Guarding The Shadows
                         Prologue
            1014, Age of Arcadia, Late Summer
    "All the gods that exist damn it."
    "My lord?"
    Elshar Deathwield stiffened for a moment, then 
convinced himself he hadn't heard a tone of disapproval in 
the voice and turned, motioning for the seeress to answer 
with a strained smile. "Darlindra," he said. "Have you 
seen anything that might let us prevent a war in the 
eastern Tableland?"
    Darlindra kept her eyes on the floor. Elshar was 
almost positive that she did not approve of what he was 
doing, but if she didn't like it, she was keeping it to 
herself. "No, my lord."
    Elshar didn't hold himself back this time. He cast the 
scroll he had been studying across the room and cried, 
"All the stars that exist cast it into the Oblivion!"
    "What, my lord?"
    Elshar glanced back over his shoulder. Darlindra was 
paying attention now, her wide and shocked eyes fixed on 
the scroll he had thrown. He wasn't supposed to do that. 
It was a prophecy, and the seeress- as well as most other 
death Elwens- respected the power of prophecy too much to 
even treat the written words that way.
    "It's a copy of the Prophecy of Veneret," he assured 
her, moving up to stand beside her, so that she had to 
twist to look up at him. "No more."
    "Even so-"
    "Nothing is happening the way that it must to bring 
the prophecy to pass," Elshar snapped, clenching his 
fists. There appeared yet another in the procession of 
shocked expressions on Darlindra's face. Churni, and 
especially churni nobles, weren't supposed to show that 
much emotion. Elshar was reveling in doing it for 
precisely that reason, of course. 
    "I don't know what the Forces of Death think I can do 
without that help and guidance," he continued, ignoring 
the impulse to shut up that Darlindra's eyes had given 
him. "What do they want of me?"
    "Perhaps you are not the one who is meant to fulfill 
the prophecy, my lord," Darlindra dared to suggest.
    Elshar smiled a little at her, grimly. She wouldn't 
have dared to say that if she hadn't been shocked into 
defiance by his improper display of emotion, but that 
didn't matter. He wanted someone to argue with, and she 
would do as well as another. 
    "Then why did they give the prophecy to us?" he asked. 
"And why did they let the seeresses of the Deathwield 
Klaina be the first to unravel it?"
    "We must trust in the Forces of Death, my lord. They 
know what they are doing."
    "Perhaps," said Elshar, shrugging his shoulders. "But 
that means that they could be working against us, and 
still know what they're doing- and what we are doing, as 
well- while we have no such knowledge." He ended on a 
bitter note of laughter.
    Darlindra stood there with her eyes wide, staring at 
him. Elshar smiled at her, and knew there was bitterness 
in the corners of his face. "What is it?" he asked.
    "My lord..." Darlindra was whispering. "To even 
suggest that the Forces of Death are working against us, 
their children..."
    Elshar began to glimpse the enormity of his mistake 
then, but he pressed on, choosing to take it as if it 
mattered less than it did. "Surely you must realize that 
they do as they like, and not always, of course, to the 
churni's benefit?"
    "My lord!"
    Elshar blinked. Darlindra was kneeling on the floor, 
her hands clasped above her head. It was something like 
the bow that healers used to nobles, but not very. "What 
are you doing?" he asked.
    "Praying," she whispered. "You have called down the 
curse of blasphemy on yourself, my lord. To stand there, 
and declare that the Forces of Death would ever work 
against us..."
    Elshar closed his eyes. Yes, he had made a mistake, 
and a very great one. He had transgressed, and this time 
without good cause, the boundaries of his station. It was 
the nobles, and the Lord or Lady of the Klaina in 
particular, who were supposed to bear the burden of that 
knowledge that, it was feared, was too great for the 
healers, the servants, the guards, and the seers.
    Elshar had always thought that was silly, had always 
thought that someone with an ounce of sense must realize 
that the Forces of Death, capricious as they were- they 
had only interfered in the stars' creation of the churni 
people in the first place because they wanted children- 
must occasionally work against even those they claimed to 
love. It appeared that he had been wrong.
    Or, at least, not everyone was ready to grasp what the 
knowledge might mean.
    "Rise, Darlindra," he said softly, when he thought she 
had prayed long enough to make her feel as if she had done 
something. "Really. The Forces of Death will not blame you 
for what I did, simply because you happened to be standing 
nearby when it happened."
    Darlindra peered at him over the edges of her hands. 
"That's not why I'm afraid, my lord," she said stubbornly, 
still not rising to her feet. "I'm afraid that they will 
destroy you for your insolence."
    "And?" Elshar felt his eyebrows creeping towards his 
hairline. It was rare that he had absolutely no idea why 
one of his people was acting the way she was, but this was 
one of the times. "Why would you care if they destroyed me 
for that? According to you, I would certainly deserve to 
be destroyed."
    "Like it or not, my lord, you are right." Darlindra 
rose to her feet, smoothing the folds of the myan, the 
robe-like garment the seeresses wore, about her. "You are 
the only one who might be able to do something about this 
Prophecy, since it seems to have found its fulfillment in 
someone who is not death Elwen and not subject to control. 
And you are the only one who has enough experience with 
the world to do so in a rational manner, not bound by the 
old customs."
    "Thank you," said Elshar, a quiet kind of amusement 
restored, though not much. "I think."
    "But there is one thing that you might consider, my 
lord."
    Elshar, who had started to turn back to the Prophecy 
of Veneret, looked back at her. "What is that?"
    "Our customs, our laws... they are old. Yes." 
Darlindra held her hands out. "But they have endured for a 
reason. We need them, and there are times that we have 
needed them to survive."
    Elshar felt his gaze softening, with confusion if 
nothing else. "I know that," he said quietly. "I did not 
realize that I was giving the impression that I was 
disregarding the heritage of our people."
    "You are not. But you are pushing the boundaries. 
There are those things you think have no value." Darlindra 
hesitated. "For example, not making those around you bow 
when they come into your presence, leaving the choice up 
to them."
    Elshar cursed under his breath. "You are the first to 
notice that," he admitted. Other than Rheedue, of course, 
but then, Rhee was closer to him than almost anyone else 
was.
    "I know." Darlindra paused again. The pool in her 
cheek was revolving quickly, a sign of temper- or fear, 
Elshar reminded himself, keeping his gaze firmly on her 
face. Other than that pool, her features, as dark-skinned 
as his own, were calm and showed no sign of the words she 
spoke. "My lord, that is dangerous."
    "Why?"
    "It could indicate weakness, just when you need 
strength the most."
    Elshar tensed. She seemed an unlikely assassin, but he 
had survived literally thousands of attempts, and some of 
them had come from death Elwens. It had to be considered. 
"What do you mean?"
    "There is rebellion among the Klainai, my lord. Some 
of our people would retreat from the world if they could."
    Elshar sighed. "Don't they realize that that's 
impossible, now?"
    "Of course. But they don't want to realize it. Just 
as- just as I don't want to think about what you said." 
Darlindra swallowed. "Please, my lord. Think about it. You 
have thousands of years left to you still, and you have 
made great changes in the three millennia you have ruled. 
Consider slowing down."
    Elshar nodded. "Thank you, my lady." He bowed to her, 
the bow he might give to another noble, and then he turned 
back to the Prophecy.
    Darlindra hesitated behind him for a long moment, and 
he knew that she was wondering what the bow had meant, if 
it was just the simple courtesy it seemed, or if there was 
some greater and deeper significance there. Then she 
retreated down the hall.
    Elshar smiled, but it was a smile that quickly dropped 
off his face. He kept more control and more balance than 
Darlindra or those like her who saw only the surface 
changes realized, control and balance that manifested 
itself in small games like this.
    Games that he wished he could stop playing.
    He picked up the Prophecy and ran the scroll through 
his fingers again, his eyes fixed on the words that told 
of strange images, some of which might come to pass in 
reality, some of which would be only the way that the 
prophetess had seen particular things in analogies and 
reflections. He still couldn't figure it out, and 
Darlindra was right about one other thing: the center of 
this power lay far away, in a young land Elwen who owed no 
loyalty to the churni.
    Damn it.
    One thing he could do, at least.
    Elshar closed his eyes and reached out, gently, 
respectfully. Could Darlindra had witnessed him at that 
moment, he thought sarcastically, she would have been 
surprised at how many hundreds of the minor traditions he 
was keeping in that moment.
    ^Yes?^
    The voice in his mind was not that familiar, but then, 
it didn't need to be. Elshar had only touched minds with 
this woman once, but that had been enough to imprint on 
his mind forever the sensation and the soul of her.
    ^My lady Faemar,^ he said, addressing a noblewoman of 
the Deepen Klaina, the Klaina just above Deathwield in the 
Order, the Klaina that had largely retreated from the 
world because their magic was too powerful to control. The 
woman he spoke to at the moment had retreated for other, 
more personal reasons, but he knew that he could speak to 
her and be understood and accepted far more readily than 
he could by anyone else in his Klaina or hers. ^This is 
the Lord Elshar Deathwield. I have a matter of magic 
appearing in some of my lineage that I do not recognize.^
    He felt Faemar's interest grow sharp. She was an 
accomplished viaqelsulib, a blood-reader, who concentrated 
on the more obscure gifts that might appear in a line. ^I 
would be honored to investigate, my lord. Where did you 
see this magic first?^
    ^Used in assassination attempts against me.^
    There was a little silence, and Elshar feared for a 
moment that he might have shocked her past her ability to 
endure. Faemar was more than sixteen thousand years old, 
near the end of her life in just another few millennia, 
and she sometimes reacted to violations of the churni laws 
and customs as if they meant the destruction of the entire 
Order.
