Fighter's Pride
                         Prologue
             35, Age of Arcadia, Early Spring
    Echelli Durillo clung to Dancer's mane with both 
hands, his knuckles as white as the heavy folds of hair 
hiding the deathtrotter stallion's neck. His body rocked 
and jolted, thrown about by his mount's wild pace. Despite 
nearly thirteen years of riding Dancer, Echelli's muscles 
ached, his back sending out shrill, silent screams of 
pain.
    That was because he had never ridden a panicked 
deathtrotter before.
    One moment Dancer and Second Chance, the steed of his 
companion Corya Deathbring, had been picking their way 
carefully down a steep trail muddied by spring rains. The 
path, slippery and made treacherous by rain-soaked leaves 
and small stones, had demanded all the attention of both 
rider and mount alike.
    The next moment, with screams suspiciously similar to 
those of the horses they resembled, stallion and mare had 
thrown themselves forward and started a race, caring not 
for the uncertainty of their footing. Nostrils flaring 
wide, magma-red eyes rolling in fear, they galloped at 
speeds Echelli had never known they could attain, whatever 
was behind them forcing them to drive themselves 
dangerously near exhaustion. It did not help that both 
Elwens were emotionally bonded to their deathtrotters, and 
to each other. The horses' panic was so strong that 
Echelli's and Corya's calming waves had meant nothing, and 
now the curalli as well was sweating, his muscles tight 
with horror.
    And they still had no idea what was behind them.
    Dancer, driven by something that Echelli could not 
sense, put on an extra burst of speed and drew up beside 
Chance, who until that moment had been slightly ahead. The 
mare paid him no mind, her rolling eyes fastened to the 
trail as she plunged recklessly forward, flying hooves 
spraying clouds of soggy mud into the air. However, it did 
give Echelli a chance to shout to his companion. "Cor! Has 
Chance told you exactly what we're running from?"
    Corya glanced his way, her night-blue hair whipping 
wildly about her ebony-skinned face. Her normally calm 
brown eyes were wide in terror, but she answered 
rationally, though her voice trembled like a leaf in a 
gale. "No. I can't get a coherent thought out of her, only 
fear. What about you?"
    Echelli shook his head, his fear suddenly quelled by a 
determined burst of anger. He turned and hauled on the 
stallion's white mane- his only handhold, since the 
trotters would never have consented to wearing saddles and 
bridles. "Stop!" he roared. "Dancer, halt! Whoa!" He added 
that last on purpose, hoping that the insult of being 
treated like a horse would make Dancer stop.
    The wind tore his words away, however, and Dancer's 
fear was evidently greater than his indignation, even if 
he had heard. If anything, he only went faster, hooves 
gouging the path and pulling him ahead of Chance. The 
younger deathtrotter whinnied with terror, turning her 
long, elegant dark head to glance back over her shoulder. 
Echelli shouted out then, fear clenching his heart- fear 
not of their unseen pursuit, but for a very different 
reason. "Corya! Don't let her-"
    Too late. Whatever the mare saw panicked her 
completely, and she neighed, rearing on her hind legs and 
dancing agitatedly to the left. One wicked bony hoof 
caught on an otherwise innocuous stone half-buried in the 
mud. A dry snap, and horse and rider were down, 
accompanied by a snort of agony from Chance. Dancer barely 
paused for a glance before plunging by.
    Anxiety, anger, terror, and exasperation quickly fused 
in Echelli's mind. Without even realizing what he was 
doing, he whipped a dirk from his belt and hit Dancer hard 
on the blind side of his face. The one-eyed stallion 
screeched to a stop, snorting in surprise so great that it 
momentarily overcame his fear. By the time he let loose 
another scream and danced to the side as Chance had done, 
Echelli was off his back and kneeling by the collapsed 
pair.
   There could be no doubt that the mare's leg was broken; 
it was twisted at an odd, unnatural angle, having been 
under her when she fell. At the moment, Second Chance was 
lying still, red eyes glazed, the shock evidently too much 
for her. That wouldn't last long, but it gave Echelli time 
enough to gently shift her body and drag Corya free.
    The death Elwen bore no visible marks other than 
scraped hands, but her face was pale and she leaned 
heavily against Echelli, flinching every time she was 
required to move her right side. It didn't take the 
curalli long to deduce that she had sprained that 
shoulder, probably quite badly. "How do you feel?" he 
asked her quietly, running his fingers over the wound, so 
lightly that he could not possibly be causing her pain. 
Corya shivered all the same.
    "It's a sprain," she said dully, eyes clouding with 
pain as she lifted her left hand and probed at her 
shoulder. She swiftly moaned and dropped her fingers away. 
Echelli caught them and held them tightly, murmuring 
soothing nonsense words as he examined her shoulder once 
more, then reached down into his life-force and tugged at 
it.
    "I can heal it with my magic," he assured the death 
Elwen, moving to let his fingers hover delicately over the 
torn tendons. The churni stopped him, however, motioning 
to her mare.
    "Please, Chance first," she whispered in a voice 
shaking with exhaustion. Echelli hesitated, but a spark 
returned to her brown eyes and she gestured curtly toward 
the limp mare with her good hand. The curalli obeyed, 
laying her gently down in the mud of the trail and moving 
toward his friend's mount. Chance yet lay still, staring 
at the sky, but whimpers had begun to break loose from her 
throat. Echelli knew it wouldn't be long before she 
panicked again; he kept a wary eye on her hooves as he ran 
a hand over the broken leg.
    In a horse, such a wound would have been cause for a 
merciful death, but the deathtrotters were far more 
enduring than their unintelligent cousins. The leg could 
be set and helped to recover with Echelli's magic, though 
it would still be several days before Chance could do 
anything more than walk. Echelli closed his eyes in 
relief. This could have been far more serious, he thought 
as he brought up the flow of warm life-force he would use 
to heal the mare. Chance lifted her head, the numbness 
finally retreating from her mind, which reached out 
hastily for Echelli's. Despite the animal-like speed of 
her maturity, Chance was still comparable to an Elwen 
adolescent, and right now what she needed was reassurance. 
-Forces of Death. The pain-
    ^It will be all right,^ Echelli promised mentally, 
wrapping firm, warm waves of comfort about her troubled 
mind. The mare moaned and shifted, disrupting the 
curalli's concentration. He frowned at her, adopting the 
tone of a stern parent. ^Lie still.^
    Chance responded obediently to that; it was how the 
much older Dancer had treated her all her life. She lay as 
motionless as a statue while the curalli fed life-force 
into her, persuading the bone to move back into its 
original position. To her credit, the young mare dug her 
hooves deep into the mud but made no sound at the intense 
pain. Echelli stroked her neck as he found two straight 
pieces of wood and used them to splint the leg, along with 
some rope fetched from his pack. ^Good, Chance. Very 
good.^
    The youngster tossed her head and nickered; if she had 
had the use of all four hooves, Echelli strongly suspected 
she would have pranced. He smiled, patted her again, and 
was moving toward Corya when a muffled snort from Dancer 
made him look up.
    Before them floated a sparkling blue cloud of light, 
filled with whirling white motes that reflected back the 
sunshine falling through the bare-branched trees in 
brilliant bursts. Several shapes moved in the cloud, and 
Echelli gradually made out long, slim legs, shining sable 
coats, and snapping canine jaws. When the light faded, he 
was better able to understand the reason for the 
deathtrotters' panic. Standing on the path before them 
were five beasts who were certainly no ordinary hunters.
    Their legs were too slender and their heads the wrong 
shape, or Echelli might have mistaken them for wolves. As 
it was, his mind almost refused to accept the reality of 
these animals, four feet at the shoulder and with crafty 
gleams in their dark blue eyes. Foxes simply weren't that 
big.
    Dark foxes, Echelli thought calmly, even though a hand 
of ice was gripping his spine. Well, that explains it. 
Almost nothing could withstand the unreasoning terror 
these night-black beasts brought with them. They were 
supposedly only legend- as were churni, deathtrotters, and 
many other things that Echelli had come to recognize as 
wholly true. Despite his fear, he tried to ignore them, 
moving forward and gripping the shoulder of Corya, who 
never took her eyes off the quintet of vulpine grins. As 
he sent life-force flowing into her wound, she spoke to 
him without moving her lips. "Why do you suppose they're 
here, Eche?"
    Before the mixed-blood could answer, the air stirred 
with the rush of wings, and a flock of ravens swirled 
around them, alighting gently on the black branches of the 
trees. Echelli watched them narrowly, barely paying 
attention to his magic, which could function without his 
conscious control. He distrusted every seemingly innocent 
turn of light on their glossy deep blue feathers. Though 
few realized it, ravens and the other crow-kin had an 
intelligence as great as any Elwen's, which included a 
grasp of magic competent enough to produce raven mages. 
The birds, sworn to the service of Tirosina, the Goddess 
of Evil Music, were almost never what they seemed.
    A shifting movement under his hands told him that 
Corya's sprain had been soothed, and he discontinued the 
flow of life-force, rising gracefully to his feet. Though 
both dark foxes and ravens spoke Universal, the common 
tongue of all races, they simply stared at him, panting or 
fluttering their wings according to their natures, neither 
making any attempt to communicate. "What's this all 
about?" he demanded harshly.
    A weight settling on his shoulder made him start. A 
raven, large even for his kind, had flown soundlessly to 
the curalli and now clutched Echelli's tunic with one 
clawed foot, extending the other. A piece of pran paper 
was strapped to it. Echelli eyed the bird mistrustfully, 
but when it made no other move, removed the paper and 
unrolled it.
    It bore a simple message in goldu, the most commonly 
used writing liquid. The letters were shaky, as if the 
person were unused to writing.

         For too long now my ancient enemies and all who 
associate with them have escaped my grasp. I know my true 
enemies are too well-protected to capture, but I can hurt 
them indirectly.
         I can come after you.
         Don't bother trying to evade me. My claws are 
long, and my power is more than you can imagine. I have 
servants among both living and dead, and one who is not 
the poorest had a grudge against you in life. The power of 
his hatred has not diminished with death. How I laughed to 
see you aid in slaying him, then have the nerve to believe 
he was gone! Truly, you are a never-ending source of 
amusement.
         Were I you, I would accept my fate 
philosophically, but I know you well; my servants have 
watched you for years, and reading the thoughts of your 
protectors is not beyond me. The one you have known in 
different guises may favor you, and it is known that you 
have the death Elwen Corya at your side. But I will turn a 
weapon against you that you cannot resist, because it will 
be your own.

