Hero's Ascent
                         Prologue
           1,999,998, Age of Life, Early Spring
    I've done it, I've done it at last!
    The thoughts raced through the young curalli's mind as 
swiftly as the rays of the sunrise which he had at last 
taught himself to face.
    Maruss Freewind raised a hand to shade his violet 
eyes, blinking for the barest moment as he stared directly 
at Uunul. The sun, of course, showed no awareness of his 
scrutiny, rising with a single-minded dedication that 
resembled his own. Slowly, the young shadowed Elwen 
dropped his hand, nerved himself, and stepped out of the 
shadow cast by Gythmala Peak.
    The warmth on his silver skin made him pull in a 
stifled breath, but it was one of joy, not of pain. He 
tilted back his head, blinking through the thin trails of 
blood that streamed from his eyes, unable to believe how 
much he had been missing. "I told Phaedon there was 
nothing to this!" he murmured, his voice singing with 
excitement. "Time and hard work. We have the first, and 
we're used to the second."
    His eyes flicked to the right, alighting on a granite 
building cleverly concealed with flowering vines and huge 
heaps of grass; it looked like a tiny hill. As always, 
curiosity flamed in him. Though he and his foster siblings 
spent a large part of every day there, and though he had 
asked again and again, he had received only the most 
unsatisfactory answers to his questions of why the 
building was concealed. 
    Maruss gave a philosophical shrug. Forty-eight years 
was enough time to learn that those older than he quite 
often had an excellent reason for hiding things.
    If only they would tell him what that reason was!
    The warmth of the sunrise drew his attention back to 
it. Briefly scolding himself for the momentary lapse- he 
was supposed to be studying this, after all- he focused 
his eyes to the east, studying the canopy of colors, both 
in clouds and the sky itself. Once his curiosity had been 
relegated back to its proper place, he became fascinated, 
and he jumped when a rumbling voice spoke behind him.
    "Well, little one. Faithfully following the assignment 
given to you?"
    Maruss whirled with Elwen speed, dropping to one knee 
in the dew-wet grass. His green leggings became coated 
with beads of moisture, but his hands closed on his 
target: a spear that was really too heavy for him, but 
which Yuzim insisted he had to learn to use. He stood, 
wringing back a breath of fear, and dipped his head in a 
courteous nod. He did not bow, and kept the spear at the 
ready. The one facing him chuckled.
    "I won't hurt you, Maruss. Maana would be angry if I 
did, and even I am not that stupid!" Laughing loudly at 
his own wit, the stranger sauntered forth into the 
sunlight.
    He was a lion, or appeared to be one. However, he was 
about as three times as big as a normal great cat, and he 
was young for his kind. His shaggy, mane-like hair curled 
about an Elwenoid face with heavy jaws and large, nearly 
useless eyes. Coiled on his back was a scorpion's tail, 
shedding a faint, star-like radiance barely noticeable in 
the dawn.
    "I know you won't hurt me, sir," said Maruss, with the 
bold recklessness that so often got him in trouble. He 
still did not drop the spear, but edged around the 
manticora to the side, where he would appear less 
threatening, Almost instinctively, he controlled his 
breathing, let relaxation enter his muscles. Whatever 
Yuzim's personal faults, he taught meditation well. "I was 
merely startled."
    "I gathered that," rumbled the manticora, flexing his 
forepaw in the dirt, and too late Maruss remembered that 
the creatures didn't like to be told what they already 
knew. "And I am glad. It makes my task a little easier."
    "Task?" Maruss blinked at the manticora's odd choice 
of words, and at the tone behind his voice. Always wanting 
to understand things he did not, the curalli had trained 
himself to be almost supernaturally sensitive to emotions 
in facial expressions and spoken words, and the "friendly" 
tone of the manticora's earlier speech contrasted sharply 
with his seeming anger now. "I'm afraid I don't quite 
understand, sir-"
    The manticora's scorpion tail lashed out, flying over 
Maruss's head and slamming into a large boulder. It raised 
a puff of dust and a large boom that echoed over and over 
again in the young Elwen's sensitive ears. He had 
prudently ducked, and now tried to reassure himself that 
he bore no scratch, that it had been an accident.
    Or perhaps not.
    "What task?" he repeated, and though he was barely 
aware of it, he had dropped the polite "sir." His hands 
tightened on the spear shaft, and puzzlement was rapidly 
giving way to anger and indignation at the near miss. 
"Were you sent here to test me?"
    This idea vastly amused the manticora- it laughed 
loudly and whipped the stinger on the end of its tail 
around its head like a throwing club- but a lurking 
undertone of fury remained. "A test? Call it that. Yes, 
Maana asked me to test you."
    The tail flew past again, slamming into the boulder 
from a different direction.
    "Of course, it might have gone a little further than 
she expected."
    The manticora moved forward, thick lips slowly pulling 
back from the oversized teeth, an eager growl rumbling in 
his throat. Maruss kept one eye trained on the 
crossbreed's forequarters- and thus his eyes and forepaws- 
and one eye on the whistling tail.
    The manticora darted forward swiftly, but Maruss was 
ready. He didn't want to hurt the creature, and he was 
hampered by his inexpert ability with this weapon. 
Therefore, he turned the weapon sideways before him, like 
a bar across his chest. The manticora's teeth closed on 
the thick wooden shaft of the spear.
    The spear was made of hylea wood and could continue to 
hold a long time, but it had been cut from the wood of a 
living hylea, and thus was also highly sticky. Where the 
manticora's teeth had punctured the wood, shining sap 
poured forth, fixing his jaws firmly in place.
    Maruss was fascinated and would have loved to take a 
closer look, but the creature was roaring, enraged, 
shaking his head in an effort to fling the spear from him, 
and he decided regretfully that it wasn't worth the 
effort. He wasn't lazy, simply practical. Turning, he 
strolled to the lip of the dell on which he stood and 
peered down.
    He and his foster siblings, as well as numerous other 
children and the verde who cared for them, lived in a deep 
green bowl backed by Gythmala Peak, the highest mountain 
in Arcadia- perhaps in all the world. Even at this time of 
day, when the sun was steadily burning the morning mists 
away, the majestic peak stood wrapped in clouds, the 
unguessable summit pursuing its own business far above the 
heads of mortal creatures.
    Maruss liked that phrase and repeated it to himself, 
storing it in his memory for future reference. He cast a 
pitying glance back at the manticora and hesitated, 
politeness and irritation warring in him. Maana had always 
taught him to respect his elders, and the lion-scorpion 
hadn't been lying when he had spoken of the verde 
sorceress sending him. On the other hand...
    He attacked me, the curalli reasoned. It's possible he 
meant to kill me. Why, I can't imagine, but perhaps it 
isn't the best idea to let him free right now. The spear 
wouldn't hold up forever, after all. Sooner or later, the 
wood would give, and though Yuzim wouldn't be pleased at 
the loss of such a valuable weapon, it was worth it to 
know the manticora would be free.
    Reassured, Maruss started to climb down into the dell, 
his fingers seeking the handholds with curalli ease. 
However, the grass trembled beside him, then parted like 
the gently rippling waves of the sea he had seen but once, 
and a green head poked up. Sparkling emerald eyes under a 
crown of jade hair regarded him with a strange mixture of 
exasperation, irritation, and amused affection. Maana 
Stonedancer shook her head and raised one long-clawed 
hand, extending it toward the continuing roars and 
whirling shape of the manticora. "I suppose this has 
something to do with you?"
    Maruss lowered his violet eyes in shame. The hand of 
his foster mother reached out, gently patting his indigo 
hair, even as she spoke the words of doom. "You'll stay in 
the dell tomorrow while I teach you how to make a new 
spear for Yuzim. Agreed?"
    The curalli nodded silently, then jerked his head up, 
eyes wide and excited. He had to tell her. "Mother," he 
said, with the grave formality she insisted he use when 
trying to get her attention. She turned her green eyes on 
him, and then the young Elwen's joy broke through his 
ability to hold it back. "I faced the sunrise today! As 
you told me to!"