    ^My lady?^
    ^What is our world coming to, when such things can 
happen?^ she whispered.
    Elshar smiled a little sadly, his fingers stroking the 
edge of the paper he held. He was more than eleven 
millennia younger than Faemar, and he knew that she had 
seen more and learned more- and forgotten more- than he 
ever had.
    Why was it, then, that he was so much better-prepared 
than even the wisest of his people to deal with the world 
pushing in around them?
    ^I am sorry, my lady,^ he said softly. ^But it is in 
the hopes of preventing something worse from coming to our 
world that I seek these answers about the magic that may 
have cropped up in Deathwield.^
    ^Of- of course.^ The Lady Faemar recovered in seconds. 
She was really much stronger than she looked in person, 
Elshar thought in admiration. ^My lord, is there something 
that you can give me?^
    Elshar described the corrosive light that the Lady 
Delenta, the sister of the executed Lord Carlian, had used 
against him. Faemar listened, and he could feel her 
astonishment deepening as it continued.
    ^I have only heard of something like that once,^ she 
said.
    ^Was it in another Klaina?^ asked Elshar, thinking 
this might be nothing but a strange gift of an obscure and 
forgotten marriage.
    ^It was not churni magic at all.^
    Elshar stood there for a moment, thinking. ^I believe 
I know what that means,^ he said at last. ^But I would 
like to be sure. Will you look through the old records 
again, and be sure?^
    ^Of course,^ said Faemar, her words distracted. She 
was already thinking about the various possibilities, 
Elshar thought with a faint smile. ^The scroll that I read 
was older than I am, but I think that I can find a copy of 
it, or talk to others who might remember that time 
itself.^
    ^That time?^
    The reluctance that colored her mind explained her 
before she ever answered in words. ^I would not want to 
give you false information, my lord.^
    Elshar nodded, both mentally and physically, in 
understanding. No, he would not force her out of the dance 
she wanted to perform, the little stately dance that 
demanded perfection of a noble of one Klaina speaking to a 
Lord or Lady of another Klaina.
    ^I will await your answer, my lady.^




                        Chapter 1
                     Of El‚n And Lare
    "What is most important to us but home and family? And 
should we not be able to choose those things, as we choose 
so many other things in our lives?"
    -Attributed to Elian Alian, Last of the Starseekers, 
Lordsinger.

    Thunk, tha-thunk, tha-thunk, thunk, tha-
    Lononi found himself turning away, bored and restless. 
Yes, the training with the arrows that the archers were 
undergoing was absolutely essential and crucial to the 
upcoming battle with the Council forces, but that didn't 
mean that he had to find it endlessly fascinating to 
watch, he thought.
    "Aren't you watching?"
    Well, here was someone who thought he did have to find 
it fascinating.
    Lononi glanced in mingled exasperation and affection 
at Chemil. "I don't think I'll ever become an archer, 
Chemil, good intentions or not." He nodded to the bow that 
he had put down earlier, just before one of the other 
archers threatened to shoot him for not coming anywhere 
near the targets. "Right before a battle is a bad time to 
be trying to train someone."
    "Lononi," said Chemil out of the corner of her mouth, 
keeping her eyes on the archers.
    "What?"
    "I won't have you helpless. Pick up the damn bow."
    Lononi chuckled. "Chemil, I have my magic, and I'm not 
as good as you are with a sword, but I'm passable. You 
trained me yourself. You should think that I'm more than 
passable, really."
    "You won't be fighting."
    "Just because they need the best fighters for this, 
and I know I'm not that."
    Chemil turned her head inch by inch, until her blue 
eyes, bright against her dark silver skin and when framed 
by her black hair, locked on him. Lononi searched her face 
for a hint of the teasing that must surely lie just behind 
the facade of her expression, and found nothing. Yet she 
had to be joking.
    "I think that Talis didn't choose you because he knows 
you're not the best." The words were delivered in a level 
tone, one that might have seemed absolutely calm if not 
for the way she locked her eyes on him when she spoke.
    "Of course-"
    "And since it seems that you won't aspire to be the 
best with the sword, then we must teach you to be the best 
with another weapon." Chemil stalked over, graceful as a 
hunting lioness, and then picked up the bow and turned to 
hand it to him.
    "Chemil-"
    Her knife was out in an instant, and poised less than 
an inch from his throat. Lononi narrowed his eyes, and 
tried to avoid breathing too deeply. He could actually 
feel the edge waiting there, waiting to deliver a deadly 
kiss.
    "Do it."
    The perils of choosing to make one's home and family 
among the curalli, Lononi thought wryly, as he accepted 
the bow from Chemil's hands. He loved them, and he thought 
he understood them at times, but he wasn't always up to 
doing as they did, and behaving as if all of life were one 
endless competition with foes better than he was, with his 
only purpose being to show them up.
    "Aim at the target."
    Chemil moved around him to allow him to do that, and 
Lononi dared a teasing comment, now that the dagger was no 
long kissing his throat. "According to some of your 
fellows, I can't even do that."
    "Lononi."
    Lononi avoided her eyes. Damn it. She had figured it 
out, then.
    He pulled back the string, nocked the arrow, and held 
it close to his cheek, so that the fletching brushed the 
skin by his eye. The other archers had stopped and were 
watching him, were watching this paleskin who had so 
unexpectedly joined them attempting to draw.
    Damn it.
    He had lived in the Forest his whole life. He had 
hunted food. Of course he wasn't incompetent with a bow. 
But he hadn't wanted to show that, for fear of becoming 
involved in the competition whether he wanted to be or 
not. He was already bound up in enough webs as it was, 
standing so close to Talis, whom most of the shadowed 
Elwens here considered their leader.
    He blew a lock of sunlight hair out of his face and 
waited, hoping against hope that they would get bored and 
go back to shooting their own arrows.
    "Lononi."
    Chemil's dagger brushed against his back. Lononi 
sighed and loosed.
    Even then, he thought a random gust of wind might 
answer his hastily-whispered prayer. But nothing happened. 
The gods, he thought, must hate him.
    Or favor him too much, he thought with a shiver as he 
remembered the Forces of Death.
    The arrow soared straight and true, striking the 
target pinned to the tree dead center. Lononi blinked in 
startlement. He wasn't normally that good. Good, yes, but 
not that good.
    "Did you do something to the bow?" he muttered to 
Chemil out of the corner of his mouth, acutely aware of 
the piercing stares.
    "You know the answer to that."
    Yes, he did- both answers. Chemil couldn't have 
tampered with the bow, at least in any way that the others 
wouldn't have sensed, but she would have liked to if she 
thought she could get away with it.
    The other curalli had been watching, still not saying 
a word. Then the nearest- the one, incidentally, who had 
told Lononi to put down the bow before she shot him- 
turned, nocking a shaft to her string and loosing it 
before she even stopped moving.
    The arrow soared.
    As if bound to it by invisible cords, the heads of 
everyone in the glade turned to watch it.
    The arrow smacked into the target. It was a good shot, 
Lononi thought. If the target had been an animal, or even 
an Elwen, she would have killed it without any chance of 
its survival.
    But it was a little off true center. Still a fatal 
wound in battle.
    But they weren't in battle, not right now. They were 
in the still more dangerous- in some ways- country of 
curalli competition and beliefs. 
    And those few inches- half-inches, Lononi thought, 
stubbornly- off true would make all the difference in the 
eyes of the other shadowed Elwens.
    The curalli made a little hissing noise under her 
breath and turned to look at him. "Do you think that you 
can win every contest between us, munth?" she asked, using 
the term among her people for Lononi's land Elwen people 
that also meant "offal" or "refuse." "If we battled with 
blades now, do you think you could win?"
    "No."
    The woman paused. He wasn't supposed to say that. He 
was supposed to challenge her, and then either win over 
her in that arena as well or fall beneath her blade, 
erasing her shame.
    Lononi held her gaze and waited. It would shame her to 
attack someone who wasn't actually challenging her- unless 
she was too angry to care, or unless she could invent some 
other reason that would satisfy those who were standing 
around and had seen.
    It was hard to be at ease among the shadowed Elwens, 
when any mistake, or even any achievement, could turn 
fatal in seconds.
    "My friend is not as good with blades as he is with 
bows," said Chemil, her voice smooth and soft. She moved 
up behind him, one hand resting on his shoulder in 
comradely fashion, but her dagger, unseen, remained 
pressing into his spine through the folds in his tunic. 
Lononi stood stiff and tried to look as if he were 
grateful for her protection. "But that doesn't mean he 
would not agree to a contest."
    "Chemil," Lononi tried to warn her out of the depths 
of his annoyance.
    "Yes?" She glanced at him with wide eyes, her mouth 
tilted very slightly up in a smile.
    "Don't do this."
    "Why not?" The smile became full-fledged, and she 
turned to nod to the curalli woman. "I am willing to trust 
that the wind blew that arrow a little off true, Sisilma, 
or else that you were nervous and that affected your aim." 
There were a few chuckles from the spectators, because 
that confession of trust contained its own insults. 
Sisilma stood still, though, her hands clenched in front 
of her. She was better than Chemil at bows, but Chemil 
could best her- as she could best almost anyone- at 
blades. "But shoot again. I think you can hit the target 
center-on."
    "And if I do?"