    Echelli, feeling his face burn with anger, crumpled 
the note in his hands and turned flashing eyes on the 
raven. He knew it might be wrong to take out his feelings 
on the bearer of bad news, but the raven was evil anyway. 
    One blow of the dirks was all it took- one blow, and 
the dark bird tumbled lifelessly to the ground, blue-black 
wings splayed out on either side of him. There was a 
moment of shocked silence as the evil creatures adjusted 
to the raven's death; then Echelli heard threatening 
growls from the dark foxes. At the same time, the other 
ravens clacked their beaks and hopped forward along the 
branches, clawed feet flexing. Dancer reared, shame at his 
former fear becoming fury on his face, and lashed out with 
powerful hooves. The birds cawed nervously once, then took 
to flight; the cloud of blue light reappeared among the 
foxes. Still, Echelli could feel dozens of eyes, raven and 
vulpine, staring at him with pure hatred.
    He tipped his head back, revealing his throat as he 
demanded, "Take this message back to whoever sent you. I 
will never surrender, and my defenses are more powerful 
than any of you can know. I don't understand all of this, 
but come after me and you'll get a nasty surprise."
    Somewhat to his relief, there was no response to his 
challenge. The foxes faded back into their cloud, and the 
ravens rose above the trees, quickly lost to sight as 
their dark wings vanished under the light of the sun. Only 
after they were gone did Corya move to pick up the note 
and read it silently. Her face was grave as she glanced at 
Echelli. "Someone wants you badly, my friend."
    Echelli nodded absently, his mind already busy with 
puzzles. He had no idea who this dead but somehow- 
surviving enemy could be, or what weapon he owned that 
could be turned against him. Only "the one you have known 
in different guises" was understandable- the goddess 
Nystze. But who could possibly be powerful enough to 
prevent a goddess from aiding Echelli if she chose?
    He broke out of his trance when Dancer nudged him. 
-Echelli? What are you going to do about it-
    The mixed-blood shook his head, still staring at the 
paper in Corya's hands. "I don't know," he stared flatly. 
"But there's one thing I do know. I don't like this. Not 
at all."




                        Chapter 1
                         Suddenly
              37, Age of Arcadia, Midautumn
    Echelli Durillo was trying to think of a worthy 
present for Keren's son, Esain, when the ravens came.
    He, Corya, and the deathtrotters were camped in the 
southern part of the deadly Forbge Forest, the great, 
untamed woodland that sprawled across the northern part of 
the Tableland until it reached the foothills of the 
Unknown Mountains. They had visited the Council of Arcadia 
to make their usual report on local political conditions, 
information gleaned from their wandering, and were now 
heading south, toward Echelli's home. They had chosen a 
relatively secure camp- the top of a small knoll, ringed 
with boulders and pine trees- but the edgy fighter had 
insisted on taking a watch. Amused, Corya had given in to 
him, though she had taunted him about it even as she lay 
down to sleep.
    "Anything insane enough to attack here, Echelli, would 
probably be kindred of yours, and therefore easily 
handled," she had called, with a chuckle for her own wit, 
as she had rolled herself into her blankets. Echelli had 
grunted sourly in her direction and taken a perch on one 
of the precariously balanced boulders, giving himself a 
commanding view of the surrounding countryside.
    However, not the slightest smell or sound out of place 
had reached his probing senses, and his superb nightsight 
granted him virtual assurance that he would see anything 
before it saw him. Consequently, he was devoting his 
thoughts to birthday gifts as the first cloud of silently 
flying birds swirled down upon him.
    Abruptly, his sight was obscured by beating wings, his 
hearing overridden with harsh caws and his nostrils choked 
with the rank scent of the flyers. He tumbled off the 
boulder in a controlled fall and twisted to his feet, 
swift as a cat. Dirks flew and slashed, staining silvery 
steel with crimson as Echelli fought to get free of the 
birds. The insistent thought that this could be the cover 
for a much larger attack rang in his mind with all the 
clarity of a silver bell.
    At last, the crow-kin scattered, still cawing as 
Echelli slashed futilely after them. Breathing hard, the 
mixed-blood stood in the center of the clearing, scanning 
the night in all directions with all senses. At last he 
shifted wearily and shook his head, absently lifting a 
hand to dab at a tiny trickle of blood running from a 
small scratch on his cheek.
    By the stars, why had the ravens attacked? Evil though 
the birds were, they seldom did anything more than petty 
mischief- unless coordinated by their goddess.
    Echelli suddenly shivered and turned his head to peer 
sharply into the night. However, the smells of ravens were 
fleeing as fast as wings could beat. The only fresh scents 
came from the score of tattered carcasses at his feet, 
birds who had been overbold or slow. He knelt down and 
searched their bodies for any message, such as the priests 
of Tirosina might send to each other, but he found 
nothing. Puzzled, he plodded back to Corya's bedroll to 
wake her as dawn began to lighten the eastern sky.
    Two years had passed since the strange message in the 
southern forest, and he had almost forgotten the contents 
of that note in any case. Now, though, he recalled this 
unknown seeker of vengeance with striking clarity. 
Still...
    Who would have the power to command usually egocentric 
ravens so? And which of his most bitter enemies still 
breathed? The curalli ran over his mental list of people 
who hated him and shook his head again. The living ones 
had nowhere near that kind of power.
    With a shrug, he dismissed the matter and knelt to 
wake Corya. He had made more enemies than he could 
remember and yet walked alive. He doubted that this enemy, 
whoever he might be, would be any more competent than the 
others.
    His first touch caused the death Elwen to stir awake 
and glance instinctively toward the smell of blood. Her 
brown eyes widened, and she sat up, speaking in quick, 
clipped tones without taking her eyes off the pile of 
ravens. "I suppose you were right. What happened? Why 
didn't you wake me?"
    "There was hardly time to do anything save fight," the 
curalli answered dryly, moving to wake Dancer. "A flight 
of ravens- I have no idea how many there really were- 
attacked me." He grinned wolfishly as he prodded the 
complaining stallion with his toe. "As you can see, they 
got a bit more than they bargained for, and I was hardly 
wounded." He tapped the scratch on his cheek.
    Corya frowned. "I don't like this, Echelli," she said 
slowly, her brown eyes distant. "Twice in the span of two 
years, ravens have conspired to threaten you. Considering 
who they're the servants of, this could signal a plot a 
great deal more than it appears to be. What if the Goddess 
of Evil Music wants to start another Dark Domination?"
    Echelli snorted. "Cor, the Maimed One is hardly up to 
that. Besides, what reason could she have for seeking 
vengeance on me?" He asked the question in a determinedly 
logical tone, hoping it would remove the worried look from 
Corya's eyes. Whenever that emotion came into play, it 
generally meant that Echelli would be forced into doing 
something he didn't want to.
    It didn't work. "Eche," persisted the death Elwen in a 
tone as logical as his own, "I know you don't like people 
worrying about you, but this truly could be something 
important. I think we should head back and tell the 
Council about it. We haven't crossed the Acrad yet; it 
won't take a great deal of time to backtrack."
    The curalli swung to face her, quelling his alarm and 
replacing it with a firm, cool mask. He folded his arms 
across his chest. "And what good will that do, pray?" His 
voice dripped with sarcasm as he deliberately forced his 
words into stilted, courtly politeness. "Wilt thou require 
me to escort thee to the great castle again, simply so 
thou canst make the necessary report to thy liege lords?"
    Corya chuckled. "I enjoy irony as much as anyone, 
Echelli, but portraying a disobedient knight isn't going 
to get you anywhere. We'll leave for the stronghold right 
after breakfast."
    Echelli shook his head stubbornly and nudged Dancer, 
who had slipped back into a doze, once more. "That 
stronghold smells like old cheese," he snarled defiantly. 
"I refuse to come."
----------------------------------------------------------
    Half an hour later, the curalli slumped miserably on 
Dancer's back as the deathtrotters raced toward the point 
where the Unknown Mountains met the Coldors of Sweptoria. 
How does Corya manage to talk me into these things? he 
wondered, clinging to Dancer's mane as the stallion 
skipped across a stony river bed, carelessly graceful. He 
gritted his teeth at the usual bumpy hoofbeats, much more 
pronounced on the pebbles, and shivered as cold water 
splashed his tunic leg. He might have known that the death 
Elwen would have her way with him.
    However, the day was too beautiful to indulge in self- 
pity, and he banished the emotion with a quick glance 
around. The sky blazed overhead, an overturned bowl of 
burnished autumn gold, with the sun barely visible except 
as a slightly brighter spot. Purple clouds, promising fair 
weather, danced and skidded across the gold, as carefree 
as the intelligent equines running on the earth below.
    The land around them was green, even this late in the 
year, the considerable magic of the many Council members 
coercing nature into forgetting the season. They had left 
the stream behind and were crossing into the higher 
mountains, passing over occasional bare and sandy slopes 
before being greeted by welcoming forests again. Despite 
the height and steepness of the peak they climbed, the 
deathtrotters frisked and danced, lashing out at each 
other occasionally, breath puffing faintly white in the 
combined chill of autumn and mountain air.
    Abruptly, though, the fighter spotted something that 
ruined his joy in the beautiful day. Perched calmly in a 
golden-leafed hylea nearby, one of the few trees allowed 
to run its natural course, was a raven. Its dark eyes, 
curiously empty save for the mandatory glitter of crow- 
kin, studied him dispassionately. Echelli gripped a dirk 
and narrowed his eyes, sending no small wave of animosity 
rolling toward the watcher.
    The raven gazed for a moment more, then, as if it were 
its own idea, spread blue-black wings and rose easily from 
the branch. With a caw, it looped around the hylea's trunk 
and vanished into the woodland. However, its mocking 
half-challenge hung in the air for a long moment, as 
audible as the creaking and sighing of tree boughs in the 
brisk fall breeze. Echelli slowly released his grip on his 
weapons and turned forward, only to find Corya beside him, 
gazing inquiringly into his eyes. "Is something the 
matter?" she asked quietly.
    Something in Echelli urged him to tell her about the 
raven, but his pride would not allow it. Whoever, 
whatever, this mysterious challenger was, the invitation 
to battle was for Echelli alone. He pressed his knees to 
Dancer's flanks and urged the stallion past Chance, 
knowing he wouldn't be very good company for an hour or 
so.
    "Nothing of great import," he answered shortly.
----------------------------------------------------------
    They reached the great vesperstone fortress at noon. 