    Maana Stonedancer was not one to indulge in excessive 
displays of emotion. She smiled at him, calm, serene, and 
held out her arms. Maruss accepted the hug with eagerness, 
though not the hair-ruffling- Maana seemed to be under the 
impression that all her foster children had hair as unruly 
as the mane of her own daughter, Myyti.
    Today, however, nothing could dim the shine Maruss 
felt inside, not even the prickle of long claws scraping 
against his bare neck. He closed his eyes, squeezed his 
mother's shoulders, and then let her go. Opening his eyes, 
he was treated to his second startling sight of the day.
    Maana, whose face was as handsome and hard as the 
stone she ate and dug her way through, Maana who hated 
melodrama and sentimentality, Maana who was always so 
practical- Maana was wiping away tears that glittered 
green, lit from behind by her emerald eyes. Tense, 
uncertain, Maruss cocked his head, unaccountably dismayed 
at this destruction of a pillar of his world. "Mother?" he 
asked quietly.
    "I'm all right, my son." Maana wiped away the last 
tear and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for 
caring, for doing as I asked you to. I simply feel guilty 
whenever I look at you. To think you might have been 
denied the world!"
    Maruss flushed. He had been told, even when he was too 
young to understand, what had happened when Maana and her 
daughter had rescued him from the silverini. He might have 
been left behind, enchanted into a slave, if Myyti had not 
insisted that they take him. Apparently Maana still cursed 
herself for wanting to leave him there. Maruss had 
forgiven her long ago, if he had ever truly thought it 
important. "Please, Mother, it's nothing." He would have 
liked to ask her why she had sent the manticora to test 
him, but in her present mood was not the time. Perhaps 
later. He changed the subject. "Do you know where Yuzim 
is, Mother? I should find him and tell him what happened."
    Maana stared at him for a long time, so long that he 
lifted his hand to his cheek, wondering if a fragment of 
last night's meal was stuck there. The verde shook her 
head, both eyes and voice soft. "Eat something first. I 
think Geruth brought in a deer last night. I'll go talk to 
the manticora."
    Maruss stared after her as she left, still rubbing his 
cheek. He could not understand- and it made him feel 
strangely sorrowful.




                        Chapter 1
                        Character
    "To the left, Maruss! Now, up! Work those muscles! You 
need to be able to handle that spear!"
    Maruss panted, sweat running down his face in rivers. 
He was sure he was beginning to smell at least a little 
unpleasant; Elwen perspiration was actually sweet, but the 
sheer quantity wore on him. His muscles ached so that he 
could barely lift the spear, and his latest attempt to 
block Yuzim's whirring sword was clumsy.
    The sharp steel struck the hylea wood, but lightly- 
Yuzim didn't want to remove a second spear from his 
collection, though he would probably enjoy watching Maruss 
struggle with a third, the curalli thought uncharitably. 
He flushed guiltily- Yuzim was old for an elf, nearly 
seven hundred years, and should be treated with respect. 
He was glad now of the white of blood in his cheeks, for 
it hid the mark of his shame. He was also slightly shocked 
to find himself unrepentant. If this went on much longer, 
he would be making such comments to Yuzim's face.
    "Enough." The dream elf stepped backward, slipped the 
padding from his sword, and returned it to the well- 
polished scabbard hanging at his side. "You need 
practice," he stated bluntly, then added grudgingly, "but 
I did give you rather a workout this morning. Still, 
Phaedon could handle it on the first try."
    "I'm not Phaedon," muttered Maruss as he turned to 
rack the spear, the closest he had ever come to rebellion 
against his fighting master. He shot a glance over his 
shoulder to see if Yuzim had noticed, but the elf's 
perpetually disapproving eyes were fixed in another 
direction, studying the huge granite room they stood in.
    Yuzim was startlingly tall for an elf, nearly matching 
Maruss's slender five feet. Elves generally stayed below 
five. His skin- where it could be seen under the sober 
gray leather jacket and leggings he preferred to wear- was 
a soft violet, a shade or two deeper than Maruss's eyes, 
streaked with flashes of white and gray, almost like the 
markings on the body of a dolphin. His hair, seeming 
raven-black at first, actually gleamed dark blue, and his 
eyes matched it. Everything about him was borderline, not 
quite one thing or another, in the manner of dreams- with 
one exception. His mouth, which (sometimes, anyway) looked 
as if it had been made to smile, was fixed in a permanent 
sneer.
    He bitterly hated Maruss. The young curalli, never 
having felt the touch of hate himself, could not quite 
understand this, and it was a mystery he had been barred 
from exploring. Maana insisted Yuzim didn't loathe the 
Elwen; he simply compared him with Phaedon, a better 
student, and saw Maruss's lesser talent as something 
deliberate.
    Maruss, who met Yuzim's eyes for five hours every day 
when they trained together in the vine-covered building, 
knew the truth. Yuzim's hatred was no more founded on an 
unfair comparison than Maruss was Emperor of the 
silverini. The dark feeling was real, implacable as the 
sea in storm, and as callous and cold. The curalli longed 
to know why this was so, feeling he could stop it if he 
knew the source.
    On the other hand- Maruss suppressed a shiver, 
remembering the perverted pleasure in Yuzim's eyes at his 
pain and his inability to handle the spear. Perhaps he 
didn't really want to know.
    Yuzim turned about sharply, and the curalli hastily 
finished placing the spear in its wooden supports. He 
snapped a courteous nod to the elf and wheeled to walk 
through the door, breathing sharply at his near miss.
    "Maruss. Wait." It seemed hard for Yuzim to add a 
modicum of politeness to his voice, but he tried. Besides, 
it wouldn't have mattered if the elf had insulted him. By 
the code of ethics Maana had taught him, Maruss was bound 
to respond when an elder addressed him. He turned slowly.
    "Yes, Fighting Master?" So far as it was possible, the 
young Elwen never used Yuzim's name. He did not dislike 
the dream elf, but he resented the things the elf made him 
do, and excessive politeness was his form of revenge. Even 
so, shame filled him.
    Yuzim tried to smile, but eventually gave it up as a 
bad effort. "Perhaps it's better this way," he muttered to 
himself, but the words reached the keen ears of an 
increasingly bewildered Maruss. The young curalli cocked 
his indigo-haired head.
    "Fighting Master?" His voice was more tentative now. 
He was usually in control of himself, but the events of 
these past few days- the manticora, Maana's strangeness, 
and now the fighting master delaying him- had begun to 
wear on his nerves.
    "Have you been keeping up on your sunrise training?" 
The elf no doubt thought his voice filled with practiced 
casualness, but he could not fool Maruss, who in large 
part had learned to sense emotions in order to avoid the 
elf's frequent outbursts.
    It was a meaningless question, meant to lead into a 
discussion, not part of it. But again Maruss lost the war 
with his moral code and answered politely. "Yes, sir. Two 
days ago, the day of the unfortunate breakage of the first 
spear, I was able to face the sun with only a little 
pain."
    Yuzim's fist slammed into a palm; his lips drew back 
from his teeth in a way startlingly reminiscent of the 
manticora. "Not good enough, Maruss! You have to be able 
to face the sun with no pain at all, have to be able to 
walk the day like a creature born in it. Otherwise, how 
are we ever going to-" He paused, then went on in a 
smoother tone of voice, and Maruss had the impression that 
he had been about to say something quite different. "How 
are you ever going to match Phaedon?"
    It was more difficult than ever for Maruss to leash 
his tongue, to keep from replying that he had no desire to 
be like Phaedon. "I'm not sure, sir," he murmured 
respectfully. "May I go now?"
    Yuzim ignored the request, perhaps didn't even hear 
it. He clapped his hands briskly. "I was not pleased when 
you broke my spear," he said evenly, blue-black eyes on 
Maruss. "Not pleased at all."
    "I didn't expect you to be, sir."
    "Don't you dare to mock me!" The feathery blue 
eyebrows drew together, and the elf clenched his fists. 