    "Then Lononi will shoot again," said Chemil. "And I 
will bet that he splits your arrow down the middle."
    "What is the bet?"
    Chemil's smile widened to a laughing one, her eyes 
shining with blue bliss. "I will grant you the right to 
scar me, if you wish."
    "Chemil, no!"
    Chemil's hand shot out and gripped his wrist, and 
Lononi winced under the pressure. The dagger pressed in on 
his spine at the same moment, and he stood still perforce, 
watching Sisilma's face as she considered the offer for a 
long moment.
    "Very well," she said at last. "And what do you wish 
of me as a forfeit, if you win?" Her tone was confident, 
as if she didn't think that that would happen. Lononi, who 
didn't think it would happen either, cast a glance at his 
friend that implored and entreated at once.
    Chemil ignored him, her eyes fastened to the other 
woman's face. Lononi wondered for a moment if Sisilma had 
done something to her outside this contest, something that 
made Chemil's desire for vengeance all the more personal 
and deep, and then decided that didn't matter. In fact, he 
couldn't know. 
    "I will claim your bow for Lononi."
    Sisilma started, and her hand closed around the bow 
she held. It was a work of beauty, Lononi thought, really 
noticing it for the first time. He had assumed that all 
the curalli were using training bows, but this one was 
made of carved and polished black wood, and had shining 
feathers of a most unusual blue-green color attached to 
both ends.
    "That isn't quite fair, Chemil," he muttered out of 
the corner of his mouth.
    "I know," she said, and smiled up at him before 
turning him loose with a pat on his hand. "Do the best you 
can to win."
    "That was a chance-"
    "Think about Sisilma's knife scarring me, if you 
really think it was," said Chemil, and stepped away, 
raising her eyebrow at him.
    Lononi winced, and looked back in time to see Sisilma 
draw and release. The arrow soared, perfectly this time, 
and hit the target dead in the center. Sisilma turned, 
dark eyes laughing and confident.
    "Your turn, paleskin."
    Lononi cast a final glance at Chemil, hoping she might 
change her mind. She shook her head at him. Of course, if 
she backed down now, she lost face. She wouldn't do that, 
any more than she would hand the knife to Sisilma and bare 
her back to the woman without something compelling her to 
do so.
    Like this stupid bet.
    Lononi turned to face the target, fitting another 
arrow to his string. He took a deep breath, thinking for a 
moment to use the anger at the thought of Chemil scarred 
to fuel his shot, and then realizing that that wouldn't 
really work.
    Instead, he made his mind crystal, calm and blank. 
When it was empty, he aimed and moved his arm just 
slightly to the side. He could feel the fear coursing 
through him, just under the surface, and hoped that he was 
doing a better job of concealing it from the curalli 
around him than he was from himself.
    He felt the flow of mental energy as a gift, luckily 
before he loosed.
    Turning, his fear and relief somehow transforming into 
anger, Lononi snarled, "Is this the way you fulfill a 
challenge, my lady?"
    Sisilma's face paled, but to her credit, she did her 
best to truth-dance her way out of it. "I don't- how dare 
you say such a thing?"
    "I felt the telekinesis," said Lononi. "As did most of 
those here, I would think. You were hardly subtle," he 
added, in a light but scathing tone he had learned from 
his mother. "You wanted to joggle my elbow and make me 
miss the shot."
    "No-"
    "Yes." Chemil was beside him, her eyes laughing, one 
hand resting on her hip. She liked this result even better 
than she would have if he had won Sisilma's bow, Lononi 
thought. This was a deeper humiliation for a woman she 
obviously didn't like, for whatever reason. "I felt you, 
my lady." Where Lononi had used the title in angry 
courtesy, she made of it something that mocked and taunted 
and was more insulting than a casual epithet would have 
been. "You cheated."
    The silence in the clearing was thick and breathing. 
Anything could happen. Sisilma might continue to deny it, 
or lash out at Chemil.
    Instead, she whirled and lashed out at Lononi.
    Lononi, perfectly in tune with the emotions flowing 
about him- it was something he had to be, something that 
let him survive among the curalli, the emotional magic of 
his people- set up a shield of magic in the air as her 
arrow flew at him. The shaft cracked into what was 
seemingly space so hard it split apart. As the halves lay 
on the ground, Lononi lowered his shield and flicked his 
eyebrows into his hair.
    "It appears that you have a little more to do, my 
lady, before you are as good as I am even at archery," he 
said, and then bowed his head and turned away from her.
    It wouldn't have been enough, he thought, with some 
other curalli. In fact, for a long moment he wasn't sure 
if it would be enough with Sisilma. He thought she might 
launch another attack at his spine.
    But she didn't. The delicate balance that needed 
always to be maintained between shame of one kind and 
shame of another one tilted in his favor this time. She 
decided that she couldn't kill him, or even attack him 
again, when everyone around them would just see it as a 
failure in the competition of emotions.
    Lononi heard her snort and then turned and launch 
another arrow at the target. It smacked home, but he could 
tell, even without the low curse that followed it, that it 
didn't come true in the center.
    He did well to keep his smile hid- and, he thought, to 
thank the stars that curalli couldn't feel emotions as he 
could, or he would have been in trouble.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "I am told that you didn't do as well in the archery 
as you could have done, without prompting."
    Lononi started and looked up. Talis stood in front of 
him, his eyes brooding and light at once. The laughter 
skipped and sparkled in them like radiance on a stream. As 
always, it was impossible to be sure of what or who he was 
laughing at immediately, even with the advantage that 
Lononi had in being able to read his emotions.
    "No, my lord." Simple truth was probably always best 
when dealing with shadowed Elwens- when it didn't make 
them so angry that they would kill out of sheer fury. 
Lononi hadn't always had luck judging that, but in this 
case he thought he was safe.
    "Why not?"
    Lononi considered that carefully for a long moment, 
and in the end saw no choice but the truth, again. "I 
didn't want to get involved in a competition that seemed 
stupid and wasteful."
    "Wasteful in what way?"
    "Of my life, and the Lady Sisilma's time and talents."
    Talis laughed, and Lononi relaxed. He trusted the 
feeling of the emotions that he was receiving from the man 
now. "At least you know well enough that she is a better 
fighter than you are."
    "I know that."
    Talis peered at Lononi, as if hearing a bitterness in 
his voice that the land Elwen certainly hadn't meant to 
put there. "I would use you in the battle," he said at 
last. "But this part of the Forest is very dry, and I 
truly fear that mishandled fire or lightning could set the 
trees and the undergrowth alike alight before we knew what 
had happened."
    "I realize that."
    "Then you would not be of use to us in the battle, 
even if you could?"
    Lononi let out a breath. At least two tests, or traps, 
in this one. Talis was waiting to see how he would respond 
to the accusation of weakness, as well as waiting for an 
answer to the actual question he had asked. "I think that 
my talents lie elsewhere, my lord."
    Talis smiled abruptly, and the smile was as sincere as 
the laughter a little bit earlier. Lononi sighed in true 
relief as the man's hand descended on his shoulder and 
squeezed. "I know that," he said. "I have not forgotten 
that you saved our lives. And I have not forgotten that 
you were the one who refused to betray the Forest, even 
for the sake of my son."
    Lononi smiled, this time able to respond fully and 
comfortably and from the heart. "You will retrieve 
Kormafa, my lord. That I do not doubt. And I do not think 
that anything they could ever do to him would make him 
betray the home he loves."
    "I know."
    Talis squeezed his shoulder once more and moved off. 
Lononi let his eyes follow the leader of the curalli for a 
moment, the Lord of Coldfire, the bitterest foe of the 
Council and their interests in the Forest, whether those 
interests were only for timber and silver as they had 
professed, or in power over the hearts of his people. So 
strong. Even with his son in the clutches of the enemy, he 
wouldn't think about surrendering.
    In fact, Lononi was sure that the thought hadn't even 
crossed the mind of Kormafa, young as he was.
    "Aren't you disappointed that you won't be able to 
come with us?"
    Lononi started. Chemil could still creep up on him 
unnoticed, though he was more alert and more stealthy than 
he had used to be. Ignoring her smirk, he replied, "I am 
doing something useful here."
    "Of course. Acting as rearguard, as Talis put it. Do 
you realize that he only said that so that you could 
salvage some scrap of pride?"
    "It worked."
    Chemil seemed to recognize that he did not want to 
fight, and dropped the query. "I want you to be ready to 
come in on our side, even so," she said, slipping her bow 
over her shoulder and checking her weapons. "You shoot 
very well, you know."
    "Chemil-"
    "I know." She lifted her eyes to his, and beyond the 
battle-light, the hunter's glow that made her look like 
nothing less than the most predatory of killers, there was 
true understanding. "You don't want to kill Elwens. But 
you've slain them in the past, Lononi. What is the 
difference now?"
    "I- I was defending myself. This feels different." 
Lononi let his gaze move away from her, seeing that she 
didn't understand, letting his eyes linger on the leaves 
of the Forest, which he also loved and which were less 
judgmental of him.
    Chemil's hands caught his chin, but she didn't turn 
his head back towards her. Perhaps she sensed how badly he 
needed to look away in that moment, and so let him, but 
Lononi thought it was more that she wanted to let him 
preserve a shred of dignity. "I know it's hard," she said. 
"But this is even better. We are seeking them out and 
destroying them before they can bring harm to the Forest."
    Lononi looked at her and gave a strained smile and 
nod.
    "You don't believe me?"