Though the gold-seamed purple rock did not look as lovely 
as it would have at sunset, it was imposing enough, 
towering above the two travelers like a haughtily lifted 
head. Echelli did his best to ignore that impression, 
guiding Dancer to the huge stables sprawling near one 
side. Nearly all of the Council of Arcadia members used 
transportation of one sort or another, and it was housed 
here. Despite their pride and scorn of horses, Dancer and 
Second Chance did not deplore the comforts of a warm stall 
or the taste of an apple given them by the occasional 
groom who did not realize what they were. Indeed, Echelli 
saw Dancer already munching contentedly on the provided 
oats as he and Corya began the arduous task of ascending 
the stairs that led toward the top.
    The steps- called the Countless Stairs because the 
intricate designs carved into them kept people too busy 
looking to count them- deposited them near one of the 
great sapphire doors that led into the Council Hall. 
Echelli knocked deferentially. Though he knew no meeting 
was in progress at the moment, there was always someone 
there who could guide them to the person they needed to 
see.
    Sure enough, after a moment the door swung inward and 
a high voice demanded to know what they wanted. Before the 
curalli could say anything, however, Corya stepped 
forward, her voice filled with the steely, imperious tones 
of command. "We have news that may be urgent. Tell either 
Keren Deerfriend or Sapphiro Azurefire that Corya 
Deathbring and Echelli Durillo need to see them once 
more."
    The briefest of pauses, and the door swung open. A 
fox, slender and silver-coated, with graceful white wings, 
motioned them in and pushed the delicately balanced door 
shut behind them. Echelli allowed a brief smile to flicker 
across his face at the curiosity with which the creature 
regarded them. The Peoples of the Fox were always 
interested in whatever was going on, but this creature, a 
vixeni, was notorious even among his kind. The silver coat 
indicated that the gender-shifter was male today.
    "Come," the fox instructed, after a moment of eying 
them, and flitted across the hall as swiftly as a 
hummingbird. The two Elwens followed, sneaking covert 
glances at the varied rows of seats. Without occupants, 
the great Hall was still imposing but somehow empty. Like 
these raven threats, Echelli thought, mind abruptly 
drifting back to the reason they had come. They are 
dangerous, but I cannot become truly worried about them 
until I know who's behind them- and perhaps not even then.
    The vixeni led them to the opposite door, a walk of 
several good miles, and out into the sunshine once more. 
There, he waved a paw toward a stair wrought of 
breathtakingly delicate sapphire, leading up to a high, 
arched portal that looked more like a window than a door. 
"Those are the private chambers of Councilman Sapphiro 
Azurefire," he crooned in his impossibly high, silvery 
voice. "Councilman Keren has already left to be with his 
family, but I'm sure the somak will be more than willing 
to listen to you." A second, intensely curious gaze was 
darted in their direction. "The gods know I am," he added, 
in an unsubtle hint.
    Echelli would have been glad to tell the winged fox 
the reason for their return trip. The gossipy gender- 
changers would spread the news throughout the realms of 
their cousins, accomplishing two goals: a warning in case 
this was indeed the beginning of something big, and a 
gathering of collective opinion, so that Echelli could 
hear if others also thought this a threat. However, Corya 
cut him off before he could open his mouth. "Our thanks, 
vixeni," said the churni smoothly. "We shall be indebted 
to you if the somak is indeed as willing as you say." Her 
stare made it clear that she didn't want him to hang 
around.
    Undaunted, the fox winked at Echelli and dipped a mock 
bow in midair. "It was my pleasure, milady. Let me know 
how it all turns out." He easily dodged Corya's grasp and 
shot off through the air, his tinkling laughter lingering 
behind.
    The death Elwen shook her head and sighed hugely as 
they began to climb the stairs. "Sometimes, my friend, I 
wish I had never left the protection of my Klaina. Had I 
known what brash tricksters the outside world contained, 
perhaps I wouldn't have."
    Echelli smiled neutrally in response and let the 
comment pass, focusing his attention on climbing the 
rickety staircase. It swayed in the wind as if woven of 
spidersilk, but it was undeniably precious stone that was 
beneath his feet. The contrast made him giddy, and he was 
relieved when Corya finally rapped on the door. There came 
a stirring from inside, a soft voice calling, "Who is it?"
    "We have something to say that may interest you, 
Councilman Azurefire," said Corya with the smooth tact 
that Echelli had never managed to pick up. "It concerns 
ravens and possibly the goddess Tirosina."
    "Tirosina?" The voice sounded startled. At once the 
door swung inward and the sapphire Elwen stood before 
them, one hand motioning impatiently. "Please, come in. 
I've heard rumors of activity that might be the Music 
Mother's myself."
    Echelli peered into the interior of the chambers and 
stepped back, hissing in astonishment. The walls, floor, 
and ceiling, all of sapphire, provided a brilliant 
contrast to the sleek ebony statue of a feline prancing 
against the far wall. At first glance, Echelli had 
mistaken the statue for a living creature- a nightcat, of 
all felines the one he most hated. Now he grinned ruefully 
and stepped forward behind Corya as she glided serenely 
into the room. "I'm tense," he explained by way of 
apology, his eyes fastened to the statue as Sapphiro shut 
the door.
    "Other visitors have been startled by the likeness," 
said the somak lightly, glancing quickly at the sculpture 
before motioning toward benches, carved of sapphire but 
piled with soft, high cushions. "Please, sit. This sounds 
urgent, but comfort before duty."
    Echelli sank down, tearing his gaze from the so-called 
nightcat to examine the somak Council member closely. 
Unless his usual skills at reading people were totally 
misleading him, there were worry lines on Sapphiro's 
forehead and his calm voice was a fragile facade 
threatening to shatter at any moment. But then he shook 
his head. Sapphiro had seemed perfectly normal when they 
had met the other day. You're reading your own tension 
into other people, he chided himself.
    The sapphire Elwen waited patiently until his guests 
had taken the indicated seats, then drew a deep, trembling 
breath and focused on their faces, shining blue eyes 
waiting for them to begin. Echelli noted privately that he 
did not take a seat himself.
    Echelli rolled his head, nodding toward Corya. "Cor, I 
hardly remember that incident two years ago. It would be 
better if you told him."
    The death Elwen nodded and leaned forward, words low 
and tense. "Our deathtrotters were panicked into flight by 
a pack of dark foxes, and Chance broke a leg," she said 
simply. The somak's face expressed understanding and 
concern; he himself had given the deathtrotter filly to 
Corya. "I suppose this was strictly a delaying tactic, to 
make us pause while a raven delivered a message to 
Echelli." She turned her head, brown eyes gleaming, and 
Echelli looked away, as uncomfortable as always with the 
worry and fierce protectiveness in that gaze. "It seems 
some unknown person- but one powerful enough to control 
ravens and have undead servants- seeks to settle a score 
with our Eche. Unless I miss my guess, it's old Maimed 
Fingers herself. I don't know what the score could be or 
why Tirosina would so personally involve herself, rather 
than sending a servant to do the job- but, in my opinion, 
that's who it is."
    Echelli finally looked back at her, his irritation 
greater than his discomfort over the fussing. "Corya, 
we've gone over this already. Tirosina has absolutely no 
logical reason to be interested in me. I may have killed a 
servant of hers, as that note says, but millions of her 
servants have died since time dawned. I simply can't see 
her heeding a slave's call for vengeance unless she had 
something to gain from it- which she doesn't." He switched 
his dark gaze to Sapphiro. "A flock of ravens attacked me 
early this morning," he said flatly. "I didn't connect 
them to Tirosina at first, and indeed, there was nothing 
on the bodies to indicate that they had been acting on her 
will. Perhaps the two incidents aren't even related." He 
held the somak's eyes in a steady, level gaze, hoping the 
Council member would agree. He didn't see any reason for 
anyone to be so concerned.
    "Who says a god has to be logical?" Corya asked.
    Echelli's grin was fleeting. "I can attest to that," 
he said softly, thinking of his several meetings with 
Nystze, the Goddess of Emotion. But then he shook the 
thoughts away. "However, the one who favors me changes all 
the time- it's part of her nature. And gods are forced to 
be at least somewhat logical with mortals, or we can't 
understand." He raised an eyebrow to Corya, who still 
looked troubled. "I think you're interpreting coincidences 
as evidence that the Music Mother wants me dead. Why are 
you concerned, anyway? I can take care of myself."
    The churni hesitated, then glanced in seeming agony to 
Sapphiro. The sapphire Elwen stared at her as 
uncomprehendingly as Echelli for a moment; then a smile 
wrinkled his lips and he chuckled, a deep, purling sound 
like tinkling gems falling to the floor. "I might have 
known," he said softly, amusement warring with 
exasperation in his blue eyes. "You realize that it will 
only complicate things if you tell him?"
    Corya nodded, her usual coolness gone as she glanced 
once more at Echelli. The mixed-blood gazed at her 
unblinkingly, but after a moment boldness and life 
returned to her brown eyes and she slapped his arm 
lightly. "Perhaps I have been worrying unnecessarily, 
Echelli. Perhaps you're right. I thought it would be best 
to tell the Council, however, in case these simply weren't 
isolated incidents."
    "They are not."
    Both Elwens turned to stare at the somak. He was 
facing a fireplace carved of deep blue gem on the far 
wall, his eyes troubled. "They are not," he repeated 
flatly, gem-voice devoid now of laughing melody. "For the 
past year, zudls have been active in Lillomar."
    Echelli hissed, breaking the short pause that had 
followed Sapphiro's words. "Stars take them," the curalli 
whispered savagely, smacking one fist into a palm and 
twisting it around. He glanced at Corya with grudging 
respect. "Very well, you were right. Now what do you think 
we should do?"
    Before the death Elwen could answer, the sapphire 
Elwen did. "Don't take unnecessary risks," he said firmly. 
"Feel free to continue your wandering, but watch for 
servants of the Maimed One on your backtrail. If you 
present a unified front to her, she may realize the 
futility of trying to take you."
    "That's possible, I suppose." Echelli leaned forward, 
bracing his hands on the sapphire-and-wood table in front 
of him. "And if she does not?"
    Sapphiro's eyes were flinty, but behind them was a 
resignation that troubled Echelli. However, his words were 
as confident as ever. "Then show her what Elwens are made 
of. I will alert our spy network to keep an eye on the 
raven and zudl Council representatives, as well as anyone 
else suspected of serving the Seven-Fingered. We'll have 
to hope that Tirosina doesn't plan to throw Arcadia into 
warfare." He turned abruptly away, his gem-colored hands 
balling into fists, and slumped against the wall. "We 
can't deal with this right now," Echelli heard him murmur 
wearily. "We have our hands full trying to stop the 
alalori and viaquia from killing each other. The last 
thing this continent can survive is another war."
