakesh's shoulders rose; an irritating quirk of his 
personality seemed to dictate that he never give advice 
when actually asked for it, as that would be too simple. 
"For the present, your life is yours to decide."
    "What do you mean, for the present? Is there something 
else I need to know?" asked the vermil tentatively, trying 
not to sound too eager. Marakesh had already stood, 
however, and was strolling toward the edge of the 
clearing, intent on not answering. Verkus looked at 
Rodollen, who simply shook his head.
    "Verkus," he said gently, "your best decisions are 
made on your own, as you constantly tell those who wish 
you to decide every aspect of their lives." A mischievous 
grin washed over his face, brushing away the solemn smile 
that had momentarily made him look older than his years. 
"Besides, if you don't like my ideas, you'll ignore-"
    The scream of a magical alarm shattered the air.
    Instinctively, Verkus raised his inner heat until 
flames sprouted from his skin, gleaming scarlet at the 
edges and then down through the heat spectrum as they 
neared him, until his skin itself flickered with the 
beyond-heat of whiteness. Closing his eyes in elation- 
simply being near flames could evoke joy in a vermil- he 
prepared to teleport.
    "Wait, Verkus!" Rodollen's voice, choked with smoke 
and coughing, called. "Don't leave without me!" The fire 
Elwen lowered his flames just in time as the forest Elwen 
stumbled toward him, healing scorched grass with his feet 
as he passed. Verkus shook his head as he again raised his 
heat, this time arcing the flames to pass in a circle 
beyond Rodollen so that he would also be included in the 
spell. If there was one thing the eluvor was serious 
about, it was the future of his people, who were rare 
without unicorn interference and often died when 
transported to a minald, away from their beloved forests. 
Rodollen would pass through the hottest flames to save the 
tiniest eluvor child's life, and not care that it would 
burn him to ash. He simply wanted to get to the enclave 
quickly, so that he could also help fight.
    A curtain of red blurred Verkus's vision of what was 
beyond the flames- his own precaution. He was used to the 
disorienting business of teleportation, but Rodollen might 
well be driven crazy by the sight of the world whirling 
about them.
    Of course, added Verkus to himself after glancing at 
his friend, perhaps he had been driven to distraction 
already. Rodollen bit his woody lip anxiously, his eyes 
staring blindly at the hiss and roil of the flames. His 
green eyes were filled with dread, and, as had his sad 
smile, gave him a serious, deadly look. Verkus suddenly 
found himself sorry for whatever was attacking the 
enclave. He would not like to be this eluvor's enemy.
    They reappeared on Verkus's front porch, that being 
the last location where they had stood for an extended 
period of time. The fire had barely died before Rodollen 
was gone, leaping soundlessly into the trees toward the 
heavily forested part of the enclave where his people made 
their home. Verkus ran in the opposite direction, seeking 
a higher perch from which to see the entire enclave. There 
might well be an army attacking from between the two 
rivers, toward the wall of flames. The silverini never 
seemed to learn.
    A few minutes later, he reached the stone seat where 
he had sat to pass "judgment" a few months before. Shaking 
his head at the disorganization one alarm had produced, he 
hastily scanned the green fields that were no longer part 
of the enclave, looking for the telltale gleam of the sun 
on silver coats.
    There was nothing. Verkus arched an eyebrow upward, 
then thought to follow its direction with his eyes. He 
swore. No wonder the alarm had rung. Taking no care with 
stealth, obviously trusting in its physical prowess, a 
dragon soared toward them, shape clearly visible against 
the golden sky.
    Verkus summoned flames to him and teleported without 
thought onto his porch again. From there, he ran out onto 
the main road the rebels had built, his glance snaking 
toward the battle posts, as yet empty. He gritted his 
teeth, then nodded in weary understanding. The magical 
alarms, deafening from where they had been standing, had 
been placed in out-of-the-way places so as not to warn 
enemies that they had been sighted. Unfortunately, this 
also meant that many deep sleepers did not hear them 
either. Verkus placed his fingers to his lips and 
whistled.
    The whistle was a shrill sound- a physical one as 
well, for its exit from his mouth was accompanied by a 
rush of flames. Still not completely trusting the noise, 
Verkus conjured a fireball in the palm of his hand and 
sent it roaring into the sky, a call that the flame 
unicorns and vermili, at least, could not ignore. He had 
expended too much energy for that to be a joke.