    "Remnants of the honor and principles that my mother 
drummed into me." Lononi shook his head, as if just by 
doing that he could scatter the last of the principles 
that his mother had given him, and that he didn't want. He 
had chosen his own people and principles, and he had to 
act true to them. "Not anything that will make me less 
faithful to your cause."
    "I'm not worried about you being faithful," said 
Chemil, her eyes trained on his face. "I am worried about 
you being happy with us."
    Lononi, his mouth already open to change the subject, 
found himself without one. He didn't think that he could 
have possibly heard her correctly, but she had spoken the 
words, and they burned and rang in his ears.
    He held her gaze, wondering just what it was that she 
was saying behind the words. He was having trouble reading 
her emotions, as it seemed he was having more and more 
often lately. What did she really want to say? What did 
she really mean?
    "Chemil!"
    One of the curalli who would be going shooting with 
her called. Chemil started, as if pulled from a dream, and 
then the hunter's glow was back and surging like a dancing 
forest fire in her bright gaze.
    "Remember what I told you," she said, and was gone 
before Lononi could ask which part.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "Now."
    It was just a small word, but it seemed to travel the 
ranks of the curalli army and then back again like a prick 
in the spine with a dagger- or like the first word of a 
charge, which it was in a way, thought Lononi as he stood 
beside Talis.
    In his case, it was the signal for a very specific 
action, and as Talis extended an arrow coated with a 
sticky black substance to him, Lononi held out his hands 
and called magical fire. This much he could dare. The 
stuff would not really burn, but smolder. He touched the 
flame to the pitch-like substance, and it caught, the 
smoke filling the night.
    All along the ring of curalli who had found and 
encircled a small group of Council agents sent to burn the 
Forest, flames flared and then were doused in the ensuing 
smoke. Lononi took a deep breath, and then coughed and 
choked. Somehow, he always forgot that the concoction the 
curalli used on their arrows to create the smoke smelled 
and tasted foul. He always thought it was supposed to be 
sweet, like the freedom it represented.
    "Now."
    A second whisper, and this time it meant something 
else. Lononi stepped back, and then watched as Talis 
leaned back, aiming high. He couldn't even guess what the 
curalli's keen eyes were seeing. Though Lononi could see 
in the dark like all his kind, his eyes didn't have the 
prowess of a curalli's in the night.
    But, from the small glimpse he got, he thought Talis 
wasn't really seeing the camp before him, wasn't seeing 
where he would take aim. He was looking at the distant 
Council fortress where his son was held captive, thinking, 
maybe, about going to rescue him.
    Then he shot.
    The arrow arched high and far, a perfect shot as far 
as Lononi could tell, as long as Talis hadn't been aiming 
for one part of the camp in the clearing in particular. It 
didn't appear as if he had been. The purpose of the arrows 
was to disguise and spread the poisonous smoke, not kill. 
Talis achieved that.
    The Council agents in the camp, mostly land Elwens, 
had of course been keeping watch, thinking the curalli 
more likely to attack in the darkness of the night, where 
they were most at home, than during the day. But that 
didn't matter. They weren't alert enough. No outsider 
would ever be alert enough to catch a shadowed Elwen 
moving through his or her Forest home.
    "Curalli!"
    Lononi flinched and smiled a little at the same time 
to hear the cry arise, calling out the word that he heard 
spoken around him all the time, or spoke himself, with 
such love and reverence. This voice held rage, and fury, 
and hatred.
    And more than a little of the cold, dark terror that 
was most usual to intruders in the Forest.
    "Curalli!"
    Talis clapped Lononi's arm, and sent him a glance that 
spoke more firmly than any words that he was to keep 
himself safe. Lononi nodded back, he hoped firmly. He 
would do his best to stay safe. He knew that Talis needed 
him, if not for his fighting skills.
    Then Talis dashed ahead, and was lost in the multitude 
of smoking fires and closing bodies. Here and there, 
Lononi saw some suppressed fire flicker on blades or show 
a dodging shadowed Elwen clearly, but they were stamping 
out the flames. The fire itself had done its work. It was 
the smoke that was important now, spreading out and 
choking the land Elwens, as well as making them faint with 
the disgusting smell. 
    And, not incidentally, destroying their nightsight, 
already inferior to a curalli's.
    It was a battle that he had to listen to, more than 
watch, and as far as he could tell from that, Lononi 
thought the battle was going fairly. He could hear the 
land Elwens calling magic, could sometimes see the bright 
flash of it- particularly from those who were intelligent 
enough to realize that damage done to a tree would hurt a 
shadowed Elwen far more than any damage wreaked against 
flesh. 
    On the other hand, such damage was also apt to make a 
shadowed Elwen made enough to charge into battle without 
pause, killing and killing and killing.
    He heard death screams, and sometimes the sound of 
booted feet slamming the earth in a brief flurry as the 
curalli met land Elwens who were a little better-prepared 
than the rest.
    But mostly, he felt it.
    It was not something that anyone who was not land 
Elwen would even have noticed. But Lononi, sagging against 
the tree where Talis had left him, felt the pain wash over 
him like waves of fire, and then the anger on the heels of 
it like acid.
    Then came death.
    Death, to his mother, had felt like something hot and 
fiery. To Lononi, it felt cold, almost as cold as the 
dreaded black rage that curalli could be roused to by 
destruction of their Forest. He felt it enwrapping 
combatant after combatant on the battlefield, and could 
only hope that Chemil was not among them.
    Then two land Elwens stumbled out of the smoke near 
him, coughing and choking. They looked up and saw him, and 
the face of one lightened with hope. 
    "Come with us, brother," he said, in musical accents 
of flawless Aril, recalling to Lononi the way that his own 
mother, Sinasta, had spoken the language. "They are 
strong, yes, but we can still defeat them if we fight well 
enough."
    Lononi, his heart flooding with mixed emotions, 
decided that he had to ask a question, as much as his 
training was screaming at him to pick up his bow and 
simply finish them. "Why did we come on this mission?" he 
asked passionately.
    The eyes of the one who hadn't spoken yet widened, and 
it seemed as if he might answer, but he was too busy 
coughing and choking as the wind blew a second blast of 
the smoke in their direction.
    The other one, drawing back from the smoke, had all 
the answer he thought he needed, apparently.
    "Because the Council, the rightful rulers of Arcadia, 
want us to crush this rebellion in the Forest," he said, 
face shining brightly.
    Lononi closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, then 
pulled his bow from his back.
    "Oh, well done!" said the one who could speak. "They 
took mine from me and broke it, I think. If you will let 
me-" He reached towards Lononi, obviously not thinking 
that there was any danger.
    The forms that his mother had drilled into him would 
have demanded that he step back and address the land Elwen 
as an enemy at that moment- or, more precisely, would have 
compelled him to give his allegiance to his kin over 
anything he felt for his chosen family and home.
    For a long moment, Lononi hesitated, listening to 
them, and that meant that the land Elwen almost came close 
enough to grab his bow.
    Then he stepped back.
    The other land Elwen's face showed nothing but 
confusion, and that was mostly what Lononi felt from the 
choking one as well, though it was accompanied by dawning 
suspicion. "What is it, brother?" asked the other man 
softly, his eyes, as bright a green as the eyes of the 
father that Lononi otherwise barely remembered, soft with 
concern. "Were you wounded in some way?"
    Lononi shook his head, his pulse beating in his 
throat. Damn it, he had done this before...
    Yes, he had killed. But not with a bow. Not shooting 
land Elwens who weren't carrying them. He had slain with 
his magic. 
    That was different.
    Oh, of course, said Chemil's voice in his head. Of 
course it is. But they are dead in the end, no matter how 
you kill them.
    Lononi felt his breath coming fast, his heart still 
speeding, caught between one world and another.
    Then the choking land Elwen, regaining his voice, 
decided their fate.
    "Take the bow from him, Dermend. He obviously is 
wounded too badly to know what's been happening. We have 
to kill more curalli to help the others."
    They killed curalli.
    They would kill Chemil.
    If he let them.
    The crystal of his mind, which he had tried 
unsuccessfully to summon when he was fighting with Sisilma 
over something that wasn't that important, snapped into 
focus. He aimed and loosed, taking Dermend in the chest 
while he was turning to his companion with a patient look 
on his face and an explanation waiting on his lips. He 
fell, one hand going to the shaft in his chest, the 
explanation turning into a squeal as the arrowhead scraped 
audibly across his ribs.
    He fell.
    His companion didn't pause to ask why Lononi had done 
it, as perhaps he would have done if he had been Dermend. 
He lunged forward, swinging a sword that was just a little 
slower than it should have been, probably due to the smoke 
he had swallowed.
    Lononi shot him as well, and this arrow took him in 
the throat, where Chemil had always told him to shoot, 
instead of for the heart, where there was too much chance 
of the weapon lodging on ribs.
    As it had with- the other.
    Lononi forbade himself to think of the man's name as 
he walked across the grass to him and bent over him. His 
victim sighed, his eyes fluttering open, hardly able to 
make out through the intense smoke, Lononi supposed, who 
was there.
    "Cyran?"
    No, he would not think of the other man's name, 
either. It was just what he had had to do, what he had 
owed his friends and family.
    Especially his family.
    But he owed something more to himself.
    He drew a knife he held and then pulled it, in one 
quick motion, across Dermend's throat. There was another 
question, he thought, hovering on the Elwen's lips or lost 
in the depths of his eyes; and then it was lost forever, 
swallowed in gathering blood.