    He knows too, Echelli thought with a sorrowfully 
accepting calm that surprised him, even as ice settled in 
his stomach. He knows another Sublimation is a distinct 
possibility- and perhaps inevitable.
    Perfect silence reigned in the sapphire Elwen's 
chamber for long minutes. There seemed to be nothing more 
to say.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Echelli stretched and turned burning eyes toward 
Corya, hoping his casual tone effectively masked his 
weariness. "I don't trust these woods anymore than I did 
last night, Corya. I'll keep watch- if you don't think 
it's a silly precaution," he couldn't help adding 
sarcastically.
    The churni turned narrowed brown eyes toward him, her 
voice snappish. Through their emotional bond, the curalli 
could feel the depth of her annoyance, as well as hear it. 
"You know I don't, Eche. As a matter of fact, I think that 
you ought to get some sleep tonight and let me do the 
watching. I take this more seriously than you do."
    Echelli grimaced, for the low menace under her tone 
told him plainly that she had noted the dark circles under 
his eyes, blatant against his silver skin, and the 
exhaustion evident in the droop of his head. He had not 
slept in the four nights since they had left the Council 
stronghold. Still, he tried to rally his aching body and 
numbing mind for a sardonic comment. "I'll be glad to 
sleep, if you'll tell me where we can find a safe 
campsite, oh mighty one."
    They were passing through the foothills of the Unknown 
Mountains now- Corya's idea, since the forests were raven 
territory. However, one of the birds would look enough out 
of place in these peaks to attract the attention of more 
than just the two Elwens. But, though that granted them an 
edge- at least as far as the jumpy death Elwen was 
concerned- it also made it hard to find a campsite that 
was not a place of windscoured rock. 
    -I agree- snorted Dancer, evidently picking up 
Echelli's thoughts. -This is nothing like friendly forests 
with plenty of sweet grass to eat. However- he continued 
in a gently chiding tone, -Corya is also right. You place 
too little emphasis on your own life-
    Echelli fought hard to quell the pride rising in him, 
reminding himself that the deathtrotter was an equine, and 
therefore couldn't be expected to know the fine nuances of 
Elwen behavior. ^I want to handle this threat- whatever it 
is- on my own,^ he answered silently. ^Corya's being a bit 
too motherly.^ "Why don't we camp here?" he asked aloud, 
gesturing to a small expanse of tough grass, studded with 
a few stunted trees. "At least it gives the trotters a 
little something to eat."
    -You certainly aren't choosy- Dancer complained, 
kneeling as Corya nodded hesitantly. -If you had to eat 
grass like sensible people, you'd pick a more succulent 
spot-
    "If I had to eat grass, you would have orders to 
consider me in serious trouble," said Echelli, emphasizing 
the word serious and darting a glance at Corya out of the 
corner of his eye. The churni scowled at him, stooping to 
remove bread, cheese, and dried fish from her pack.
    "No fire tonight," she announced, when Echelli made 
motions to begin gathering what little wood there was. 
"It'd be too easy for something with wings to spot us from 
the air." She tossed a piece of fish to the curalli, who 
looked at it with distaste but began to nibble resignedly. 
There was no arguing with Corya when she became convinced 
they were in danger, though Echelli could think of more 
pleasant things to eat than the food they had caught 
crossing the Acrad River.
    They finished their meal, not speaking, the pride of 
both preventing them from bringing their argument out into 
the open. The only sounds were made by the deathtrotters 
as they tore, resigned as Echelli, at the stiff, spiky 
grasses, and even the champing wasn't very loud. The call 
of a night bird and the occasional thump as a feeding 
equine shifted position seemed unbearably noisy, and each 
sound grated on Echelli's harpstring-tight nerves. He 
finally laid down the fish, unfinished, and moved toward 
the crest of the slightly sloped clearing, eyes seeking a 
watchpost in the dim lavender light of sunset.
    "Echelli!" There could be no mistaking the strong 
tones in Corya's voice, tones she had learned growing up 
as the expected ruler of a churni Klaina. "I told you I'd 
keep watch. With a goddess after you, you shouldn't 
exhaust yourself."
    The curalli gritted his teeth and counted, trying not 
to explode, but Corya's next words shattered his fragile 
calm. "You know, the height of stupidity is refusing help 
because you think it's a shameful thing to accept it."
    Cold rage filled the curalli, and he could feel his 
eyes glittering darkly as he turned them toward his 
leather-cloaked companion and said, with deceptive 
mildness, "In my estimation, the height of stupidity is 
attempting to order someone around whom you know won't 
obey."
    Corya glided toward him, until she was just below him, 
gazing up. Brown eyes flashed with warm impatience, and 
her black leather caught the myriad hues of Uunul's 
westering. "Dancer's right about you not having any sense, 
Echelli Durillo. Sometimes I wonder how he ever puts up 
with you. Sometimes," she continued, her voice dropping to 
a hiss, "I wonder how your mooncat put up with you."
    The mixed-blood's angry retort died on his lips, and 
he turned away, trembling with hurt. In telling Corya 
about Emerdal, he had proved himself vulnerable, had 
showed how deeply he had placed his trust in her, since he 
so rarely told anyone about his past. He had never 
expected her to use it against him.
    I was a fool, he told himself angrily, fighting back 
choking tears at the painful memories. I should have known 
that such open friendship is a weakness, should have known 
that you can only go to a certain depth before someone 
hurts you. I won't do it again.
    He didn't realize that he'd spoken the last thought 
aloud, or that Corya had moved, until he felt her hand on 
his arm and heard her sigh softly. "Echelli, I'm sorry," 
she whispered. "I'm angry and frightened for you, that's 
all. I won't do it again; you have my word." Her grip 
tightened on his arm, inexorably turning him to face her. 
"Can you forgive...." She trailed off, staring intently at 
his face. Echelli saw the brown eyes soften, and her other 
hand came up, wiping at something on his cheek. "Trying to 
deny your emotion never works, Echelli," she whispered, 
embracing him.
    To his horror, Echelli felt a few more drops of 
moisture slide down his cheeks. Stars take it, he was 
actually crying. If he kept this up, he was bound to say 
something he didn't mean soon. Carefully blanking his mind 
and driving the pain into some little corner of himself, 
he walled it over and withdrew himself from Corya's arms. 
"It's all right," he said softly, feeling his cheeks burn 
with the heat of a forging fire. He had come closer than 
he realized to forgiving her.
    Or telling her how much her friendship meant to him.
    Deciding at this point that the best thing to do would 
be to relinquish the watch to Corya and hopefully persuade 
her that none of this had ever happened, Echelli yawned 
and stretched deeply. "I am rather tired, now that you 
mention it," he murmured truthfully, ignoring the goads of 
both friendship and pride. "If you honestly feel that you 
want to take the watch..."
    Corya beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. "At last 
you are recognizing sense like the rest of us," she said 
approvingly. "I'll lay out your blankets if you wish."
    Gritting his teeth but reminding himself firmly that 
it would help with his charade, Echelli nodded amiably and 
somehow managed to watch without snapping as she spread 
the simple blanket he used on the ground, fussing over its 
exact placement. Finally, when he knew that one moment 
more of such tenderness would result in him retching, the 
curalli said a firm good-night and bundled himself in the 
cover, expecting his night to be relatively peaceful 
because of his weariness.
    He was never more wrong in his life.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Dark shapes were swooping at him from every side, 
slashing at him with wickedly sharp claws. The fighter 
fumbled for his dirks, but they were gone. Ah, well then. 
He would fight these enemies with the sheer force of his 
will. At least he would go to his death with dignity. 
    He was watching with a strange numbness as wounds 
appeared on his body, barely feeling the hot agony or the 
trickles of blood, when a voice called out. Glancing up, 
he saw an indistinct figure crouched nearby, hand extended 
in his direction. If he could grab the hand, he would be 
pulled safely out of the swirling horde.
    However, it also meant he would owe his life to his 
rescuer.
    For a moment two wills battled in him, the will of 
pride and the will to survive. The contest was resolved as 
a dim creature swirled at him, snapping with bloodied 
fangs at his cheek. He made no sound as a piece of flesh 
was torn away, and saw the figure's eyes, of no particular 
color, go wide with surprise.
    Indignation rose in him. If she didn't think him 
capable of standing some pain, she must not think very 
much of him. He turned away and stared calmly, 
acceptingly, into the night. At least the featureless foes 
taking shreds of him respected his stoicism.
    He closed his eyes to a despairing cry and lifted his 
face, his pride approving deeply of this end. And after 
all, wasn't his own opinion of himself the one that 
mattered? Why should he waste his time trying to please 
others?
----------------------------------------------------------
    Echelli's fingers dug deeply into the earth, and he 
cried out. The next moment, he was fully awake, staring 
into the motionless darkness, fear tearing his throat as 
he gave vent to a second cry of anguish. Then he buried 
his head in his hands, trembling all over.
    But only for a moment. The cold, deadly rationale of 
his warrior side took over, and he found himself climbing 
to his feet with the reassuring touch of steel in his 
hands. As soundless as a shadow, he glided to the side of 
the clearing and raised his head. Though nothing moved, 
his senses warned him that something was coming. Out of 
pure, reflexive battle instinct, his muscles tensed.
    And then the night exploded.
    Keening cries, steel scraping against stone, erupted 
from the air. Echelli dropped into a crouch, the weapons 
he wielded singing their own metallic song as he brought 
down one of the dark, dimly seen shapes hurtling toward 
him. The others promptly pulled back into the air, warily 
watching with eyes that gleamed a sulfurous yellow. 
Echelli kept one eye on them as he knelt to examine their 
fallen comrade and confirm his suspicions.
    Sure enough, it was a tormented, twisted thing, only 
vaguely Elwen-shaped and covered with black scales that 
oozed a sticky sap. Echelli carefully avoided this as he 
lifted the head, which bore a dozen wounds and sluggishly 
dripping holes where the gleaming eyes had once been. It 
was shaped like a wolf's, but jutted forward and bore long 
jaws decorated with impossibly sharp teeth. Four webbed 
paws took the place of feet and hands, though the front 
ones were deft and graceful despite the long talons, and 
the creature was obviously used to walking upright. Ribbed 
wings, made of some kind of leather far more repulsive 
than a bat's, projected upward from the shoulders. 