Maruss eyed him uneasily, respecting his strength and the 
rippling, smooth flow of muscles beneath the gray leather. 
"I will report this behavior to Lady Stonedancer, young 
one, and we shall see how she reacts."
    Maruss's sensitivity assured him it was a hollow 
threat, but he thought it better not to take chances. He 
focused his eyes on the ground, speaking the apology 
without a trace of regret. "I'm sorry, sir."
    Yuzim drew in a satisfied breath, and Maruss deemed it 
safe to lift his eyes, though he was hardly reassured when 
he noted how intently the elf was studying him. "Another 
point in Phaedon's favor," murmured the elf, seemingly to 
himself. "He does as he is told, silent and obedient. He 
is a good fighter, strong for an Elwen and always willing 
to listen to those who are wiser than he is." The 
blueberry eyes seemed to pierce Maruss. "When have you 
ever acknowledged someone wiser than yourself, young 
curalli?"
    Maruss kept his eyes passively on the ground, choosing 
to ignore the ridiculous question. Yuzim's praise of 
Phaedon was all meant to impart one thing- that Phaedon 
did not ask questions, and his foster brother did.
    An unexpected hand gripped his shoulder, and Maruss 
lifted his eyes in disbelief. Though he often acted as a 
surrogate father to Phaedon, Geruth, and Elenyi, Yuzim had 
never once attempted to do so for Maruss. The look the elf 
was giving him now, though, was a father's, compounded of 
concern and affection.
    Both were feigned, but there was an underlying emotion 
that was not. Before the perceptive shadowed Elwen could 
determine what it was, the elf gave him a playful shake. 
"You haven't ever attended my class during the afternoon, 
have you?"
    "No, sir," Maruss murmured, trapped in a net of 
confusion. He trained as hard as he could in the mornings, 
to get it over with- and besides, afternoons were Yuzim's 
special time with Phaedon.
    Again the elf squeezed his shoulder. "Will you do it 
today? I don't merely teach your brother to fight. I also 
talk to him about character and how to build it."
    Maruss looked up in spite of himself, a current of 
warmth running through him. While Maana had been very 
careful to impress ethics upon him, she had refused to say 
exactly what sort of character he was supposed to forge 
with those tools. She always said that such a personal 
thing was also a personal choice. But now here was someone 
who would actually tell him. Maruss nodded his acceptance 
without thinking again.
    Yuzim's lips drew back again, this time in a genuine 
smile. "Excellent! I shall see you in about four hours, 
then," he noted, looking out the window. Uunul had 
ascended only two hours into the sky. "Noon?"
    "I don't know if I can wait that long, sir-"
    "Yuzim," the elf corrected, with a gentleness Maruss 
had never heard before in his voice. "Call me Yuzim, boy."
    "Very well," said Maruss neutrally, and quietly 
slipped from the building before the elf could detain him 
any longer. He had something he wished to investigate, and 
despite his eagerness for the lecture, he was afraid four 
hours wouldn't be long enough.
    He also didn't want to reveal right away that he would 
still call the fighting master "sir." That would be a hard 
habit to break.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Maruss climbed from the granite building into the dell 
where he had spent all his life, pausing about halfway 
down the slope to suck fresh air into his lungs and admire 
his home's beauty.
    The hollow was a wonder, quiet and serene, looking so 
lovely that it should have been formed of magic but was 
not. The slopes were green, even this early in the year, 
with pines and budding oaks and maples. The pale-green 
leaves of earlyaspens, close kin to true aspen trees, 
fluttered shyly in the air. A waterfall leapt and flashed 
eagerly down through the sunlight and trees, at last 
settling onto the tiny valley's floor and becoming a quiet 
stream running in shadow. The sun had not yet risen high 
enough to dapple their entire dwelling with sunlight.
    All of which was perfectly fine with the easy-going 
curalli. His eyes fixed on his own home, a small white 
stone hut hidden with vines in the manner of the granite 
fighting house-cum-lecture hall. His muscles throbbed with 
a dull, persistent ache, and inside the hut, with the 
white stone drawing off the heat, he could seek and find 
sleep. 
    However, his weakness was momentary. His gaze shifted 
almost instantly from his house to the library- a massive 
circular building constructed of the soft white-gold 
pyrite the verde loved. His face relaxed into a smile. One 
reason for his weariness was the fact that he had been up 
not five hours but twelve. Seven of those had been spent 
drifting, entranced, through the copied description of the 
world as it was a million years ago. Only Geruth had saved 
him from Yuzim's (and Maana's) wrath, warning him of the 
time.
    Maruss shook himself from his daydreaming, and a third 
time his eyes moved, this time to the thickest tangle of 
brush in the valley. As if his thoughts had awakened it, 
he felt a gentle, questing touch in his mind.
    Soon, he sent, and felt his most precious possession 
lapse back into sleep. Nodding, satisfied, he stretched, 
yawned, and moved with graceful purpose downward. 
    He reached the green floor of the valley within a few 
minutes and walked quietly through the overgrown forests, 
at ease in their lingering shadows. It was not simply 
because of the nightsight and dark-adaption of his people- 
his training had largely reversed that adaption. This was 
the place he knew best, a home he loved, and it was 
difficult, if not impossible, to imagine anyone harming 
him here.
    A flicker of movement stirred under a gnarled oak 
nearby, and Maruss quickened his pace. A hand closed on 
his arm, however, and a deep voice hailed him, "Well met, 
brother."
    "Not so well met," muttered Maruss, but he was careful 
to say it well below his breath. The one who had hold of 
him was second only to Yuzim in fighting ability. Turning, 
he nodded politely to Phaedon Shoregazer.
    The other curalli, as was his custom, wore dark green 
leggings that blended in well with the forest and a thin 
silver tunic that complimented his eyes. Those eyes 
gleamed with weird intensity, like pools of the metal they 
resembled; Maruss had once reduced Elenyi to a choking fit 
of laughter by describing Phaedon as "a troll, without the 
green skin and with grace."
    The curalli's hair was as black as the shadows they 
stood in, tousled as if he had been sleeping on it and 
soaked with sweat, so much so that he appeared as if he 
and not Maruss had spent the morning fighting the agile 
and skilled Yuzim. Maruss could only imagine the kind of 
exercise the skilled fighter must have had to put himself 
through in order to achieve even a drop of perspiration. 
Toned and fit, Phaedon could have killed the manticora 
with a few practiced jabs; his hands talked to weapons, 
his body entered into a perfect partnership with them. 
Maruss would have been frightfully envious had he not 
possessed his own gifts. As it was, the violet-eyed 
curalli only wished for such a talent to make Yuzim 
respect him.
    On the other hand, Yuzim's respect probably wasn't 
worth having. "What are you doing here?" Maruss asked 
aloud. "I would have thought you would be in the fighting 
hall."
    Phaedon's cheeks paled with the sudden influx of white 
blood into silver skin. An acceptor of things as they 
were, he hated being questioned. "Do you think I should 
be?" he asked, voice deep and grating, missing an Elwen's 
usual music.
    Maruss stifled a sigh. He should learn to keep his 
tongue tied even around Elwens his own age, he thought. 
"No, of course not, Phaedon. What you do is your own 
business." He hesitated, wanting to ask a question but not 
sure if he should risk it. 
    The silver-eyed curalli released his arm and settled 
back against the trunk of the tree with an approving 
grunt. "You should be more careful, Maruss," he murmured, 
tilting back his head and letting what little sunlight 
descended here play on his face. Unlike Maruss, he did not 
care greatly for Uunul's radiance. "I heard you coming 
from three paces away."
    Maruss shrugged. They were in their home, a place 
where there was no threat whatsoever to be seen. The 
curalli didn't see the value of living on the edge of 
paranoia. "Better than my usual record."
    Phaedon studied him, head on one side. "You'd be 
better if you concentrated more on your fighting and less 
on those useless books. You have the potential, you know."
    Maruss didn't answer. Phaedon, who had found more in 
Maana's moral teaching to reject than accept, never gave a 
compliment without an ulterior motive. The two shadowed 
Elwens stood in silence for a moment, the rushing of the 
stream and the soft rustles as animals passed by taking 
the place of conversation.