    Lononi stood, wiping his knife off on his pants leg- 
he knew that most of the curalli would have cleaned it on 
their enemies' tunics, but he simply couldn't do that- and 
then turned to Cyran. He was dead, though, the arrow 
having worked the first time, and didn't need to be sent 
off as Dermend had.
    It probably said something about the nature of the 
world, Lononi thought as he wiped the blade again, that 
the one he would have preferred to leave alive was the one 
whose throat he had to slit.
    Something sad and terrible about the nature of the 
world.
    "Well done."
    Lononi jerked to his feet, feeling his heart start 
against his own ribs so sharply that he thought for a 
moment he would faint. Blackness swam in front of his 
eyes, and yet he was turning, the knife held in front of 
him, the bow sliding off his back and onto his arm almost 
without a pause. The voice had spoken in silvery-accented 
Melli.
    "Peace. I mean you no harm."
    The gift that would allow him to detect deception did 
not buzz, indicating that the words were not a lie. Of 
course, the Council controlled magic that would fool that 
gift...
    But Lononi found himself inclined to trust the words. 
It was far more likely that a Council agent would have 
attacked him at once, to say nothing about the likelihood 
of a land Elwen who had chosen to fight for the Council 
knowing Melli.
    "Who are you?" He managed to ask it calmly, his head 
turned to the side rather than switching wildly in all 
directions as he wanted to do.
    "A friend."
    "That is hardly reassuring."
    "Why?"
    "If you were a true friend, you would have helped me 
in the battle." The right. The voice was coming from the 
right. Lononi started to slink around, to put the nearest 
tree at his back, and then hesitated. Chemil's caution 
beat in his mind: Some of the Council agents carried bows 
that could shoot arrows through wood, or crossbows that 
could do the same thing. And he hadn't had a chance to 
check how thick the tree was.
    It was the kind of thing he always thought of too 
late, Lononi scolded himself furiously.
    "I don't think so." The voice was a soft, assured 
murmur, as though he could not help but agree with an 
argument so compelling. "I didn't know that you were going 
to attack them until the last moment, and then it looked 
as if you could handle yourself. You must admit, you were 
not the most eager warrior."
    Lononi felt heat creep up his neck. For a moment, he 
was happy that the smoke was too thick to see.
    Then he remembered this was a land Elwen, and could 
assuredly feel his emotions.
    There came a chuckle that sounded faintly mocking. "Do 
not worry," said the stranger. "I will tell no one, 
including the shadowed Elwens, that you were- shall we 
say, reluctant- to use the training they have been giving 
you. I understand your reluctance."
    "Do you?" Again, the words had not sounded as a lie. 
Again, as the Council had taught him, that didn't mean 
anything, really.
    "Yes. I myself have chosen my el‚n, my lare." The 
voice gently spoke the words Lononi himself had used, the 
words that the curalli would not have used or understood.
    El‚n. The word meant chosen home- not just in the 
sense of the place where one dwelt, but in the sense of 
the system of honor that one had chosen to live by, the 
people one lived with, the surroundings one chose. So his 
mother had taught him, and so he still believed. 
    Lare. Chosen family, those people one adored because 
one chose to adore them, not because one had been born to 
or among them and so had no choice. For an Elwen, it was a 
precious gift, a choice made that negated the fact that 
one could not choose who one was born to or among.
    All things the curalli did not understand, did not 
even consider. They held loyalty to what they were born 
into, and while they could accept that someone might 
choose to imitate or become as the curalli, they could not 
conceive of someone born to it choosing otherwise.
    Neither could Lononi, not really, but that wasn't what 
bothered him. It was that, for the curalli, only two 
choices existed. One was with them, or against them. There 
was no middle ground. There was no chance that a shadowed 
Elwen could have chosen to leave the Forest and become as  
a land Elwen without them crying the name of traitor on 
his head.
    Lononi took a deep breath and shook his head, a little 
confused. Then he understood the truth, and his eyes gaped 
as he rotated his head once more in the direction of the 
speaker, not caring how silly he looked. 
    "It was you," he whispered.
    "What?" The voice was low, amused, self-assured, 
though Lononi thought he detected just a touch less 
assurance in it than before.
    "You touched my mind and put those thoughts into it," 
he continued, his voice swelling more strongly as he 
thought about it. "You were the one. They might have 
agreed with what was already there, but it was your voice 
I heard speaking in my head, inspiring me to seek those 
pathways in the first place."
    There was silence. Then the voice said quietly, "He 
did not lie. I am impressed. This will be more challenging 
than I thought."
    "Who are you?"
    The speaker's voice moved. Lononi was not sure how. He 
should have heard some movement- though he supposed 
centuries of practice might have the same effect as the 
curalli's training in their Forest, in the end- but he had 
not. The voice was just suddenly coming from the left. 
"Someone sent to make you think."
    "I have thought," said Lononi shortly, falling into a 
crouch and putting his back against the tree after all. 
The man just might be playing with him, but, on the other 
hand, he might not have a weapon that could punch through 
a tree after all. And he wasn't in a position now to shoot 
through the tree at Lononi's back in any case.
    "And?"
    Lononi flinched in spite of himself. Something about 
the light, mocking tone of the voice- perhaps because it 
sounded like his mother's?- made the simple word more 
scathing than any taunt of the curalli.
    "I have thought," he said. "And I know that this is 
the place where I belong, the place where my heart 
resides." That was another part of the definition that his 
mother had given him.
    "Oh, I know," said the man, and his voice puffed, 
gentle as a breeze or a laugh, and full of amusement that 
was not the less hurtful for being so gentle. "And I 
admire you for it. But what do you think they would do, if 
you were to change your mind? Or if one of their own were 
to choose something different?"
    "That is your thought, and not mine," said Lononi. "I 
need not consider it."
    "What will you be if you do not consider it?" The man 
laughed again, soft and low, and his very tone served to 
make the next words he spoke all the more compelling. His 
voice might have been a weapon, sharpened to its purpose, 
deadly and strong. Instead of a wound in the body, though, 
it opened a wound in Lononi's mind.
    "You have thought of things like this before. I felt 
your mind before you loosed the spirit of the Chur Potona 
Rallar. You recognized that your enemies had lives beyond 
the battlefield. You knew that you were killing more than 
just enemies by killing them, more than just the part of 
them that had chosen to oppose the curalli. You accepted 
that, and I can understand, even honor and admire, that.
    "But what about this? Can you stand that your chosen 
people, who claim to be the epitome of freedom, who claim 
to be fighting to defend their own freedom, will not allow 
freedom to one of their own who might make a different 
choice?"
    "I- your words are twisted," said Lononi, his eyes 
closed and his mind working harder than his body had in 
the battle as he tried to fight his way out of this trap. 
"If I am able to accept one contradiction, one irony, I 
should be able to accept the other."
    "Ah, but there is a difference. In the first 
situation, your foes attacked you, forcing you to make a 
decision. In the second, those who wish to leave the 
curalli- not betray them, which is a different thing- are 
not free to do so. Must you take only the way the shadowed 
Elwens would want you to take? Does choosing them as your 
el‚n, and some of them as your lare, mean that you must 
also adopt their blindnesses?"
    "Yes."
    There was a pause. Of course, there was no way to be 
certain- Lononi was now sure that the man must have tight 
emotional barriers, as he was able to sense absolutely 
nothing from him- but he thought that the stranger hadn't 
expected that answer. "Why?" he asked at last. 
    "Because I accepted all of them," said Lononi, 
straightening. His voice came more confidently now. "All 
of them, even their blindnesses, even their violence, even 
that which unsettles me at times. I had to, in order to 
accept the things I love."
    "And do you love them so much that you will not 
require them to change?" asked the voice, soft and no 
longer amused. "Do you really think that they will thank 
you for allowing them to remain as they are, if they ever 
come to see the world as you do?"
    "They won't."
    "Really? And if they someday change their minds, will 
they not be angry with you for having this kind of clear 
sight long before, and still not forcing them to forsake 
their blindness? Will they not see this as a betrayal?"
    "You are twisting nebulosities into nebulosities," 
said Lononi, his anger bursting forth at last. Smoke rose 
from his palms, sweet-smelling in comparison with the 
fire-breath the curalli had loosed, and almost enough to 
restore the sight to his eyes. "You are composing 
situations that may never happen, and constructing 
metaphors that take what is real and twist it into what is 
not."
    Soft laughter followed him as he turned to leave.
    "Very good," said the voice. "I was waiting to see if 
you would be able to pass the initial test, and pick out 
the truth I was guarding in the midst of my words. You 
did. Now I will tell you what I really came for."
    "To kill me?"
    "No. To sound you out. I meant it when I said that I 
meant you no harm. I am trying to make you think that 
complexities exist, and if you think that any choice is 
final, you are a fool."
    Lononi hesitated. These sounded like thoughts that he 
had had himself, long before this man- or so he thought- 
had come to him.
    He thought.
    How could he be sure?
    "You must be sure," said the voice, now coming from 
just a few feet in front of him. Lononi squinted, and 
thought he caught a faint outline, now that the smoke was 
dissipating, but he could not be sure. "You must make the 
choice, say the curalli, cleaving to them and never 
turning away again.
    "How ridiculous." The voice was sneering now, and that 
smirk in the voice was more of a lash than the mockery had 
been. "To not be able to change your mind, to not be able 
to give things that you have up if something greater and 
better comes along!"