Altogether, the zudl looked more like a twisted mockery of 
a lizard than a threat, and in effect that was exactly 
what it was: something wrong, a mad god's plaything. 
Echelli shuddered and dropped the thing's head. A mix of 
pity, disgust, and relief that he had killed the zudl sent 
shivers up his spine.
    Something wet and lumpy struck him with a slight 
splash. His muscles tensed with disgust, Echelli brushed 
frantically at the warm wetness flowing across his skin. 
Respectful of his weapons and skill, the zudls were using 
another weapon; coughed lumps of mucous, as powerful as 
hailstones if the casters wished them to be.
    Slight thumps behind him and the scent of dirt and 
blood warned him that Corya was coming. The death Elwen 
moved up beside him, silver blood running from a slight 
scratch on her cheek. She frowned at the body of the flyer 
he had killed and nudged it with her toe, but triumph 
flared in her brown eyes, piercing the distaste as she 
fastened her gaze to his face. "No one except Tirosina can 
control zudls," she announced with quiet pleasure, her 
grin flashing.
    "Why do you always have to be right?" Echelli asked 
gloomily, then flinched as another lump hit his skin, 
followed by a horrible hacking overhead. He frowned into 
the darkness, then turned to Corya. "This hilltop is too 
open to defend," he said flatly. "If the zudls want to 
drive us away from here, so be it."
    "They may herd us to a battle-ground of their 
choosing," Corya pointed out, her grin fading as she began 
to pay attention to the realities of the situation. "We 
might have no chance before morning rescues us to make a 
good stand anywhere."
    "If we avoid being herded, neither will the zudls," 
Echelli answered coolly, absently ducking another lump, 
his eyes fastened to the swarming flock. Even with his 
superb nightsight, it was hard to make the reptiles out; 
their black scales blended too perfectly with the night. 
"Rouse Dancer and Chance, if you please. I'm going to try 
something that might discourage them from following us."
    The churni hesitated only briefly before nodding. 
Touching his arm, she whispered, "Take care of yourself," 
and faded into the night with the near-invisibility of her 
kind. Echelli rolled his eyes and looked once more at the 
zudls, praying his plan would work. The twisted creatures 
sometimes allied with small townships of his people, so 
they ought to know the curalli language.
    "Hail, noble brothers," he called in Melli, the 
poisonous and yet honeyed tongue, whose ice-cold, steel- 
smooth words made it difficult to tell sarcasm from 
ordinary politeness. "I am quite willing to cooperate with 
you, if you will tell me what you are doing here."
    The hacking overhead abruptly ceased, probably so that 
the zudls could better hear his words. After a short 
pause, filled only with the near-noiseless beating of 
wings, a voice called back in hesitant Melli, as though 
its owner had not used the language for many years. "Hail, 
noble brother. We are here at the command of our goddess, 
as you no doubt have suspected. Our orders are to capture 
you and your companion and take you alive to the Music 
Mother."
    Echelli's eyes narrowed as his deception-detecting 
ability shrieked at him. He had not thought the normally 
stupid creatures would be clever enough to lie, but he 
decided to humor the zudl. "Of course you are," he called 
up in a placating tone, so pitching his words that it was 
almost impossible to tell whether he was expressing 
approval and disapproval. "Why else would the most noble 
Music Mother call you here?"
    The voice that replied was softened, tinged with more 
than a hint of awe. The zudls were ever ready to listen to 
praises of their goddess. "You are right in calling her 
noble, brother curalli. What else would be the word for 
one who has survived down the years with her hatred 
intact?"
    Echelli restrained himself from pointing out that 
Tirosina was immortal- and immoral, as well. "I would not 
trouble you, brothers, but I can hardly fight you and 
allow you to show off your strength if you're in the air 
and I'm on the ground, now can I?"
    It worked. The zudls were always highly indignant at 
being called vain, mostly because they were. Though 
Echelli doubted that even a zudl could find another of his 
or her kind lovely, the one thing admired in their 
society- besides devotion to their horrid goddess- was 
strength. The members of the group would have no choice 
but to answer his challenge, or risk looking like fools in 
front of the others. And, as in curalli society, a zudl 
who acted foolish was automatic bait for an assassin. 
Fools did not deserve to live.
    One zudl, a huge female, dropped toward Echelli 
feet-first, talons poised to slash open his belly. The 
curalli dispatched her, his whipping dirks blinding her 
and tearing her wings from her shoulders and the webs from 
her paws before her battle-shriek had died on her rubbery 
lips. Flopping helplessly, she dropped to the ground, 
blood loss so heavy that she expired in seconds.
    The same thing happened to five more zudls who tried 
to match their talons and teeth against the curalli's 
lightning-like strikes. It was then that soft thumps 
behind him warned the curalli of approaching equines. With 
any luck, the maddened zudls, whether they chased the 
fleeing group or elected to leave and answer to their 
goddess for their failure, would be too upset to 
coordinate a fixed plan.
    That was all Echelli asked for.
    He killed a seventh winged reptile and then caught 
sight of Dancer's one red eye flaming to his left. He 
whirled at once, still striking at yet another dropping 
zudl, and sprang, spinning, through the air. Dancer 
grunted and staggered at the solid impact on his bony 
back, but almost instantly launched into motion. The zudl, 
missing a paw and staring at them stupidly, plunged into 
the earth. Echelli just barely managed to stifle a chuckle 
as he watched the reptile shake off the sting of colliding 
with a stunted tree and flap awkwardly to get airborne 
once more.
    Corya followed, bent low over Chance's neck. It was 
possible to make out more than simply the mare's red eyes 
and tossing, snow-white mane; her coat was lighter than an 
ordinary deathtrotter's, closer to a steel-gray than to 
sable. That made it easier for the curalli to pick her 
out, but it also made it easier for the zudls. To make it 
worse, the young mare was dancing on her hind legs and 
pawing the air, screaming foolish defiance at their 
opponents. -Come down here and fight without the use of 
your wings, you bullies! How dare you mark my friend-
    In surprise, Echelli glanced at his shoulder. It had 
been torn wide by a zudl's claw, exposing his collarbone, 
but the battle-trance was so great that he was only now 
feeling its sting. Absently, he laid his hand on the 
wound, tucking his tunic over it. With any luck, the cloth 
would adhere to the injury, made sticky by blood, and form 
a natural bandage until he could attend to it. He was 
certainly not going to waste time by stopping now.
    Corya, with a few firm jerks on Chance's mane, 
succeeded in bringing the mare back to all fours and 
urging her forward. The young deathtrotter pranced 
sideways for a moment, red eyes rolling and nostrils 
dripping with foam, before obeying. Echelli hid a smile as 
Dancer thundered after her, clearing the rocks with the 
great bounding leaps of the deathtrotter gallop. It was 
obvious that Second Chance, unlike Corya's previous mount, 
Fate, had a little fire in her.
    True to his suspicion, the angered flock soared after 
them without even pausing to form ranks, and Echelli began 
to relax and enjoy the ride somewhat. There was something 
exciting in bounding down a steep slope at night, knowing 
that your mount's eyes were not nearly as good as your own 
and that a horde of enemies was at your back, foes who 
would tear you to shreds if they caught you.
    The deathtrotters ran north, higher into the 
mountains, and Echelli applauded their judgment- mentally, 
since both his hands were occupied with clinging to his 
stallion's tossing mane. Going south would only bring them 
into forests, where zudls, whose wings were peculiarly 
adapted to swooping around trees, would have the 
advantage, while west and east only meant more foothills- 
open country where a flighted foe could spy them. Although 
the deathtrotters were not creatures of the mountains 
either, they had traversed enough in the wanderings with 
their Elwens to be slightly more comfortable than a zudl, 
whose lungs could not breathe such rarefied air, would be.
    On and up they went. It was open country, meaning easy 
flying and long sight for the zudls but also easy running 
for the deathtrotters. Keeping their eyes on their 
footing, they could go at top speed. However, Dancer soon 
spoke, his tone queer enough that Echelli suspected he was 
worried. -Echelli, hang tight. I want to be away from 
these zudls, and only one thing might do the trick- He 
reared high, momentarily pausing in his flight, and 
Echelli felt the muscles of his sable-coated hindquarters 
tense. -A deathdance-
    Echelli gritted his teeth and tightened the clutch of 
his legs until Dancer made a whiffling little squeal of 
protest. However, the next moment the stallion leapt, and 
Echelli forgot the discomfort his hold might be causing 
his mount. The wind slapping his face reminded him sharply 
how much depended on where the landing would take place. 
He closed his eyes, not because heights made him queasy. 
He simply didn't like to see the world spinning around 
instead of staying properly still.
    They landed with a thump that jarred every bone in 
Echelli and made him bang sharply on Dancer's rangy back. 
Then it was his turn to squeal, but the sound was torn 
from his mouth as the deathtrotter whirled into another 
spring. Looking down briefly, Echelli saw blue sparks 
arcing into the air from where hooves had struck rock. He 
shuddered and crouched low, confident that Dancer would 
not let him fall but still not enjoying the dance. Its 
name echoed in his head. Surely it had not been named that 
simply because of the species that danced it?
    Beside him, he heard Corya whoop in joy as Chance bore 
her on a similar flight, and shook his head, careful to 
keep from biting his tongue as they jolted down once more. 
She took delight in something that might kill her and 
referred to him as the one without sense?
    Echelli was feeling sickly after several subsequent 
leaps, but Dancer's relieved exclamation came drifting 
into his mind. -Thank the Death Forces! There's a cave 
ahead; the zudls won't be able to follow us there. It's 
too narrow for their wings-
    Echelli felt compelled to point out that they could 
simply walk in, but then the thumping beat of galloping 
shook the words from his mouth. Opening his eyes, he 
sighed with relief as he saw the opening ahead. To him, it 
glowed with the brilliant light of the walls' aura, but to 
the deathtrotters' weaker nightsight, it must have been 
very dark. Still, any shelter- any narrow place they could 
defend against the cursed servants of Tirosina- was 
welcome.
    The Elwens ducked low as the horses dashed inside. 
Echelli felt the roof narrow briefly above him, then widen 
and lift again. Swiftly he leaped from Dancer's back and 
dashed toward the entrance, his dirks already in his 
hands.