    And it did the trick. Yawning, complaining, rubbing 
eyes that squinted against the brightness of the sun, 
flame Elwens and eluvori stumbled into wakefulness. Most 
of them milled about uneasily, casting uneasy glances at 
the dragon or talking among themselves in low voices. His 
three second-in-commands, however, swiftly surrounded him. 
"What is it?" asked Locad, his vermil commander in charge 
of the flame wall, lazily arching his back and stretching 
his hands. 
    "I'm not sure," said Verkus in grim tones, his voice 
immediately squashing the tolerant smiles on the faces of 
the eluvor and flame unicorn who also stood by. They came 
stiffly to attention. They had been among the ones who 
despised him lately, but in battle, they recovered their 
old respect. "A wyrm, of course, but we cannot be certain 
which kind." He issued orders quickly, not trying to 
override them but simply to get them organized quickly, so 
that he could get back to the north part of the enclave, 
under his own personal defense. He turned his eyes on the 
forest Elwen. "Peruinn, I know you don't want it to burn 
the forests any more than I do." The eluvor shook his 
head, a grim smile on his face. "Do whatever you think 
necessary to defend them."
    He faced the unicorn, who was stamping his left 
forehoof in his anxiety to receive his orders. "Ardmald, 
try to ready water if it comes your way. Use a spell that 
might douse its fire. Granted, it's still dangerous 
without that breath, but it will minimize the danger all 
the same." He sent one quick glance around at Locad. "I 
assume you know what to do?"
    The vermil saluted smartly, then smiled slyly, flames 
rearing to dance on his skin. "That dragon won't know what 
hit it," he assured his leader.
    Verkus, relieved that at least he was not being 
questioned simply because he had made mistakes in the 
past, nodded. He whirled into flaming red darkness. His 
last sight before he teleported back to the mountain seat 
was of his commanders scattering in three directions- 
Peruinn to the west, where the vast forests sloped down to 
the River Eluvorwave, Ardmald to the eastern Raitvoup 
River and its open plains, Locad to his southern charge. 
Verkus nodded, satisfied, then put them out of his mind. 
He swept his narrow gaze along the mountains, reaching out 
to touch the minds of those defenders assigned to him, 
coordinating his own defense. Though there might seem 
little that a dragon could burn on naked stone, the 
rebels- and presumably their enemies- knew better. Small 
pockets among the peaks contained wild plants that they 
depended on for food.
    His eyes snapped back to the sky as a small trickle of 
Elwens arrived. The dragon, perhaps seeing their 
preparations, or simply willing to wait, circled above, 
making no obvious move in any direction. The great horned 
head bent earthwards as if searching for something. Verkus 
wished it were not so careful to keep the sun behind it. 
If he could see the color of its scales, he could defend 
his charge with more accuracy.
    The lead Elwen reached him, wearing a sullen 
expression on his face; those that followed looked equally 
reluctant. Verkus ignored this visual evidence of their 
growing mistrust- he had made a point of assigning the 
ones who disliked him to this northern defense, reasoning 
that if he could not lead the most rebellious ones, he 
could not lead any at all. "Half of you to the left," he 
told the eluvor who stood before him, raising his voice so 
that the ones who stood behind the forest Elwen could hear 
as well. "Half to the right."
    "You'll take the center all by yourself, I suppose?" 
someone asked sarcastically.
    The vermil started to reply, but as if on cue, a 
smooth voice spoke from behind him. "Oh, he is by no means 
alone."
    The eluvor blanched, bowed hastily, and hurried away. 
Seven Elwens followed him, the other eight taking the 
opposite direction. They would obey any order if it took 
them away from Marakesh. The vermil cocked an eyebrow at 
the copper alfar, who returned his gaze emotionlessly. "I 
suppose," murmured the flamemaster, "that your constant 
savings of my hide are only coincidences?"
    Marakesh yawned, revealing long, white, near-feline 
teeth in what was almost a smile. "I don't think 
coincidence exists," he said, in the manner of an eager 
scholar, then turned his eyes skyward. "I believe you 
wanted to see the color of that dragon?"
    Verkus nodded slowly, then stared. The great serpent 
was still circling, and a slow suspicion filled his mind. 
He seized Marakesh's rising hand, jerking it down.