    "There is such a thing as loyalty." Lononi was on 
firmer ground now. This was an argument that he had had 
with himself, when deciding whether to forsake his 
heritage and go to the curalli. That loyalty argument had 
been unshakeable in his own mind.
    The other's answer proved to him something he had 
forgotten in instants: that just because he could not make 
arguments against it, that did not mean that others would 
not be able to.
    "Yes, there is. And what are you going to be loyal to? 
The things that you love most? The things that you decide 
on one day? What about the things that you were born to?"
    Lononi hissed as doubt flared in his mind. "Why do you 
torment me so?" he asked.
    The stranger ignored him, pressing on, his voice 
whispering, whispering, lading Lononi's mind with things 
he didn't wish to think about. He turned his head to the 
side, but, for some reason, he was unable to just cover 
his ears. 
    "Could you not see that by turning to the curalli, you 
were betraying the things you were born to, the things 
your mother tried to teach you?"
    "How long have you been watching me?"
    "Does it matter?" the voice sighed. "Not for this," it 
immediately answered. "Every choice is a betrayal, Lononi, 
and by choosing to stay true to some things you are 
betraying others. You cannot rid yourself of betrayal. You 
can only judge- as you must- what things are most 
important to you, and then stay true to those, ignoring 
the other, minor betrayals."
    "I have," said Lononi tightly. "I have chosen to be 
part of the curalli. I thought, from the words you used, 
that you understood that."
    "I would not have guessed that your choice was final, 
not from the way you fought. Any curalli would have been 
on them at once, kicking at their groins, slitting their 
throats, or perhaps making sure to torture them first, if 
he thought he had time."
    "That is because he would not be thinking," said 
Lononi, and then groaned as he saw the logic trap into 
which he had just walked.
    The voice rose in triumphant laughter. "Just so, my 
lord Lononi. Tell me: would you really be happy if your 
curalli heart had overwhelmed all else? Or are you in that 
state already? If you are, then why did you hesitate, and 
almost let the one take the bow from you? Why was it only 
the danger to those whom you love that roused you, and not 
the danger to yourself?"
    "My life is less important than the lives of others," 
said Lononi.
    "And that is land Elwen all over," said the voice in 
some satisfaction. "Gold you are, bright and still shot 
through with the blossoms that your mother tried to 
cultivate, for all that you are doing your best to choke 
the soil with weeds."
    "Damn it!" cried Lononi. "Yes, I come from two worlds. 
What is your purpose in reminding me of it?"
    The voice did not answer, unless a rapidly fading 
giggle could be considered an answer. Lononi turned, 
unleashing a rapid stream of epithets.
    And then stopped.
    Talis stood behind him, staring at him, his pewter 
eyes bright with something that was neither anger nor 
hatred, but almost perfectly balanced somewhere in 
between. Lononi cursed again, but more softly this time, 
and with more fervor, dropping his eyes to the ground.
    He knew now what the voice's purpose had been.
    Talis spoke to the curalli who stood on either side of 
him, without taking his eyes from Lononi; Lononi could 
feel the weight and heat of his gaze, even without looking 
up at the Lord of Coldfire. "It appears that Lononi still 
has some doubts after all. Keep a watch on him, and let me 
know if he seems on the verge of forsaking his choice, or 
embracing it. Either way, whether I must kill him or 
welcome him back, I would like to do it myself."
    He turned his back and walked away into the 
dissipating smoke.
    Lononi sighed and looked up at the stars. "I wish that 
you had answered one of my prayers tonight," he whispered. 
"Would that have been so hard?"
    "You belong here. Why can't you see that?"
    Lononi turned to meet Chemil's eyes, shaking his head 
a little. "I can't be just curalli, Chemil. Why can't you 
just accept that?"
    Chemil stared at him, then snorted and walked into the 
trees. His guards escorted him after.
    Lononi thought that he could still hear fading 
laughter somewhere in the distance. 
    "All the gods that exist damn it," he muttered, and 
then subsided as one of the guards poked him, though they 
couldn't keep him from thinking it.
    Damn it.


                       Intercession
    ^I am sorry, my lord-^
    ^Please, my lady Faemar, it is no trouble.^ Elshar sat 
up, shaking sleep out of his mind and eyes, and quelling 
the Deepen noblewoman's immediate horror. She had awakened 
him in the middle of the night, a severe misstep in the 
dance of manners, but it was not one that he wanted her to 
regret. For her to have contacted him so abruptly and at 
such a strange time meant that she must have some 
important information to impart. ^Please, tell me. What 
have you found?^
    Faemar watched him tensely for a long moment in the 
mental world, the delicate greens and blues there 
indicating her uncertainty, and then she nodded stiffly. 
^If you are sure, my lord-^
    ^I am.^ Elshar made sure to check his impatience. She 
wouldn't tell him if she wasn't sure that it wouldn't 
bother him.
    Faemar said hesitantly, ^Then you will want to know 
that no such magic has ever appeared in the Deathwield 
line or any other Klaina.^
    Elshar sighed and closed his eyes. ^I thought so, but 
I had to be sure, my lady. And I knew that no one else 
could tell me as quickly and surely as you could.^
    Where almost anyone else would have accepted that with 
a soft mental glow of thanks or at least pleasure, there 
was silence. Elshar opened his eyes, frowning slightly.
    ^My lady, did you hear me? I said-^
    ^Yes. I wonder at your motives in praising me. It is 
said that you do nothing without a reason, my lord, and 
even less with a simple reason.^
    Elshar smiled in spite of himself. It would be nice, 
for once, to have someone trust him as if the words he 
spoke meant only what he said.
    On the other hand, anyone who thought like that would 
probably die soon, and deprive him of an ally he had come 
to treasure.
    ^I contacted you because I needed to know as soon as 
possible,^ he admitted freely.
    ^And the praise just now?^
    ^Was sincerely meant.^
    ^And more than that?^
    Elshar smiled a little, curious. It was not often that 
the Lady Faemar showed so much interest in anything 
outside her own studies.
    Well, perhaps she did not want the information she had 
gathered to be misused- although it was hard to see how it 
could be.
    ^I meant it,^ he said. ^Beyond that, you need not 
concern yourself.^
    ^Truly?^
    The question was mild, but Elshar thought he heard 
something more behind it. Just as Faemar had heard 
something beyond his words? he thought, but his power was 
already rising in answer.
    ^My lady,^ he said softly. ^I think I know what this 
magic is being used for- to spy on my movements and harm 
the churni. Do you doubt that I want what is best for our 
people?^
    ^I doubt not that you want what you think is best for 
our people.^
    Elshar blinked, then smiled slowly. Defiance was 
almost as heady as having someone simply trust his words, 
and he had not experienced either in almost as long. ^Some 
might take that as an accusation of treason, my lady,^ he 
said calmly.
    ^Against you? Or cause for an accusation against me?^
    Elshar laughed aloud. He was close to the boundary 
where he would have to assert his power, but he didn't 
think that he cared. He would happily dance on the line as 
long as he could. ^Both, my lady. Truly, my lady, I asked 
you for your help, and that has been given. You need not 
concern yourself further.^ It was the gentlest warning he 
could give, gentler than had been necessary for years. 
Usually, those bold enough to move against him required 
killing, or at least a stern reminder that he was the Lord 
of Deathwield, the most powerful mage in churni history, 
and the most powerful death Elwen noble in the five 
Klainai at the moment.
    ^I wish to concern myself further.^
    Elshar blinked. It was something he would never have 
expected her to say.
    ^My lady,^ he said as carefully as he could, ^this 
concerns the Council of Arcadia.^
    ^I know that.^
    Elshar sighed. At times like this, the ironies of his 
existence were almost intolerable. ^I can never make up 
for what Kuolema Deathwield did at my command those years 
ago,^ he said.
    Faemar was silent. Elshar returned the silence, 
patient as he waited for her to come to the conclusion she 
had to come to. The child she had chosen to guard and 
protect had had to be destroyed as a threat to the churni 
race, and it was an Ender, a Council assassin who was also 
a Deathwield noblewoman, who had done so, destroying 
Faemar's efforts to protect her. For that failure, Faemar 
could not forgive herself, and so she had withdrawn from 
the world.
    ^I understand.^
    Elshar's eyebrows rose. ^You do?^ That was not the 
impression that he had received, the one time he had met 
her briefly all those years ago. He had not hesitated to 
ask her for help, knowing that her passion for her study 
was the greater and deeper one than her love for that 
child she had known only for a few months, But actually 
asking for more beyond that...
    ^You are not asking me,^ said Faemar sharply, 
apparently picking up the thought from the back of his 
mind. ^I am giving it.^
    ^Why?^
    ^I do not wish to see another child destroyed as the 
first one was.^
    Elshar frowned, truly baffled now. ^My lady, have you 
information I have not?^ he asked, taking a little more 
formal diction on purpose. If she knew something about the 
Prophecy of Veneret and had been withholding it, it was a 
serious offense against her people.
    ^No. But this Lononi is a child, I think, or still 
very young. I do not think that the working out of the 
Prophecy requires his sacrifice. I would wish that you 
recall your assassin, and if you do so, I will work with 
you to make sure that something else can be done, 
something that will not demand the young land Elwen's 
death.^
    Elshar shook his head. ^My lady, admirable is your 
offer. But I do not think that I could recall my assassin, 
even if I wished to. He is in the Forest now, and he has 
undoubtedly made contact.^
    ^Not killed him?^ asked Faemar, sounding surprised.