    But it was too late. The tunnel shook- for a tunnel it 
was, not a mere cave, leading back at a steadily downward 
angle- as a huge boulder, bearing talon-marks from the 
zudls who had lifted it, dropped into place across their 
doorway. Mocking laughter echoed in Echelli's ears as he 
skidded to a stop before the gigantic rock. Outside, wings 
beat against clear air, and he knew the zudls were taking 
flight. He stared helplessly at the boulder, then slumped 
against it. "I was a fool," he said softly. Bitterness 
flecked the words as well. No wonder the zudls hadn't 
attacked them, and had been perfectly content to let them 
run north. They had had this nice trap all ready and 
waiting.
    Dancer's nose touched him gently on the shoulder. 
-Echelli, don't blame yourself. Honestly, the rest of us 
should have recognized it as a trap as well. I have dealt 
with zudls before, and they favor this kind of thing. I 
was so relieved to see shelter that I never once 
considered why they didn't follow us in immediately. They 
live underground as well-
    Echelli turned, seeing Corya slip from Chance's back 
and stalk toward the blocked entrance. The death Elwen ran 
her hand across the rock and glanced at him. "The 
deathtrotters could shatter this," she said quietly, her 
slender form outlined by the glow of her aura.
    Echelli shook his head in despair. "Smell the magic on 
the rock? They've strengthened it so that we can't make a 
dent in it. They were prepared for this, damn it!"
    Chance whinnied, an eerily loud sound in the close 
blackness. Still, Echelli felt his eyes soften as he 
glanced toward her. She was moving from hoof to hoof, her 
red eyes very vulnerable, very young. -But we're not 
trapped, are we? In ballads, there's always a way out- Her 
voice, not quite mental or physical, trailed off as 
Echelli shook his head gently.
    "That's only in tales," he said softly. He glanced 
around at his companions, then jerked his head toward the 
tunnel. "I'm the one who got us into this; Tirosina's 
servants were after me. And, by the stars, I'm going to 
get us out."
    He had expected a reply, sardonic or hopeful, but 
there was none, and the words of his binding oath settled 
into the deathly stillness of a mausoleum. Shaking the 
comparison from his mind, he turned toward the passage. 
"Let's get this over with," he muttered.
----------------------------------------------------------
    For long hours, at least according to the trotters' 
accurate time sense, they made their way downward. Echelli 
led the way, flitting soundless as a shadow and flinching 
every time one of the equines' hooves made a loud thump. 
He finally stopped and bound scraps of cloth about their 
feet, but they still sounded as loud as his own heartbeat 
to him.
    Finally, when they must have gone several miles 
straight into the earth, the passage leveled off. Echelli 
glanced about suspiciously. His dark-attuned eyes assured 
him that nobody had worked the stone of this broad, road- 
like tunnel, but it still seemed almost too perfect to be 
fashioned by nature. His tension was high, and he started 
involuntarily as Corya stepped up beside him.
    "Sorry," said the death Elwen, but her eyes were 
searching the path ahead. Finally, she turned her head 
back toward him, reaching up a hand to touch his shoulder. 
"I don't like this any better than you do," she said 
softly, gaze burning into his, "but Dancer is right. The 
moment you start blaming yourself, we lose the most level 
head in the party."
    Echelli stared at her, for the first time recognizing 
the fear behind her calm. On an impulse, he embraced her 
tightly. "I'll be fine, Cor. I promise."
    The churni hesitated, eyes searching his face with a 
strangely wistful look, as if she yearned to say something 
more. However, she could only nod, give him a wan smile 
and another pat, and return to her place in line. Echelli 
stared after her for a moment, something stirring in him, 
wanting to be expressed. But a soft scrape ahead reminded 
him of the danger, and he turned back to business.
    The path began diving downwards again, and dumped 
them, quite abruptly, into a small chamber. Echelli 
glanced around in awe. This had definitely been carved- 
out of the pure stone, it seemed. But who would have the 
strength enough to do that?
    Who- or what?
    He began to scout the chamber as the others slipped in 
behind him. Corya sank down on a piece of stone carved 
almost like a bench with a grateful sigh, and the 
deathtrotters mimicked her as they, too, dropped wearily. 
Echelli glanced back at them, about to ask if they thought 
this place safe enough for a rest, and froze.
    The chamber was perfectly round, and larger than it 
had seemed at first. Those parts of the walls not carved 
with benches were seamed with fissures, some providing 
possible exit from the cave. In one of those fissures, 
which bore runny edges as though it had been melted on 
occasion by magma, slow swirls of red light were 
gathering. Echelli heard a soft scraping and a grunt, and 
took a slow step toward the crack. Quite abruptly, the 
wall heaved and began to groan, opening to allow the 
passage of something large. With a cat's leap, the curalli 
landed in front of the startled churni, his dirks in his 
hand and low growls throbbing in his throat. He could 
smell smoke.
    The room suddenly flooded with hellish radiance, all 
of it emerging from the crack. Red light, the exact color 
of human blood, danced and played eerily on the walls, 
seemingly casting no shadows of its own.
    But whatever was emerging from that crack most 
definitely did.
    Echelli watched warily, battle-love thrumming through 
his body and lighting his eyes with the light he had been 
named for. He had a faint idea of what their adversary 
might be, but he could not recall its name. Tantalizing 
memories of lessons at the School of Shadows flickered 
around his mind. Had the danger not been so close, he 
would have fallen into a memory-trance to recall those 
endless years spent learning the ways and tricks of the 
most reclusive races, but that was out of the question 
now.
    Then the thing thundered into full view, its shoulders 
stained with blood from forcing its way through the crack, 
and he saw.
    A huge bull, fully twice the size of any he had ever 
seen, faced him. Eyes the gold of a royal crown transfixed 
his gaze, and he stirred uneasily, seeing the undeniable 
cunning in them. The mad pain there made it quite clear 
that the beast knew he was not to blame for its pain but 
would focus the rage generated by the wounding on him 
anyway. It- he?- tossed his head impatiently, throwing 
around the weight of two twisted black horns as though 
they were nothing. Red hooves stamped the floor, and a 
pair of huge, dark, crab-like claws, emerging from the 
bull's shoulders at about head-height, snapped 
threateningly. Echelli moved slowly forward to meet it, 
trying to ignore the intensely uncomfortable heat by 
lowering his body temperature. If it was intelligent, 
perhaps he could reason with it. He knew already that he 
could not hope to survive this encounter unscathed.
    "Well, curalli." The voice rumbled and reverberated 
around the room like a great bronze gong, but whether this 
was a natural effect or merely the product of some strange 
acoustic trick in the cave, Echelli could not tell. "It 
has been long centuries since I saw one of your kind. 
Indeed, I have not seen one since before I forsook the 
starlit lands." Amusement rolled in the great metallic 
voice. "Why so surprised, curalli? Do your kind no longer 
teach their youngsters lore? Has it been so long since a 
redfyre was seen above ground?"
    Echelli scolded himself as he tried mentally to form a 
proper reply. He had indeed heard of these creatures; the 
Masters at the School of Shadows, and even his father, had 
spun countless stories of their deadliness and cleverness. 
Indeed, Kormunth had borne a scar that Echelli had 
suspected was from an encounter with a redfyre. He 
swallowed, suddenly feeling sick. It was one thing to be 
lulled to sleep with horror stories, secure in the 
knowledge that their subjects were comfortably far away; 
it was another thing entirely to be confronted with a 
creature that seemed created specifically to spread death.
    The redfyre studied him, then gave an elaborate shrug, 
causing his claws to clack. "Ah, well. I have no time to 
chat, anyway. My mistress awakened me from my earthsleep." 
He stamped a hoof, and his golden eyes slowly began to 
glow blue, like the hottest flame at the center of a fire. 
The red light cast by his body flared into real flames, 
flames that licked hungrily at the wall as the bull took a 
majestic step forward. "It is the word of Tirosina that 
you should be punished." 
    Echelli could feel his battle-excitement building in 
him. Even if it would not have been death to flee- the 
flames could extinguish them all in these narrow 
corridors, and nothing, if he recalled clearly, could 
extinguish them- he would not have passed up this chance. 
It was a challenge, and his curalli heritage was strong 
enough for him to accept that. "Let my friends go?" he 
asked lightly, readying his dirks.
    The redfyre snorted in surprise and lifted his head, 
seeming to look beyond his quarry for the first time. "Ah, 
a death Elwen! I have not seen one of your kind since the 
beginning of days. And hoofed cousins." He nodded toward 
Dancer, who was on his hooves and trembling with his own 
anger, and Chance, who was lying still, seemingly 
transfixed with a mixture of wonder and fear. "Well met, 
my kin."
    Echelli could feel Dancer bristle mentally and 
hastened to speak before an impulsive deathtrotter comment 
made this situation any worse than it already was. "Will 
you let them go?" he repeated, stepping toward his 
opponent once more, holding his attention.
    The redfyre hesitated, then shrugged a second time, 
pincers bouncing in time with his rolling shoulders. "I 
truly have no heart for much killing this early after my 
sleep," he declared. "And I made a practice while above of 
granting a last request to a victim. Yes, they may go."
    Echelli turned and nodded encouragingly at Corya, 
hoping she would take the hint. The death Elwen narrowed 
her brown eyes and spoke through their permanent 
telepathic link. ^I don't know what foolish plan you have 
in mind this time, Echelli, but you're doubly a fool if 
you think I would leave you.^
    The curalli frowned at her and also spoke mentally, 
one eye on the redfyre. Luckily, the bull was scraping at 
the wall with one hoof in a bored manner, and from what 
Echelli could remember the intelligent cattle could not 
sense mental conversations. ^Corya, I do have a plan with 
a chance of working, but only if you trust me. I had 
forgotten it until today, but I have something that may 
help me. I'm wise enough to know that I can not survive 
the flames of a redfyre in this narrow chamber, but then 
neither can you. You must retreat. Please.^
    Corya eyed him for a moment, then abruptly flung her 
arms around him, holding him close. ^You had better be 
telling the truth, Echelli Durillo,^ she warned, hugging 
him fiercely. "Good-bye, my friend," she said aloud, 
sounding as if she were on the verge of tears. "I will 
never forget you."
    Echelli, uncomfortable even with contrived fussing, 
freed himself and nodded coolly to the deathtrotters. The 
more like a curalli he appeared- dismissing the equines as 
simple animals was something one of his kin would do, and 
it subtly signaled overconfidence- the better a chance he 
had of surviving this. Truth to tell, though, if his plan 
worked, he would need no pretense. He knelt swiftly by his 
pack, opened it, and checked the contents. Then he handed 
the bag to Corya, whispering loudly, "Don't let the bull 
see those documents." Across the chamber, he saw the blue- 
golden eyes light with curiosity, and smiled to himself. 