    Maruss finally nodded sharply and started to fade into 
the woods again. Though he was at ease around most people, 
and Phaedon did not actually inspire nervousness in him, 
he preferred to shed his "brother's" company swiftly.
    Phaedon startled him by catching hold of his shoulder, 
as Yuzim had done. "Did you hear that song Elenyi was 
singing last night?" he asked, trying to look casual and 
failing miserably. His face revealed all too clearly his 
disgust at having to ask a question.
    "No," said Maruss curtly, irrationally irritated at 
being held. "I was in the library, studying the conquest 
of the Barren Desert." Despite himself, he felt his eyes 
light up as he warmed to his favorite subject, history. 
"Do you know that Galar, the viaquia who helped Drilla 
Desertbloom, was god-cursed?"
    "Like another one I can think of," said Phaedon, his 
voice thick with boredom. He shook off his apathy suddenly 
and stared intently at his foster sibling. "You didn't 
hear it, then? You're sure?"
    Maruss smiled, his most foolish grin, battling to keep 
the anger inside. "Of course not. You know me, Old 
Tone-Deaf Maruss. I'd probably corrupt it just by hearing 
it. Was it a pretty song?"
    Phaedon threw his arm from his grasp. "No!" he 
snapped, face pale, body trembling with rage. "It was the 
ugliest thing I've ever heard in my life!" He plunged into 
the forest, snapping branches and swatting brush aside, 
leaving a blinking and sorely confused Maruss behind.
    The curalli blew out a low breath and stared after 
Phaedon for a moment longer, then continued walking, 
shaking his head. "This is just not my day," he said, to 
whatever might be listening. A small squirrel flashed out 
of hiding and stared down at him, and he explained to it 
for lack of a better audience. "First Yuzim, then Phaedon, 
act in a totally unexpected manner. And then there's Maana 
and her manticora, and whatever song Elenyi sang. 
Everybody knows what's going on except me."
    The squirrel gave a whirring sound that might have 
been either mocking or sympathetic and dodged back into 
the hole. Maruss stared after it for a moment, then shook 
his head a second time. Perhaps he should get more sleep, 
after all.
    A short stroll brought him to the library, and he 
darted a guilty glance over his shoulder before laying his 
hand on the stone doorway. He really spent more time here 
than he should, to the point where he was being described 
as anti-social.
    Not my fault, he thought defiantly as he slowly pushed 
the door open. If opened swiftly, it produced a grating 
sound audible for literally miles. If it's anyone's fault, 
it's Maana's for giving me such interesting books to read.
    Maruss shut his eyes and drew his breath in, savoring 
the heady smell of dusty leather and old parchment. The 
trance lasted for only a moment; then he opened his eyes, 
eager to gaze on the treasures of the library, on the 
books it would take at least a thousand years to read.
    What he didn't expect to meet his gaze was a huge 
worm. The thing reared and struck, clumps of dirt falling 
off the slick pink body.
    Maruss yelled and scrambled backward, rolling into the 
fresh air. He stood and glanced over his shoulder, 
prepared to lead the thing a merry chase should it try to 
follow him.
    What he saw instead was an Elwen leaning against the 
door, laughing so hard tears ran down his cheeks. The 
curalli snorted in annoyance, noting the giant worm was 
nowhere in sight. He should have known.
    "That really wasn't funny, Geruth."
    The young viaquia broke off his chuckling long enough 
to mop at the moisture wetting his purple cheeks, but his 
wide smile, exposing clean white fangs and smaller violet 
teeth, remained. "Oh, I assure you it was," he said, the 
polished voice rendered odd by suppressed mirth. "You 
would have been laughing, too, if you'd seen the 
expression on your face!"
    Maruss smirked helplessly. Geruth Lilacshadow, his 
foster brother and closest friend in the dell, was a 
skilled illusionist. The giant worm had been the product 
of his magic, soundless and without feeling but real 
enough to the eyes. The blue-eyed viaquia seldom needed 
any other defense. "I suppose I must have looked rather 
funny," the curalli admitted. He lifted a finger and shook 
it scoldingly. "One of these days, that illusion-talent of 
yours is going to get you in trouble."
    Geruth suddenly appeared to deflate. "It did," he 
admitted gloomily. "I was having a bit of fun with Phaedon 
and an illusion-spider, when his screams drew Maana and 
Yuzim to us. The bladetrainer insisted that I be turned 
over to him for punishment. Maana was angry herself, and 
he so furious he was frothing at the mouth-" a faint smile 
crossed Geruth's lips "-so she had no choice but to 
promise I would go to the lecture hall tonight." He 
yawned. "What a bore! I'd rather be out hunting."
    All Geruth's unhappiness could not hide the smile 
tugging at his lips, and Maruss was grinning himself at 
the picture the sunset Elwen's words had conjured. Above 
all else, Phaedon hated spiders, to the extent that he ran 
if he saw a web. Generally, his foster siblings respected 
his phobia and did not taunt him with it. He must have 
done something terrible to Geruth for the viaquia to 
torment him so.
    Maruss also knew that Geruth, who might be using 
illusion to disguise the marks of a beating, would never 
tell him what Phaedon had done. Of all the nearly one 
hundred young Elwens and elves living in the dell, the 
viaquia had the worst case of pride.
    Maruss switched the subject, eager to discuss the 
strange things that had been happening with someone wiser 
than he was. For all his love of pranks and illusions, 
Geruth had the most level head in the dell and kept 
himself close to the real world, in contrast to Maruss's 
mixed idealistic-realistic approach. "Geruth, I told you 
about the manticora, right?" When the viaquia nodded 
silently, Maruss began to walk inside the library, keeping 
one eye out for any left-over illusions. Geruth paced 
beside him, listening with gratifying intensity. "Well, 
today Yuzim behaved like one. He asked me to come back 
during the afternoon for a lesson on character."
    Geruth's eyebrows flew together, and he spoke in a 
concerned voice. "Or lack of it. I'm not sure you should 
go, Maruss."
    The curalli braced his back against the stone door to 
shut it and stared at his friend, sincerely astonished. Of 
all the comments he had expected, this was not one. "But 
why? Maana has encouraged us to try to understand Yuzim. 
We shouldn't think him strange just because he's an elf." 
His foster mother's oft-repeated lesson came easily to his 
lips.
    Geruth shook his head slowly. "He'd be strange even if 
he were an Elwen, Maruss. I don't like him." He gave the 
ghost of a smile. "Fortunately I don't have to deal with 
him much, being a mage and not a fighter." He lifted an 
eyebrow, giving himself an oddly fierce look. "You're a 
good judge of people. Don't tell me you don't sense 
something odd about him."
    Caught off balance by the compliment and the anxiety 
in his brother's voice, Maruss found himself stammering. 
"He- doesn't like me, I know, but that's because Phaedon-"
    Geruth shook his head impatiently, surrounding his 
face in a corona of flying violet hair. "Not what Maana 
says, Maruss. I love Mother, but she doesn't encourage 
dissent." His voice became soft, encouraging. "What do you 
think?"
    Trained to keep his opinions under control, to subdue 
as best he could his endless questions, it took a moment 
for the curalli to realize he was being asked to speak 
freely. And once he realized it, words he had never meant 
to speak came pouring out. "I think he values physical 
strength more than intellect, and I don't really respect 
him at all."
    For a moment the two foster siblings stood in silence, 
Geruth expressionless, Maruss panting in shock and shame. 
Finally, the mage nodded slowly, face still unreadable. "I 
thought so," he said quietly, and then didn't say any 
more. Instead, he glided through the still partially open 
door and into the forest. 
    "Ger, wait!" Maruss called desperately. "I wanted to 
tell you about a conversation I had with Phae-"
    The door shut with a boom that made the curalli wince, 
both for the pain in his ears and for the disapproving 
gazes of the books on him, the dislike they emanated for 
having the ancient silence of the building broken. 