    Elshar smiled thinly. You are well-informed indeed, my 
lady, but I do not think you know everything. ^No,^ he 
said. ^He does not like to kill- or rather, he does it in 
his own ways. He will have spoken to his prey, I think, 
and he will have planted the seeds of doubt, likely. That 
is the way he works, by winding his prey in confused 
circles with thoughts they think are their own, until they 
have no choice but to do something drastic to escape the 
logic mazes.^
    ^That does not sound very effective.^
    ^He has never failed a kill.^
    ^Recall him,^ said Faemar. ^I will swear by the stars, 
or the Forces of Death, or anything else you like, that I 
will help- with my magic, my knowledge of history, or 
anything else- to preserve this life, as once I could not 
preserve another.^
    ^I cannot recall him,^ said Elshar, breaking the news 
as gently as he could. ^He chooses to work for me, and 
chooses to kill in his own ways. He will not come back 
simply because I call him. In fact, calling him will make 
him the less likely to come back.^
    There was a long silence. Then Faemar said, a little 
more sharply than Elshar would have thought she would 
dare, ^My lord, will you explain something I do not 
understand to me?^
    ^Of course,^ said Elshar, as courteous as he could be 
when he was tensing his mental muscles for battle.
    ^Why did you loose something that you could not 
control on someone so important to the future of our 
people?^
    Elshar blinked. ^My lady, it is important that he be 
removed. I do not believe that he matters to our people 
other than that.^
    ^He is the center of a Prophecy!^
    Elshar blinked uncertainly. ^The Forces of Death favor 
whom they will-^
    ^Not the Forces of Death,^ said Faemar insisently. 
^The Prophecy. Did you not learn the difference between 
the two things?^
    ^I was taught the seeresses received their gifts from 
the Forces of Death, and so of course those gifts would be 
the same as-^
    ^No.^ Faemar's voice was a whiplash, and Elshar had 
the feeling that she would not apologize for it. ^No, my 
lord,^ she did remember to add a moment later. ^The 
Prophecy takes on a life of its own, and that grows 
stronger the closer it comes to the time or event that 
necessitates its fulfillment. It may choose a center away 
from the churni, even a person who is not suceptible to 
death Elwen control. It has happened three times before in 
history, and one of those was the child I swore to protect 
and could not.^
    Elshar was silent for a long moment, as much out of 
respect for the deep purple hues of her anguish flickering 
and searing in his mind as to consider what she had just 
told him.
    ^But we did manage to control that child,^ he said.
    ^By destroying her. We could not convince the Prophecy 
to turn back to us. We snapped it. We did not let it 
continue. This Prophecy could stop, my lord, if you kill 
the one who carries it, but that does not mean that it 
will benefit the death Elwens.^
    Elshar closed his eyes. I hate the hard decisons, he 
thought to himself.
    Faemar chuckled sharply in his head. Only then did 
Elshar realize she had heard his lament. ^Then do not make 
it yourself,^ she said. ^Let me help. Do what you can to 
recall the assassin, or at least convey to him that you no 
longer wish him to kill the land Elwen. I will do what I 
can to think of some way of bringing the Prophecy back to 
the fold.^
    ^You are willing to do this for the sake of a land 
Elwen you have not met?^ Elshar had to ask. He could 
understand her feelings for the other child. There, she 
had lived with her for several months and come to know 
her. But she didn't have a chance to meet Lononi, or come 
to know him.
    ^I am sure.^
    ^Then I accept your offer, my lady, and I will do what 
I can to recall the assassin.^




                        Chapter 2
                  The Evening-Blue Lake
    "Never ally with someone stronger than you are. Of 
course, sometimes you might think it necessary or even 
advisable, but I assure you, they will turn on you in the 
end and devour all you are."
    -Attributed to Sinasta Kormakeren, the Councilmaster 
of Oak in the early days of the Age of Arcadia.

    Lononi blinked a little when he finally rose enough 
from his misery to realize that they weren't going back to 
the clearing where they had met before. "This isn't the 
way," he protested, probably stupidly as he saw with 
hindsight, to the guards on either side of him.
    They reached up and tightened their hands on his arms. 
They hadn't actually been holding him before, probably 
thinking they could catch him before he bolted. But now 
they hustled him along.
    "Where are we going?"
    "You don't need to know," said the one on his left, a 
tall woman whom Lononi knew slightly; he thought her name 
was Arada. He had never seen her smile, at least not that 
he remembered.
    The other one, a short man Lononi had never seen 
before- probably an ally from a distant village- remained 
silent, scanning the shadows as if he expected them to 
awaken and attack at any moment.
    "I want to know."
    Arada hissed under her breath and turned her head to 
look at him. Lononi was more than a little startled at the 
flash in her eyes. She hadn't felt angry to him, but it 
was obvious that she was.
    "I am only doing this duty out of loyalty to my Lord 
Talis," she said, biting off each word as she spoke, and 
speaking forcefully enough that Lononi would have wiped 
the spittle from his face if he hadn't thought the move 
would anger her beyond endurance. "If the choice were up 
to me, I would have slain you where you stood and left 
your body to burn. You betrayed us, paleskin. All your 
kind are weak, and you have proven it yet again. But the 
Lord Talis wants you brought along for some reason. So I 
am guarding you. Better me than someone else. If you 
betray us again, then my dagger will find your back before 
protests can be made."
    "Should you be saying that?" asked Lononi, tilting his 
head at the male curalli gripping his right arm. The man 
turned his head and sneered, but didn't speak, letting 
Arada answer for him.
    "Kethri agrees with me. He won't lift a hand to help 
you, or anyone for that matter save me, if you try to 
betray us again."
    "I didn't-"
    Then they broke through into sunlight, and Lononi 
stumbled, blinking. It had been near midnight when the 
attack on the Council agents had begun. He truly hadn't 
been aware of time passing since then, so intent was he on 
trying to prove his innocence, and he certainly hadn't 
realized the sun was so high in the heavesn.
    It was, though, high enough to shine like fire off the 
water in front of them.
    The water seemed to form a round lake, at least from 
what Lononi could see of the gentle, perfect shores before 
they stretched out of sight. He blinked and ran a hand 
through his sunlight hair to get it out of his face, 
realizing in the same moment that Arada and Kethri had let 
his arms go.
    This must be their destination.
    The lake shimmered very slightly, a purer blue than 
any Lononi had ever seen. The trees framing it were black, 
with luxuriant green leaves as yet untouched by the colors 
of the coming autumn. He could see birds hopping in the 
branches, untroubled by the silent approach of the 
curalli, and one of them- one he didn't know- sang as if 
to break the heart.
    "What is this place?" he breathed. He had certainly 
never known that so much water lay in the heart of the 
Forest, let alone so near.
    "The meeting place," said Kethri, his voice low and 
rough compared to Arada's. "And now that you have seen it, 
you truly will not betray us, paleskin. You will die first 
before you leave here unescorted."
    "And trying to leave unescorted would count as 
betrayal?"
    But neither of them answered, possibly because neither 
heard him. They split apart even as he watched, leaving 
him and going among the trees. In moments, they were lost 
among the other curalli milling there- many more shadowed 
Elwens than had joined them in their attack on the Council 
agents. At least he knew what they meant by "meeting 
place" now.
    This was where Talis was gathering his army.
    Lononi walked slowly forward, ignoring the glances 
that darted at him from those who didn't know or recognize 
him. No one made a move to harm him, and until someone 
did, he wouldn't make a move to harm them. He was 
reluctant to kill again.
    The air was full of the scent of black roses. His ears 
were full of the sound of soft murmured talk, of laughter, 
of the scrape of blades- sometimes merely clearing 
sheaths, sometimes clashing in impromptu contests. A few 
times he heard something more ominous, something that 
might have been a death cry, but he ignored those as best 
he could.
    "There you are."
    Lononi turned and met Chemil's eyes. She smiled up at 
him, but her blue eyes were darkened, and she had one hand 
resting on the hilt of a knife belted at her waist, though 
Lononi didn't know if she even realized that.
    He nodded to the blade, and she looked down. Then she 
looked back up at him, smiling, and didn't take her hand 
from its position.
    Lononi sighed. "Do you, along with Talis, really think 
me a traitor?"
    "Maybe." He had always found her hard to read, for all 
that he counted her as a friend, and so it was now. Her 
eyes were wide and bright as the lake, and no more 
expressive of emotion. "I think that you were wrong to 
tell us that you had made your final decision, and then 
hesitate to kill land Elwens."
    "I thought it was my final choice at the time," said 
Lononi.
    "I saw you the day that you threw your mother's 
betrothal collar away," Chemil remarked, falling into step 
beside him. Lononi wished he could be certain that that 
was for the sake of his company, and shake the suspicion 
that she was keeping an eye on him because she didn't 
trust anyone else to do so. "You were determined then, 
resolved, to throw your heritage into the river in the 
same way. What changed?"
    "I don't know."
    Chemil halted and draped a skeptical glance over him. 
"You should be aware that many in the army will not like 
to hear that. They will want reasons, Lononi. You should 
be prepared to give them."
    "How can I lie, without making them mistrust me more?" 
asked Lononi. "I don't think that I can. They are uneasy 
enough about me as it is. I won't start lying to them."
    "You should have thought more about keeping your oath, 
then," said Chemil sharply.
    "Chemil-"
    "It's a simple matter, Lononi," she went on, striding 
away from him, not looking back although she kept speaking 
as if he stood at her shoulder. With a resigned sigh, 
Lononi jogged after her, keeping where she seemed to 
expect him. "You make a decision, and then you keep to 
that decision, and hold loyalty to the people you chose to 
give your loyalty to."