He turned to face his foe, listening as Dancer and Corya 
nudged a protesting Chance up the tunnel behind him. He 
breathed a silent sigh of relief that he hadn't told the 
younger deathtrotter his plan. She would have either 
blurted it out or insisted on staying at his side. Either 
action would have been fatal- for all of them.
    "I'm ready," he said calmly, pretending not to notice 
the shrewd look in the bull's eyes. The redfyre actually 
thought he had documents of some import in that pack, when 
saying so had just been a cover for opening the bag. Now 
he unobtrusively palmed the real reason for his opening of 
the pack, slipping it over his neck and tucking it swiftly 
under his tunic. As he faced the redfyre, he felt its 
cool, reassuring presence against his skin. If the bull 
looked, he would see only a necklace of purple beads. 
    But this necklace was far more than a piece of 
ornamental jewelry. Given to him thirty-five years ago by 
a viaquia he had rescued, it would- just once, the giver 
had warned- protect him from some danger that might 
otherwise kill him. Echelli's memory was churning with 
redfyre stories now, and he had no illusions that the bull 
would fight fairly. More likely, in his haste to 
annihilate Echelli and find the imaginary "documents" in 
the curalli's pack, he would simply lash with a burst of 
searing, magma-hot flame, confident in his knowledge that 
no enemy could survive it.
    As if Echelli had read his mind, the redfyre stepped 
forward, the flames flaring and billowing ever higher as 
his golden-blue eyes narrowed with an amusement he no 
doubt thought concealed. "Ready when you are, curalli," he 
announced mockingly, slipping into a courtly bow with one 
foreleg bent below him. Then he stood and lashed out with 
the flame.
    Echelli instinctively began to lower his body 
temperature, but, feeling the first vestiges of heat, 
realized he must trust to the necklace to protect him. No 
Elwen, save for perhaps a flame Elwen, could have survived 
this heat; it was a wonder the redfyre could survive it. 
Echelli gasped, sweating already, and collapsed to one 
knee, trying to catch his breath but only irritating his 
lungs with the superheated air. 
    Then the pure flash of the flames was upon him, and 
the shadowed Elwen tossed his head back, screaming in 
agony as the flames licked him for the barest of moments, 
turning his silver-white skin red on his unprotected face 
and arms.
    Unprotected, that is, save for the necklace- a sunset 
ruler's necklace, Echelli had once heard it called. He 
felt its heat at his neck like a second pyre, and then the 
redfyre's heat parted and weaved around him. Echelli saw 
the purple slowly bleed out of the beads, leaving them as 
transparent as ordinary glass baubles. He gripped his 
dirks and sailed toward the staring bull, snarling. Now 
was the time to attack, while the redfyre was too confused 
to send any flames against him.
    Dirks sank into the hide, ripping it open, and it was 
the bull's turn to scream. Boiling red blood poured out, 
but Echelli had fought foes who used their blood as a 
weapon before and had already dodged out of the way, 
blades weaving a path toward the gleaming eyes. The 
redfyre hesitated, not daring to use even its fire so near 
those precious organs of sight, and in went Echelli's 
dirks. Slow trickles of blood slid to the floor, and then 
he was away with another leap, keeping a wary eye on the 
hooves, horns, and claws of the blinded redfyre.
    The monster seemed to go berserk for a moment. He 
whirled in place, stamping the floor with scarlet hooves 
and bellowing aloud in a hoarse voice. He reared like a 
horse, somehow balancing all that weight on a pair of 
relatively short and stubby hind legs, then dropped back 
to all fours with a crash that shook the cave. "Curalli!" 
he roared, turning toward Echelli. Bloodied pits seemed to 
look straight at him. "You may have taken my eyes, but I 
can still smell you. However, this time I want my food 
cooked, not burned to a crisp. I shall gore you and then 
flame you." One hoof scraped the floor with slow purpose, 
and the great dark horns lowered to face Echelli's 
midsection. A wicked laugh bubbled out of the thick, 
rubbery lips as the redfyre surged forward, snapping his 
claws wildly in all directions.
    Echelli, knowing that he must not be caught in the way 
but also not daring to leap over his foe, in case he 
landed on that burning red back, simply whirled out of the 
way. The long, wickedly curved horns caught in the stone 
and clung there for a moment as the bull tried to pull 
them out.
    A moment was all Echelli needed. The battle-light 
flared to a brilliant crescendo inside of him, and he dove 
forward, urged by that battle-love into recklessness. 
Twisting and turning, his slim Elwen body skimming around 
the legs like a bird among trees, he dodged under the 
stamping hooves and began to saw away at one with his 
blades.
    The redfyre's scream of triumph was almost palpable, 
and it left an obnoxious taste in Echelli's mouth. The 
bull reared above him, ready to move backwards and place 
his front hooves where his hind ones had been. Echelli 
tensed also, waiting for the proper moment.
    Just as the bull began his downward arc, the curalli 
leapt forward, sliding out from under him. However, his 
dirks, as always, were busy. They tore a long slash in the 
redfyre's underbelly as, once again, the cavern shook with 
the hooves' impact. Echelli recovered his feet with an 
acrobatic twist and waited patiently for the monster to 
resume his.
    However, it soon became apparent that the contest 
would not resume. The redfyre lay still, panting mightily 
as his burning blood ran out of the long cut. It was not 
heartsblood, not quite, but it might as well have been. In 
a moment, his movements stilled, and Echelli's straining 
ears heard the great heart cease its beats. Then he was 
alone in the cavern, panting quietly, unmarked save for 
the redness of his face and arms. Lifting his head, he 
called softly, "All clear."
    Corya stepped from the doorway and ran to him without 
a word, ignoring the grisly trophy lying inches from her 
feet. She examined his burns with professional concern. 
"Can you heal these, or is your magic exhausted by the 
battle?" she asked.
    "Magic?" Echelli shook his head and unobtrusively 
tugged the necklace from his throat, hiding it in the palm 
of his other hand. "I used no magic."
    "How-" Corya began, then shook her head. "Never mind. 
I don't want to know." Turning, she motioned to Chance. 
The younger deathtrotter pranced up with their packs in 
her mouth, spat them on the ground, and then turned 
shining eyes on Echelli. To his discomfort, the curalli 
saw admiration in their magma-red depths.
    -That was some battle, huh? But I bet you've done 
things like this all your life- said Chance, shifting from 
hoof to hoof as she eyed him.
    Dancer pushed past Chance to nuzzle Echelli's cheek, 
his frigid nose soothing the curalli's burned skin 
somewhat. -Perhaps he has, young Chance, but if I had my 
way, he wouldn't-
    Echelli chuckled and warmly ruffled the snowy mane of 
his mount. "Now, Dancer, let her dream of glory. She'll 
most likely come to it in her own way and own time."
    -Yes, but she is so insufferable, begging for stories 
of battle and heroics- said the stallion, with a pained 
look. -She keeps saying that she's going to write a 
history of the Sublimation, and so she has to know 
everything about it- where the troops were, who died, why 
they died, how they died- all that. My throat has grown 
hoarse explaining that I can't help her, since I didn't 
fight in the Sublimation-
    Echelli winced as Corya began to apply a cooling cream 
to his arms. "Chance, listen. If you stop asking Dancer, 
I'll talk to you. I did fight in the Sublimation, and-"
    That was as far as he got, since the young mare began 
dancing around him, her eyes starry as she begged for 
stories. It took Corya and Dancer together to calm her 
down, and that wasn't before she'd managed to extract a 
promise from Echelli to tell her stories on the morrow. 
    The curalli would have fulfilled his promise at that 
moment, but he needed sleep- a sleep not filled with 
restive demons. He had dropped in place and was asleep 
before the others had finished planning what to do with 
the bull's body.
----------------------------------------------------------
    He awoke some hours later, at least as far as he could 
tell. The redfyre was gone, and Chance was sleeping in its 
place, as if resting on that spot would make her more 
heroic. Echelli smiled, shook his head, and sat up, 
absently toying with the necklace, which had returned to 
its purple color but now lay dull and unresponsive in his 
hands, without its customary glint of gold. He knew what 
that meant; it was time to pass it on.
    He was pondering which member of his group could make 
the most use of it when it slipped from his hands and 
rolled into a cleft between rocks. He cursed faintly, then 
sighed. Before, the beads had been warm and seemingly 
eager to stay with him; now they were cold and intent on 
sliding from his hands. He dug his fingers into the cleft 
and rooted around, hoping to catch the necklace's string.
    And then he recoiled and screamed in agony as a 
throbbing lance of pain shot up his arm.




                        Chapter 2
                   Tirosina's Vengeance
    Panting, Echelli hastily withdrew his hand from the 
cleft and stared at it. The fingers where the pain had 
come from bore tooth marks, and were reddened as if a 
miniature redfyre were hiding in the cleft. Narrowly, he 
watched the crack as he pulled a dirk from its sheath. 
There came a soft sound, the scrape of scales against 
rock, and a long, slim animal slid into view. Echelli's 
breath caught in his throat, his heart momentarily 
becoming as motionless as the redfyre's.
    Dear gods, no.
    The snake, wearing a beautiful and yet somehow 
repulsive pattern of mottled greens and purples, flicked a 
forked tongue at him. Dull, lifeless black eyes watched 
him as he drew back the blade to put an end to its life. 
It reared up like a cobra suddenly, hissing, but vanished 
as his dirk struck it, puffing into harmless, useless 
smoke. As it drifted away, he was certain he heard a dull, 
mocking laugh somewhere near. He drew a deep breath and 
slipped the steel back into its sheath.
    He turned a grim eye on his hand. Already the nails of 
the fingers that had been bitten were soft and gray, and 
the lower parts had become blackened. He touched them with 
his right hand and winced. The darkened flesh was already 
spongy, a testament to how fast the poison of the little 
snake worked.
    So. He'd been bitten by a vipiri; apparently the 
stories were true after all. He searched his mind for 
stories of it, quite calmly, knowing that he would panic 
otherwise. It seemed that he remembered, if any part of 
any limb were so much as scratched by the tooth of a 
vipiri, that limb blackened and softened and eventually 
dropped off. If untreated- although the stories had never 
mentioned how it could be treated- the rest of the body 
would do the same. One thing was very clear. The poison 
brought agonizing pain. Echelli rubbed his left arm, up 
which twinges were already shooting. It seemed the last 
few months of his life- for the poison was very slow- 
would be quite painful.