Lowering his head, wondering why he couldn't bring himself 
to feel repentant, Maruss walked to a dusty white marble 
table and the heavy tome he had left there.
    By some tugging, he managed to open it to the page he 
wanted. It was not only a weighty book but an old one, its 
stiff spine, which bore the words A History of the Barren 
Desert in gold, acting in concert with its weight to keep 
it from being opened. Maruss settled in his favorite 
reading position- arms folded, relaxed, on the table 
before him, chin cradled on his hands, eyes trained on the 
page- and began to read.  
    "...the viaquia's sorrow. Drilla knew then that what 
Galar had told her was the truth, that he was indeed 
god-cursed, both to live eternally and to wander while 
doing so- for if he stayed in one place for more than a 
few days, the sun would never set there."
    "How wonderful," murmured Maruss, unaware of the 
words. The story printed on the page before him seized 
hold of him, whirling him into a distant world of golden 
sands and desert dragons and terrible, poignant sorrow.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The warmth of the sunlight on his shoulder brought 
Maruss awake some time later. He looked up, blinking weary 
eyes, flushing as he noted that he had fallen asleep, head 
pillowed on the book. He could have damaged the delicate 
pages. Reaching out a finger, he smoothed a slight wrinkle 
and reached to close the book, glancing out the window as 
he did so.
    His heart froze. The sun was a few minutes from noon, 
no more. Swearing under his breath, the curalli 
nonetheless gently closed the book, fixed the page number 
in his mind, and shot toward the door, tugging on the 
handle, throwing caution to the wolves. Yuzim would never 
speak to him again if he were late.
    Hands suddenly helped by pushing from the other side, 
and the door swung inward with a grating crash. Maruss 
leaped forward with a gasp of gratitude, prepared to 
spring right past whoever stood there. But then he saw who 
it was, and he hesitated, curiosity stirring. Surely it 
wouldn't bother Yuzim if he was a little late. The elf had 
to rest some time, after all, and he did not possess Elwen 
endurance. He might be sleeping right now, tired after all 
his matches. Yes, that was it.
    Satisfied, having found an excuse for his conscience, 
Maruss turned to smile at his foster sister warmly. 
"Elenyi. I've been wondering when I would see you."
    The Elwen woman he spoke to was extraordinarily 
beautiful, even for one of her kind. Both her skin and her 
hair were a deep night-blue, spangled with tiny white dots 
shaped suspiciously like stars, and silver touched the 
waves of her hair in other places as well. Her eyes were a 
color between green and gold, shining like leaves dappled 
by sunlight. The modest white tunic and skirt she wore 
served only to accent her loveliness.
    The wolf Elwen raised one eyebrow. "That's a new one. 
You were hoping to see me? I thought you couldn't stand 
the sound of my voice." Humor filled her tone. It was a 
standing joke between them that Elenyi, who was a 
beautiful singer, had driven Maruss mad in his cradle with 
her humming.
    Maruss grinned and gave his customary response. "Don't 
you know? I'm deaf." He hurried on to the subject he had 
wanted to question her about before she could continue 
their banter. "Phaedon was talking about a song you sang 
last night," he said, trying to appear casual, as if it 
really didn't matter to him. Looking up from under half- 
closed lids, he saw a peculiar expression twist her face. 
"He appreciates music, but even he claimed this song was 
ugly. Would you tell me what it was? It might cure my 
deafness and your voice." He grinned charmingly, hoping 
she would tell him.
    "It was just a song," said Elenyi neutrally. "I'm not 
even sure what it was about, but it does have a beautiful 
tune. I think Phaedon only disliked it because it's about 
history." Slender shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Sorry, 
Maruss. Looks like this isn't your lucky day."
    Maruss remained still for a moment, gazing at her. Her 
face, normally as open as the sky, now appeared closed; 
her green-gold eyes were fixed anywhere but on him. What 
was it that everyone, including Elenyi and Geruth, knew 
but wouldn't tell him?
    While he was trying to make up his mind to ask her, 
she perked up and gave him a false smile. "By the way, I 
saw Yuzim. He said to tell you to hurry, or the lesson's 
up. Bye now." She ducked into the library before he could 
protest, shutting the door behind her.
    That in itself was strange. While Elenyi did not have 
Phaedon's dislike of study, she was seldom interested in 
reading anything but a music score. Why...?
    But if he didn't hurry, he'd miss the chance to learn 
the answer to another "why."
    With a grunt of exasperation, Maruss lurched into a 
run, scrambling gracefully over rocks and tree roots, 
weaving among trees like a snake. "What is this, a 
conspiracy?" he muttered to the uncaring forest. "Why-"
    But he had to let the question trail off. He was not 
even sure what he had wanted to ask. He leaned into the 
wind, letting the breeze sweep through his mind, letting 
the physical exertion dull curiosity's bite.
    At least for the moment.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "Now, the foundation of all strong character is 
principles. Without those, the soul is as nothing. You 
must be held up, buoyed by what you know is Right." 
Yuzim's eyes flashed around the room, as if he were 
addressing an audience of thousands instead of only two 
young curalli. "When you have learned what you know is 
Right, you will no longer have to walk through life 
uncertain about what to do. You will always have a strong 
arm to lean on- an arm of Right!" The elf raised a fist in 
the air, face flushed with triumph.
    If I hear that word one more time, I just might be 
sick, Maruss thought in disgust. He sprawled on the floor, 
drumming his fingers- very softly- against the granite and 
just barely able to keep from yawning or humming a 
deliberately discordant tune under his breath.
    In contrast, Phaedon sat up straight, legs crossed in 
a pose that could have been anything but comfortable- 
right leg coiled on top of the left. His silver eyes were 
fixed to the bladetrainer, wide and attentive. He looked 
as if he had never heard anything more interesting in his 
life.
    For Maruss, however, the driest of his foster mother's 
lectures beat this. Yuzim had been ranting on for an hour, 
and the violet-eyed curalli had yet to hear the answer to 
any of his questions. So far, what Yuzim talked about was 
principles and the need to have unshaken faith. He didn't 
say what principles these were, or provide a definition of 
character.
    So bored was Maruss that he nearly missed Yuzim's, 
"And so then we come to character itself."
    The curalli bolted upright, suddenly very interested. 
Phaedon gave him a look out of the corner of his eye and a 
supercilious sneer. Maruss ignored both. Yuzim held his 
eyes as the bladetrainer walked back and forth with 
stately, measured gait.
    "Character," said Yuzim suddenly, the sharply barked 
word jolting Maruss out of the hypnotic trance woven by 
the elf's walk, "is what you are when you have attained 
faith, when the opinions of others matter to you but not 
too much, when you have pride but not too much, when you 
acknowledge that you are not beyond mortal limits but that 
you are striving to surpass them." He stopped and turned 
towards them.
    "Character is moderation. Character is accepting what 
you are."
    Phaedon's silver eyes glowed as if lit from behind by 
a supernova, though he must have heard all of this 
thousands of times before. Maruss drew in a slow, confused 
breath and looked down at the floor, but his ears still 
registered the elf's words.
    "Character, yes, is self-knowledge. When you have 
gleaned all you can from your soul, you are content. You 
have character."
    For the first time in his life, Maruss didn't have 
anything to compare the words to. Maana had always 
carefully avoided discussing character, perhaps foreseeing 
this. Therefore, Maruss had to take the words to his own 
heart, had to accept them without a standard for 
comparison, had to let them set their own standards.
    And yet he could not.
    Something about the bladetrainer's words struck a 
wrong note in him. Not a false note, not the shiver he was 
given when his deception-detecting ability alerted him to 
a lie. Yuzim truly believed what he was saying; indeed, 
Maruss's sensitivity to emotions assured him the dream 
elf's fervor was the greatest he had ever encountered.
    No, all Maruss could conclude was that he could not 
accept the words. His own beliefs- beliefs he had never 
been aware of until today, beliefs he had formulated 
without realizing it- stated that character was a never- 
ending struggle, a striving upwards for unattainable 
perfection, and the betterment that occurred in that 
struggle.