    Lononi narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it was simply 
because Chemil was his friend and she wouldn't kill him- 
well, she wouldn't kill him as readily- but he found 
himself considerably more daring than he had been with 
Talis. "Tell me something, Chemil."
    "What is that?" she asked, spinning to face him and 
staring into his face with intense eyes, as if to warn him 
not to ask that much of her.
    Lononi ignored the warning, if warning it was, and 
pressed forward. "What would you say if someone asked you 
about your ambition to leave the Forest and go to Rowan, 
as you once told me you wanted to do? What would you say 
to her?"
    Chemil tilted her head to the side. "I would tell her 
that I wanted to go to Rowan, of course," she echoed. 
"What else would I say?"
    "Why do you want to go?"
    Chemil drew in breath, opened her mouth, and parted 
her lips. Lononi waited.
    She didn't say anything.
    Lononi waited.
    Moments passed, and still she didn't say anything, 
staring at him with slowly widening eyes.
    Lononi spoke again, his voice low and persuasive. He 
didn't want to talk or trick her out of her allegiance to 
Talis, but he would like her companionship on this road as 
he had had it on others. "Why is your wanting to go to 
Rowan, to change things, so much different than my being 
uncertain where I stand?"
    Chemil chewed her lip for a moment. "Others will not 
falter if I leave," she said at last.
    "I would." Lononi caught her gaze, not caring that he 
was telling her things that might make him seem weak in 
her eyes. "And you might say that some of your people 
would die in battle, without the swift blade of Chemil to 
guard their backs."
    Chemil whirled away abruptly. Lononi started to follow 
her, but she held up a hand, and he halted. He understood. 
She wanted to be alone physically when she was uncertain 
about him, since he, unlike shadowed Elwens, could read 
her emotions, and thus, in a way, her thoughts.
    Still, Lononi was content as he watched her walk away. 
The very fact that she had forbidden him to accompany her 
indicated that he had unsettled her, and if he had 
unsettled her, there was always the possibility that she 
might choose his side in the end.
    "Very well done."
    For just a moment, Lononi thought it was the 
whispering voice of the assassin. Then he recognized it, 
and turned to meet Raienelda's eyes.
    "I did not want to be alone," he said. He wouldn't 
dare lie to Talis. There were ways in which Raienelda was 
even worse.
    The Leader of Sarabiyn tilted her head back, gaze 
fastened to his face. Lononi stood still, his own eyes 
mostly on the ground so that she wouldn't take his staring 
into her face as a challenge that honor would compel her 
to answer. Even more than Chemil, Lononi did not want to 
face this woman in battle. She would gut him with laughing 
ease and walk away, and she wouldn't even feel the regret 
about it that Chemil might after.
    Well.
    The slight regret.
    "Talis will see this as your spreading your lies and 
poison in the army, you know, if she sees fit to tell him 
about this," said Raienelda.
    "Then let him bind and gag me, and keep me separate 
from all the others, if he doesn't want me to talk to 
them!" snapped Lononi. "I am tired to trying to anticipate 
what he wants, since that seems to change every few 
seconds."
    Raienelda chuckled. "That is good enough that I might 
use it myself."
    They stood in silence for a moment. Lononi watched the 
curalli gathering and wondered where they had all come 
from. Yes, Talis was a powerful lord, and many villages 
had agreed to an alliance with him. But there were other 
villages, away in the south or east, where the Council was 
not attacking, that might live in peace and not get 
involved in the war. How had Talis managed to command 
their hearts?
    Then someone cried out. It wasn't a word, so much as 
just a unified shout. Heads tilted back, and fingers 
pointed upward. Lononi looked up, sweat prickling on his 
spine. If a dragon or wyvern or some other Council spy had 
found the encampment, then he would die with the rest of 
them, doubts or not.
    But instead, he saw winged Elwens dropping. He watched 
for a long moment, not understanding. Then his eyes 
widened, and he turned to look at Raienelda.
    "More allies?"
    The Leader of Sarabiyn smiled at him. "Now you really 
cannot be allowed to leave," she remarked, and walked 
away, pushing into the crowd that stood near the place 
where the winged Elwens would apparently land.
    Lononi swallowed. He didn't know how Talis had managed 
to persuade the rheeth, the wind Elwens, to ally 
themselves with him any more than he knew how the Lord of 
Coldfire had persuaded other curalli.
    But he was beginning to have a little more respect for 
Talis's reach.
    And some knowledge of what the man might do in his war 
against the Council.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "This is Lononi."
    Lononi started and scrambled to his feet. As no one 
would talk to him, for fear of revealing something about 
Talis's plans that the lord wouldn't want him to know, he 
had fallen asleep not far from the bank of the lake. He 
sat up now, rubbing his eyes and managing to bat some of 
the hair out of his face. He saw Talis, and then someone 
behind him whom he did not know.
    When he did make her out, he caught his breath.
    She was a rheeth, of course, with skin paler than his 
own, veined here and there with delicate threads of blue 
and green, like some fine marble. Most of her weight 
looked to be in the enormous white wings that lay folded 
on her back, and she wore a strange garment that enfolded 
her front down to the knees, but not her back, leaving the 
muscles that drove her wings uncovered.
    Her hair was fine and blue, and her eyes spiderweb, 
pale but seemingly webbed with cracks. They held his gaze 
sternly, and Lononi found himself glancing down to the 
side just to be rid of the weight of her eyes.
    "There," said the woman softly.
    Lononi, not understanding what was happening, realized 
he was looking at Talis imploringly. The curalli lord 
ignored him, though, in favor of looking at the rheeth 
woman and waiting.
    "There. I see it." One pale-fingered hand rose, 
pointing at him. Lononi started and shrank back from her. 
The hand did not touch him, but outlined an invisible 
pattern in the air about his head. "There, and there," the 
rheeth woman continued, her voice soft. "Spread out all 
about him. And strong, for some reason- stronger here than 
it would normally be, I think."
    Talis waited a moment longer, but the woman continued 
to stare at Lononi and said nothing more. 
    "Thank you, Moonwielder," he said at last, and bowed 
to her. "I will let you know if I wish you to look at 
anyone else."
    It was clearly a dismissal, but the woman remained 
still, staring at Lononi with something that looked like a 
mix between fascination and distaste. "May I watch?" she 
asked abruptly.
    Talis looked confused, but he covered it well and 
answered graciously enough. "What, my lady?"
    "I assume that you are going to torture him," said the 
Moonwielder. "I wish to watch, to see what his magic does 
when you bring knives near him."
    Talis paused, then smiled. "It would react then, would 
it?"
    "I think so. Yes."
    Lononi bit his lip and struggled to keep from bleating 
in fear. He could accept the idea that curalli might kill 
him, as hard as it was to live in constant fear, but 
torture did terrify him.
    Under torture by the Council, he had been fearless, 
though he still carried the scars. But the curalli could 
outdo the Council in this as easily as they outdid them in 
battle. All arts of the blade were well-practiced among 
them, including the ones of pain.
    "We will not torture him, not until he betrays us 
further than he has," said Talis, and his eyes pierced 
Lononi as if to say that the idea was not entirely outside 
the realm of possibility. "Can you tell if he will betray 
us again?"
    "I am having a hard time concentrating, with all the 
energy beating in the air around him," said the rheeth. 
"Let me get closer."
    She came, knelt beside him, and reached out, laying 
her fingers on Lononi's forehead.
    Lononi had, for a very brief moment, the sensation of 
touching warm ice- throbbing hot, but as slick and smooth 
as frozen water. Then the hand flew from his forehead as 
if knocked away, and the rheeth woman went rolling. Her 
wings spread, and she ended up hovering about a foot off 
the ground, staring at Lononi with wide spiderweb eyes.
    Lononi took a deep breath, and realized then that 
guards had come from nowhere and stood on either side of 
him, watching intently. "Do you want us to kill him?" one 
of them asked Talis, as if not realizing or not caring 
that Lononi spoke Melli.
    "Hold a moment," said Talis, the curiosity in his 
voice just barely stronger than the anger. He looked at 
the wind Elwen woman. "My lady Rajha, what is it?"
    The Moonwielder shook her head. "It did not like me 
interfering," she said. "The boy did nothing," she added 
as blades cleared their sheaths behind Lononi. "It was the 
power that flared around him itself."
    There was a moment when Lononi wondered what she was 
talking about, and Talis looked at him, and Rajha gazed at 
him with her mouth half-open as though in wonder, and the 
guards shifted uneasily. Then Lononi cleared his throat 
and interrupted. "What does that mean, exactly?" He 
shifted himself as Talis glared at him, but Rajha 
apparently saw nothing wrong with the question and was 
answering.
    "It means that you have a gift of some kind, a magical 
gift most likely, but not one that you were born with." 
She grinned at him, the spiderweb eyes softening and 
making her look much younger than she had seemed. It was 
impossible to be certain of her age, though, as it was 
with all Elwens beyond a point. "I would like to study it 
more, if I could."
    Lononi smiled a little when he realized that she was 
appealing to him. He started to reply, but Talis cut in, 
voice almost snappish.
    "He is a danger to us, Rajha. He might betray us all. 
We need to know what this gift is, and to understand if it 
can aid us."
    "I believe it could," said Rajha. "The question is if 
it will. It follows its own will, no command of the boy's, 
and I do not know if you could persuade it to obey you."