    Those were his first thoughts. His second was that, 
under no circumstances, must Corya be allowed to see this. 
It would either panic her or cause her to search for a 
nonexistent cure. Even more importantly, Echelli's pride 
wouldn't let him do it.
    He bound his hand in a soft cloth, then withdrew into 
a fissure and donned a silver tunic with long sleeves. It 
would be a few days before the infection progressed any 
further, and while the infected area was small he could 
hide it. It was only later that he would begin to have 
problems.
    Just as he slipped into the main cave again, Corya 
stirred awake. Glancing at him and smiling, she whispered, 
"Good morning."
    "Perhaps, or perhaps not," Echelli said lightly, 
relieved to find that he could still make a joke. So, his 
mind wasn't occupied with thoughts of his mortality. That 
would make it all the harder for Corya to heart-read him. 
"It is for us, but the sun has probably been up in the sky 
for long hours. Still, I could do with some breakfast. 
Care to join me?"
    Corya nodded, and Echelli turned to his pack, which 
still sat by the cleft, since he had dragged it there to 
bandage his fingers. Carefully, testing, he curved the 
wounded appendages around the strings of the pack and 
smiled in victory. Infected they might be, and soft, but 
he could still do things with them. He wouldn't have any 
trouble until his whole limb was given over to the poison.
    Gritting his teeth, he forced the thoughts away and 
drew out several pieces of dried fish. "Let's make a 
fire," he said on impulse, gesturing to the center of the 
cave. "I'm tired of cold meals, aren't you?"
    The churni raised an amused eyebrow. "Certainly. But 
how are you going to make flames burn here? There is no 
wood."
    "No, but there is this." Praying that he wouldn't seem 
to be showing off, the curalli released a burst of flame 
from his stores of magic. It hit the rock and caught on 
nothing in particular, burning merrily. The curalli smiled 
blandly at the open awe in Corya's eyes. "There's a trick 
to it," he assured her, snaking his hand into the cleft 
and swiftly snagging the necklace this time. "Just as 
there was a trick to how I survived yesterday." He waited 
until she turned curious eyes toward him, then tossed her 
the necklace. The throwing motion helped to cover the 
swift shake his arm gave as yet another twinge of pain 
crept up it.
    Corya caught the necklace and examined it with every 
sign of pleasure. Echelli saw that its purple beads had 
become infused with touches of gold once more, and he was 
willing to bet that it had grown warm in her hands. "It's 
a sunset ruler's necklace, given to me by a- friend," he 
said smoothly, to cover his sudden hesitation. He was 
afraid Corya might not trust it if she knew it was a 
viaquia artifact. "Once, and once only, it can protect the 
one who wears it from a danger that would otherwise kill 
them. That was how I lived through the initial burst of 
the redfyre's flame. However, once it has served its 
master, it becomes useless to that person, and he or she 
must pass it on."
    Corya glanced shyly at him, murmured a soft thanks, 
and then tossed her blue hair back, slipping the string 
around her neck. The beads slid and clicked together, 
their violet color reflecting on her ebony skin.
    "Perfect for you," Echelli complimented her softly, 
watching as the necklace's magic adjusted itself subtly, 
deepening the golds and lightening the purples so as to 
give Corya the most flattering hues. "And I'm not saying 
that just because I'm your friend," he added quickly, 
winning another smile.
    The death Elwen's fingers tangled in the string and 
slipped along the surfaces of the beads, as she turned her 
head away. Echelli could have sworn that she was flushing, 
though it was hard to tell, with her ebony skin. He raised 
an eyebrow. It took a lot to embarrass one as bold as 
Corya, and he hadn't thought he'd said anything 
particularly embarrassing.
    He was forced to put it out of his mind as Chance 
stirred nearby and raised her head, red eyes fastening at 
once to his face. -You promised me stories- she said, 
somehow managing to sound petulant and eager in the tones 
of an adult deathtrotter.
    "He'll have to tell them to you while we figure out a 
way back to the surface." Corya glanced back at the 
curalli, all traces of heat fading in her cheeks as a 
worried expression invaded her face. "Echelli, I checked 
the first parts of several tunnels last- whatever you want 
to call it- while you were asleep. None looks promising. 
All continue downward, not back to the surface, and none, 
as far s I could smell, have side passages. They're simply 
straight, smooth corridors sloping down. I'm willing to 
bet that, except for the tunnels going in totally opposite 
directions, they link up eventually to become one path. 
That won't do us much good. I suggest our best course is 
to go back and try the stone at the entrance. Perhaps your 
magic can move it. I know how much you dislike using it," 
she added quickly, "but, please, Echelli. For the 
deathtrotters at the very least, the time we spend in the 
tunnels away from food could be a matter of life and 
death."
    Echelli nodded reluctantly, climbing to his feet. 
"Very well. Since we have no other recourse, let's go 
back. This encounter certainly didn't turn out to be 
profitable." Absently, he rubbed his wounded arm, then 
glanced quickly at his companions. Luckily, they were 
paying attention to the nearing tunnel, not to him. He 
breathed a silent sigh of relief. 
    Until his eyes met Chance's, and he saw a knowing 
spark in them that made him start nervously. He was 
half-afraid that she might say something, but she turned 
her head away and spoke calmly. -Despite what Dancer told 
you, my history of the Sublimation is a very serious 
endeavor. I need to collect every story and every varied 
viewpoint that I possibly can. I'm lucky a deathtrotter's 
lifespan is so long; I'll have an opportunity to question 
many more races. If you would begin, please-
    Echelli, despite his tension, did manage to talk about 
the battle in a reasonably bland and calm voice, and the 
stories did seem to make the travel less.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Because they knew there were no sudden pitfalls or 
secret side tunnels in this passage, they were able to go 
far faster on the way back, and emerged into the entrance 
chamber at almost a trot, both deathtrotter and Elwen 
style. Echelli, knowing that his reluctance would only 
grow if he put the chore off, approached the stone and 
leaned against it, summoning his magic. As always it 
answered with a gleeful roar and a rush of warmth that 
made him wince with awe and not a little fear. Suppose, 
one day, he was summoning his magic not for practical use 
but for the pleasure he got from using it? That was what 
he was truly afraid of.
    Once he was concentrating, the stone began to rock 
under his hands. It took a great heave of magic, both 
willpower and mental, to heave it out of the way, but 
finally it went bouncing off down the mountain slope and 
they stood blinking in early starlight. Lureth, the golden 
moon of autumn, was only just rising from the hills in the 
east. They had spent a good part of the night and a whole 
of a day underground. Considering that we might not have 
emerged at all, thought Echelli dryly, that's pretty good.
    Of course, if they had never gone underground in the 
first place, he would not have been bitten by the vipiri, 
and he would still have a life to look forward to...
    Echelli fought to quell his bitterness. He didn't want 
to spend his last few months forever holding down self- 
pity or terror. He'd been dead before, after all, although 
Corya had exercised death Elwen magic both times to bring 
him back, and he had accompanied the spirit of a dying 
curalli to the stars while still alive, so he knew what to 
expect. He had looked death in the face too many times to 
be such a total stranger as most were. He simply wouldn't 
think about it.
    "Echelli?" A soft hand touched his shoulder. "Stars, 
you look sad. Is something the matter?"
    The curalli's body stiffened with true panic, an 
emotion he experienced so rarely that it left an 
unfamiliar taste in his mouth. She mustn't be allowed to 
suspect! He answered casually. "I was thinking that it's 
been several nights since we allowed ourselves to sing to 
the stars."
    "We couldn't risk revealing our location to enemies," 
said Corya, and from the tone of her voice he could tell  
she was frowning. Growing up among a people who had 
disdained most music, even their own, she was more used to 
doing without elwensong than he was.
    Echelli turned his head, making sure she saw his 
fleeting smile and decided it was the cause of his 
wistfulness. "Tirosina's servants have taken the revenge 
they so desperately seemed to want, and I don't think they 
were expecting us to emerge so soon. We surely would have 
smelled any posted sentries. I'll sing lowly. Please?" His 
last word became a heartfelt plea before he really 
realized it. Music meant more to him than he cared to 
think.
    Corya's brown eyes softened, losing their indecision, 
and she patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Perhaps I am 
being paranoid, Eche. Go ahead, sing. You seem to need 
it." Echelli was not fully certain he had heard the last 
whispered words as he smiled thankfully and lifted his 
head to face the glittering stars, his need burning 
through him.
    He knew with the first note that this was the best 
elwensong he had yet produced. Silvery notes played a 
cadence whose higher octaves he had never suspected 
existed, and the purity and innocent joy of the music, in 
direct contrast to his keen feeling of mortality, simply 
inspired him to fill the air with even more beautiful 
elation. The pain and need, inexplicably linked together, 
slowly died as he poured unshed tears into song, and his 
tense body relaxed. Even the tingling in his arm quieted, 
at least until the outflow of liquid melody stilled. He 
took a deep breath and glanced at Corya, an apology for 
the volume of the music on his lips.
    The churni was staring at him with tears glimmering in 
her eyes. Before he could say anything, she threw her arms 
around him and held him so for a long time. Uncomfortable, 
he tried to squirm away, but the song seemed to have 
strengthened her somehow, and she freed him much later 
than he wanted to be freed, wiping a tear from her cheek. 
"That was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard," she 
whispered, both eyes and voice wistful.
    Echelli smiled in relief. Not only had she not 
complained about him losing himself to the song, he had 
brought her joy as well. Though Corya sang, there was 
always a certain reserve in her notes, a barrier, as 
though she did not allow herself to feel the complete joys 
of music. It was the one place where their personalities 
were reversed, where Echelli was the free rather than the 
inhibited.
    "After that song, I feel like riding," Corya announced 
cheerfully. She glanced at Chance. "What do you say, old 
girl?" she asked, playfully swatting the black-gray 
shoulder. Her hand raised a cloud of dust.
    Chance turned her head to give her rider a dignified 
stare. -I am neither old nor a girl-child. Still, I'll 
agree to a ride-
    -That goes for me as well- said Dancer, speaking for 
the first time since they had left the redfyre's chamber. 
Seeing the satisfied gleam in his red eyes, Echelli 
privately suspected he was happier to be back on the 
surface than he had yet shown. His next words confirmed 
this. -Deathtrotters were not meant for tunnels- he 
announced, shaking his head and then shuddering his coat 
as if he could rid himself of whatever unidentifiable 
tunnel grime he objected to.