    If he had possessed his own definition, why had he 
wanted to hear one? And what was so different about 
Yuzim's beliefs from his own? Maruss resumed his 
listening... and found the answer in seconds, now that he 
was looking for it.
    Yuzim said never to question.
    Confused, Maruss spent the rest of the lecture locked 
into himself, present in body but not in mind. Uncertainty 
threatened to overwhelm him. The idea of his own ideas was 
revolutionary to him. Did he have any right to do it, or 
should he continue to listen as he had done before?
    Something revolted in him. No. Whatever happened from 
this moment forward, no matter how he was punished, he 
needed to judge, to accept or reject accordingly what he 
was told, never to take it blindly again.
    Never.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Maruss walked into the sunlight an hour after that 
feeling as if he had been reborn. He gazed down into the 
dell blankly, unseeing, consumed by the inner struggle 
raging in him. The hand that clapped his shoulder seemed 
to bring him back from another world. He lifted his head, 
for the first time in his life forgetting his unease, 
staring unflinchingly into Phaedon's eyes.
    His foster brother hesitated, face going ashen. For a 
long moment they stood there, on the lip of the hollow, 
like two stone curalli; then Maruss, controlling himself, 
asked politely, "Did you want to say something to me?"
    Phaedon nodded, and now he seemed to be the one who 
was frightened. He kept one eye away from Maruss, one eye 
on him, as he spoke. "Yuzim's quite a remarkable teacher, 
isn't he?"
    Maruss shook himself as he felt the hands of the 
trance start to grip him again. Time enough for that 
later. "Remarkable," he said shortly, and made as if to 
climb down into the dell. Phaedon halted him by gripping 
his shoulder, which was, Maruss thought with annoyance, 
beginning to be bruised.
    "Yes?" the violet-eyed curalli ground between his 
teeth. Right now, he simply wanted to be alone.
    "I wanted to say that you took it well," said Phaedon 
earnestly. "I know you probably don't believe in some of 
the things he was saying- not yet, anyway. But you had the 
courtesy to listen, to try, to experience his words with 
an open mind. I hope you won't close it now." He 
hesitated, then spoke again, words coming out in a rush. 
"Sometimes I wish I was like you."
    He turned and loped smoothly into the fighting hall 
again, leaving Maruss again feeling helpless. The curalli 
stood for a moment longer, then slowly dropped to a 
kneeling position, pressing his cheek against the wet 
grass and closing his eyes.
    What in the name of the stars was happening to 
everyone? The people he had always trusted were suddenly 
devising "tests" for him and refusing to tell him odd bits 
of news. The people who had been low on his friendship 
list suddenly praised him and offered to teach him. It was 
a reversal of the natural order- or so it seemed. Were 
they simply testing him, in a way subtler than the 
manticora?
    But why?
    The eternal unanswered question, Maruss thought 
ruefully. He stood, stretched, and sought the handholds 
down into the dell a second time. This time, he really 
would go home and sleep- at least until his tired mind was 
rested and would stop giving him delusions about what was 
real and what was not.
    He had reached the valley floor when he remembered the 
hastily shut history. With a groan, he tried to ignore the 
jab of conscience, but a practical as well as an ethical 
reason made itself known; if Maana found it, she might 
well not let him use the library again. Those books were 
the greatest treasure of the verde, acquired secretly and 
at a price from the Empire. Careless treatment of them was 
not encouraged.
    With a sigh, the curalli turned his steps toward the 
library for the second time that day. His thoughts were 
focused totally on the book, and as a result, he barely 
noticed the figure sitting at a bench when he pushed the 
door open, reading intently. Then her scent reached his 
nostrils, and his head jerked up in surprise. The reader 
was Elenyi, her hand toying with her hair, her eyes fixed 
as if glued to the page of the book she held.
    This was most unusual. Maruss padded forward with 
silent step, moving with innate Elwen grace, and peered 
over her shoulder. His eyes flicked over the notes written 
there with practiced ease, and his curiosity grew. The 
song was unfamiliar to him, though he had heard most in 
the wolf Elwen's repertoire. Without thinking, he reached 
over her shoulder, reached for the book.
    Elenyi whirled on him, shrieking like a banshee and 
swinging the book at his head. Surprised, Maruss took a 
glancing blow on the temple before he ducked and rolled, 
coming up in a crouch some distance from his foster 
sister. He eyed her warily, wondering if she were 
possessed.
    Elenyi relaxed and stared down at him in 
consternation. "Maruss, I'm sorry," she said sheepishly. 
"I thought you were Phaedon." She looked down at the 
floor, seemingly embarrassed, and continued her 
explanation in a steadily dropping voice. "I didn't want 
him to see- this." Her hand caressed the pale blue cover 
of the book, a thin volume Maruss was positive he had 
never seen before. "He would have laughed. He doesn't 
believe-" She broke off, shaking her spangled hair and 
laughing shakily.
    "In much," Maruss said wryly, and was gratified to see 
her smile. He rose to his full height, letting the tension 
fall away. "I'm sorry I startled you, Elenyi. I simply 
came to put away the book I was reading." He strode to 
farther down the marble table, where the red book was 
waiting, glaring at him in reproach. He picked up the 
tome, cradling it with both hands, and gave it an 
apologetic pat. Elenyi watched silently as he went to put 
it away.
    The library soared up several hundred feet, and save 
for the small circular space where the door, window, and 
marble table and bench rested, it was all floor-to-ceiling 
shelves, crammed with books, with only narrow aisles 
between them. Maruss glided past the books with ease, 
stopping now and then to caress the spine of an old 
favorite.
    At last he reached the shelf where the glaring gap 
told him it had been waiting for the book. He scrambled up 
like a monkey and placed the book gently among its kin. 
Another window was set in the wall here, and the sunlight 
pouring through it sparkled and flashed on the titles 
embossed on the spines: A History of Fhevu, A History of 
the Silverini, A History of Rowan. The book on the 
silverini was well-worn and the gold that marked the title 
mostly rubbed off, as if someone were disgruntled a book 
about the hated silver unicorns should look so fine.
    Maruss reached the floor and took a step forward, then 
blinked. The aisle ahead of him was gone. With a little 
vexed mutter under his breath, he turned around. There 
were rumors that the library was magical, and that the 
shelves shifted like the trees in the Shaded Forest of the 
Tableland, but it had never happened to Maruss before.
    The aisle before him was gone also- no, wait. The 
shelves were shifting back and forth, blocking the way, 
then showing it, moving so fast that they left blurry 
images of themselves behind. Maruss rubbed his watering 
eyes and put a hand to his fiercely pounding head. Was he 
sick?
    He received his answer when the heat of his skin made 
him cry out in agony. He had a fever as hot as smoldering 
coals. Shivering, he dropped to one knee, thinking dazedly 
that this couldn't be happening, he couldn't be cold when 
he had a fever, it wasn't logical...
    A pair of concerned arms clasped him around the 
shoulders, and he heard Elenyi's anxious voice. "Maruss? 
Brother? Are you all right?"
    No, I'm not. I'm sick, but I don't know why or how. I 
was tired before, not sick.
    Maruss wanted to say those things, but he couldn't, 
for some reason. His mouth wouldn't work, wouldn't obey 
him, and neither would his limbs. He was sinking to the 
ground, wrapped in warm aqua mist. Above him, Elenyi was 
extending her hand to him, clutching something shaped like 
a tiny shark's dorsal fin and chattering in a language he 
didn't understand. He tried to shrug.
    Agony ripped through him like a storm of red-hot 
pokers, and blood fountained over his shoulder. Screaming, 
he whirled into darkness.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "Careful. He's very weak still."
    Hands steadied Maruss, who slowly opened his eyes, 
wishing he could tell them he felt much better. However, 
he didn't. As Maana had said, a nebulous weakness remained 
in him, coiling through him like a snake. Shivering, he 
looked around.
    He was in his own bed. His foster mother, Geruth, and 
Elenyi stood over him. There were dark circles under the 
wolf Elwen's eyes, and at first Maruss was startled, 
wondering how long he had been unconscious if she had 
spent sleepless nights worrying over him. Then he saw that 
she was missing a tooth and had small drops of silver 
blood dripping from her nose. She had not been worried, 
but in a fight.
    Geruth looked very pale, and his chest heaved as if he 
had been running a long way- unusual in itself, for he 
almost never ran anywhere. Maana was fighting between 
looking worried for the curalli and casting a disapproving 
glance at the satisfied wolkani. When she saw her foster 
son's violet eyes fixed on her, however, all anger melted 
away into a look of concern. She sank onto the bed and 
took his left hand in hers. "It is fortunate that the 
poison had had little time to affect you," she said 
quietly.
    Maruss spread his hands helplessly, wrenching his left 
one from Maana's grasp in a not-too-subtle indication that 
he wanted answers, not mothering. "Poison? Where did that 
come from?"
    "We didn't know, at first." Maana turned, green hair 
rustling behind her, to glare at Elenyi. "Your sister here 
had a suspicion that-"
    "Turned out to be right," Elenyi said smoothly. She 
held out a pointed object- the small, withered shark's fin 
from his fever-dream, Maruss realized. "Phaedon somehow 
attached this to your shoulder not long before you found 
me in the library. Its tip was coated with poison. I found 
him and beat the truth out of him." She snarled, 
resembling the animal her race gave her the power to 
shapeshift into. "He wouldn't say why, or even whether it 
was his idea or the idea of that intolerable elf Yuzim." 
She ignored her mother's sharply spoken reprimand, gazing 
at him and speaking seriously. "If it had gone on even a 
little longer, you would have died."
    "I cannot believe this!" said Maana softly, tilting 
her head forward so that her sparkling green eyes were 
focused on her clawed fingers. "Have I been such a 
terrible mother that my children think it right to turn on 
each other?"
    "It isn't your fault, Mother," said Maruss eagerly, 
somehow finding the strength to sit forward and clasp her 
hand in his, holding her eyes with his wistfulness, his 
sparkle. "Phaedon's always been a little strange- 
different from the rest of us. He had a bad fright earlier 
today-" he kept from looking in Geruth's direction, but 
felt the viaquia's lips quirk "-and perhaps it temporarily 
frightened him off the track of sanity. I can't believe he 
truly meant to kill me- probably only sicken me for a 
while."
    Elenyi exploded. "Stars, Maruss, you are so blind!" 
She flung the poison-coated arrowhead on the ground and 
stalked from the room. Maruss stared after her.
    "What'd I say?"
    "I am afraid that you are too willing to forgive, 
brother," said Geruth in a sober voice. "Phaedon knew 
exactly what he was doing. The poison was a large enough 
dose to kill you without being detected." His features 
were shadowed. "He hates you, Maruss."
    The curalli would have answered, but Maana took over 
before he could, all bustling efficiency. "Now, now, 
Geruth, enough of that. I think we should leave Maruss 
alone to relax and rest as he likes." She saw her foster 
son about to object out of the corner of her eye and shook 
her head violently. Maruss clamped his mouth shut and 
stared out the window so that his mother wouldn't see his 
scowl.
    The viaquia, looking as rebellious as he ever got, 
allowed the verde to take his arm and lead him out. He 
looked back at his brother and friend for one moment, 
though, and those night-blue eyes flamed with concern. 
Maruss could see the imploring message in them. Don't 
trust Phaedon, whatever Mother says!
    Maruss settled back against the pillow as the door 
closed behind the pair and stared out the window again, 
bathing his face in the angle of the evening light. He 
noted sadly that it was sunset, or near enough. Purple 
light had begun to overtake the sky, and the sun hovered 
near the horizon, though not below it as yet. This time of 
the day made Geruth's people invincible; had he chosen to 
resist, Maana would not have been able to drag him away.
    And yet, he hadn't. Was that out of personal choice, 
Maruss wondered, or out of the habit of obedience and 
respect so deeply ingrained in them that it had become 
second nature?
    If it was, the curalli abruptly scolded himself, he 
was doing the same thing. When he really wanted to be up 
and about, he was merely lying in bed, simply because 
Maana had told him to.
    He could see the merit of her order, and she truly had 
given it in good faith, but every trace of the poison had 
gone from his once sick and shaking body. There was no 
need to waste everyone's time in useless rest. He swung 
his legs over the bed's edge and stood.
    Colors burst in front of his eyes, and a fierce aching 
filled his head. Grinding his teeth, Maruss glided slowly 
toward the door and was pleased to find the headache 
abating. He laid his hand on the door and pushed it open, 
peering out the window as he did so. If no one was 
watching, he would go to his secret place and-
    A hand caught him by the throat of his tunic and 
jerked him in the air with enormous strength. A cloud of 
cruelty-laden breath filled his face as Phaedon's voice 
roared, "I hate you, Maruss! You were supposed to die! 
Don't you have the sense?" He flung his foster brother 
viciously from him.
    If there was one category where Maruss surpassed his 
brother, it was in agility. He twisted in midair, coming 
down on his feet some distance from the wall. Crouching, 
he stared in silent astonishment at Phaedon.
    The silver-eyed curalli trembled with emotion, then 
abruptly stood still. His face was calm as he lifted his 
hand in a mocking salute and glided away.




                        Chapter 2
                         Secrecy
    Maruss flitted through the forest like a second 
shadow, making himself one with the deepening light, 
seeking out the places where he was unlikely to see 
anyone. With every step he took, his bruised throat joined 
his head in its pounding complaint.
    And yet, the physical pain couldn't match the 
bewildered agony in Maruss's heart. Phaedon hadn't 
actually hurt him; the curalli's swift reflexes had saved 
him from a crash that could have proved very painful. It 
was the fact that he had tried to hurt his foster brother 
at all that Maruss could not understand. 
    Why? his mind whispered to the uncaring, oblivious 
world, for the first time not finding an answer to its 
question. The shadowed Elwen was not even sure there was 
an answer. By every judgment I can make, it seems 
Phaedon's hated me for a long time. Yet why wait until now 
to act?
    Maruss felt his eyelids trembling and swiftly blinked 
to cure his blurred sight. It shouldn't matter to him so 
much what Phaedon did, or that he had a mystery he 
couldn't solve. He was not even afraid of his foster 
brother; he didn't have fear as an excuse to keep 
concentrating on it.
    And still the tears continued to come, threatening but 
never materializing, for the curalli locked them away 
before they could.
    So intent was he on his thoughts that he nearly passed 
his destination, the thick tangle of brush that cradled 
his treasure. With a rueful smile, Maruss retraced his 
steps and knelt down, reaching into the tangle.
    The thing that stood there, under wild twigs and 
boughs untended for years, felt the touch of his mind and 
stirred eagerly, its own magic parting the thick plants 
Maruss had to reach through. As always, the curalli 
marveled at Elenyi's crafting. She was so skilled in the 
making of magical machines that they quite often took on a 
life of their own.
    Maruss's hands closed on smooth wood, and with a 
grateful smile, he lifted the object into the light. 
Fading sunlight winked and played off the soft whorls of 
worn hylea wood. This had been Maruss's companion for 
nearly forty years, ever since he had asked for it and 
Elenyi had made it for him, perhaps out of pity.
    It was a harp.
    The curalli admired the instrument for only a moment 
before flowing past the brush and into the small clearing, 
a dell within a dell, that the thick clump of bushes and 
vines hid.
    The harp carefully parted thorn and snagvine for him, 
its strings giving off a particularly bright gleam when 
the curalli patted it appreciatively. Maruss was not quite 
sure if the instrument was intelligent, at least in the 
ordinary sense of the word, but it did perform some 
services for him outside of mere music. He supposed he 
would be content with that.
    He thought suddenly, whimsically, that Elenyi might 
wonder still what had happened to this little harp. She 
could make a toy that a child could break on the second 
try and not consider her crafting wasted, Maruss knew. 
This harp had never been broken, at least that Elenyi 
knew; it had simply disappeared. She might have assumed 
that Maruss, frustrated by his inability to understand the 
notes, might have tossed it in a corner and forgotten it.
    Of course, the curalli was not truly tone-deaf. He 
merely encouraged that deception because he needed 
something private and precious to work on- like Geruth's 
magic, like Elenyi's machines- and music served as well as 
anything else.
    He seated himself in the middle of the tiny clearing, 
so tiny that it was shaded by trees from the air and 
didn't allow him to stretch out, and touched a hand gently 
to the strings of the harp. He winced at the sour sound- 
it had truly been too long since he played- and spent 
several minutes tuning the instrument. When he judged the 
notes to be the correct sweetness, he closed his eyes and 
began to play and sing the opening cadences to a song he 
had composed that had never been able to satisfy him.

    "I am bathed in sparkling, shining light,
     Raining from the heavens, silver-bright.
     As brilliant as jewels, like gemstones on high,
     But far richer than gems, the stars of the sky.

    "At night, the companions of the moons,
     They wrap the sky in sparkling shoons
     Of light. Glittering flames, they call to me,
     So distant and so beautiful, setting my heart free.

    "Starshine is falling on my upturned face,
     A silvery song from the depths of space.
     Surely Arcadia is a place where miracles are,
     As long as there exists the light of the stars."

    Maruss let both his breath and the last note out 
slowly, then opened his eyes and glared at the harp in 
frustration. He could feel the formless waves of 
resentment radiating from it. It did not respond with 
thoughts as such, but with emotions. It thought the song, 
which he had dubbed simply "The Light of the Stars," was 
good enough to be performed in public. It simply would not 
accept Maruss's explanation that the tune was wrong for 
the words, and that the words themselves were too simple 
to describe something like the miracle of starlight.
    Maruss finally decided to ignore the instrument and 
move on with his music. He stole all the time he could for 
singing and playing in between sleep, bladetraining, 
meals, and the studying his curiosity compelled him to do, 
but it was never enough. He didn't want to waste these few 
precious moments- perhaps all he had before somebody came 
looking for him.
    From the starsong he went to a half-finished 
composition about the sunset he intended to present to 
Geruth on his birthday as a poem. That was all the 
audience he allowed his music: people who thought he wrote 
poetry.
    The sunset song, "Vesper Time," actually added two 
verses to itself before turning stubborn and refusing to 
cooperate again. With a low hiss of exasperation, Maruss 
switched in midnote to a series of scales, playing them 
over and over until he was sure his anger was under 
control. Sometimes his compositions actually seemed to be 
living things, balking or flowing as they pleased, telling 
him what they were going to do instead of the other way 
around.
    Maruss had to admit he preferred that to producing 
pretty but lifeless poetry. Whenever he finished a song, 
he at least had the satisfaction of having struggled.
    His hands slowed again, strumming an aimless series of 
notes. For a few minutes he simply played so, content in 
the quiet and warm cocoon that encased him. There was a 
legend he had read teasing his mind, a legend that begged 
to be put into words, but he needed to frame the opening 
verse and hear the tune in his mind first.
    The tune came, a silvery, tumbling waterfall of notes, 
turning dark and somber in the middle. Maruss played them 
immediately, repeating them several times to fix them in 
his mind, and then began the song. The legend was one 
about some of the strangest creatures in Arcadia: those 
born with amburn eyes.

    "When destiny chooses a single one,
     It is always under different skies.
     But though her choices are many and strange,
     None is stranger than one with amburn ey-"

    "Maruss! What are you playing?"
    The curalli's usually smooth hand faltered, and the 
tune ground to a clunky halt. He felt the harp's bitter 
complaint in his mind, but paid no attention to it as he 
scrambled toward his secret store of pran paper. If he was 
never going to be allowed to play again, he wanted at 
least to record the notes that still whispered in his mind 
but were retreating teasingly fast.
    Light footsteps came behind him, and a slight yet 
strong hand closed over his wrist. Maruss winced as long 
claws pricked his skin and shut his eyes, resigned, 
waiting for Maana to scold him. He wasn't sure how she 
would take such a deliberately perpetuated lie.
    The voice spoke again, and his heart started with 
impossible hope. "I simply wondered what you were playing, 
Maruss." The voice, childish in tone, without the adult 
roundness to her notes, was slightly hurt. "Do you have to 
hide it even from me?"
    Maruss turned and smiled up at Myyti, Maana's 
daughter. "No, Myyti, I suppose I don't." He patted the 
hand that clasped his, green and long-clawed like her 
mother's but smaller and slimmer. "You startled me, you 
see, and I am so used to playing alone-"
    "Why?" interrupted Myyti. Her green eyes sparkled with 
sharp curiosity; save for that emotion, she was a younger 
copy of her mother, with emerald hair that tumbled down 
her gray-clothed back, green skin, and similarly colored 
eyes. "Have I been away so much that I've missed the 
breaking of your tone-deafness?"
    Maruss laughed softly. Myyti had been away on a trip 
to the underground continent of Salfiri, visiting her 
estranged father, a journey she made regularly. "Heavens 
no, Myyti. It's- always been this way." He shifted 
uncomfortably, though Myyti was dear to him and he had 
always been at ease in her presence. Did the revealing of 
his secret trouble him that much? And why? Almost every 
time he had returned to the clearing, he had expected to 
find his hidden compositions and his harp gone. Why did 
being caught in the act have to be so different?
    "I suppose," said Myyti slowly, her eyes on him, "that 
I feel ashamed. I have adopted all four of you as my 
younger siblings, and I thought I'd been a fairly good 
elder sister. To think you felt obliged to hide your 
music-"
    "You haven't failed in your trust," Maruss assured 
her, squeezing her hand. He saw the distressed expression 
on her face quite well. The sun's light had stopped 
creeping through the trees, and though the curalli loved 
it, he still found it easier to see when its radiance was 
gone. "Any more than Maana's failed hers, and it's hard to 
imagine your mother failing at anything!"
    Myyti's lips twitched. "True," she agreed, and stood, 
stretching luxuriously. Her motion could not disguise the 
curious look she shot toward the harp, however. "What are 
you going to do now?" she asked. "Will you permit others 
to hear and see your music?"
    Maruss bit his lip. He could trust Myyti, but not- 
others. Not anymore. If nothing else, they wouldn't 
understand why he had kept his ability secret, and Phaedon 
might destroy his instrument and songs if he knew of their 
existence. "A lot of them are half-finished," he told her, 
finding himself strangely reluctant to speak of his 
problems with Phaedon. "And others are too private." Might 
as well tell the truth. "Would you mind very much keeping 
them a secret, Myyti?"
    The verde woman eyed him thoughtfully, then nodded 
slowly. "Yes, I'll keep it if you ask me to, Maruss. I 
simply can't understand why," she added under her breath.
    Maruss ignored the whisper and gave her a grateful 
smile as he moved to place his songs back under their bush 
and his harp in its thick tangle. In a few days perhaps, 
he would retreat to a new place.
    The harp protested in his mind. It wanted to be played 
in public, the vain thing. Maruss gave the wood a light 
smack with the open palm of his hand, and it subsided, if 
sulkily. But he felt a faint mental vibration from it.
    Before he knew what she was doing, Myyti had plucked 
the harp from his hands and was examining it curiously. 
"This looks like Elenyi's work," she murmured, touching 
one claw to a string. It hummed an impossibly sweet note, 
and Maruss could imagine it snickering at him. "It's 
beautiful," whispered Myyti, awe in her voice.
    "Isn't it," said Maruss between gritted teeth, eyes 
firmly locked on the harp. He extended his hand, and the 
underground Elwen reluctantly put the instrument into it. 
The harp thrummed again, but when Myyti stared at it, 
Maruss plucked another string, disguising the spontaneous 
hum. He practically slammed it into the bushes and pulled 
them closed over it.
    And stay there, you ridiculous thing, he thought 
firmly. He turned and offered his arm to Myyti, in a 
gesture that could have been either gallantry or mocking 
courtesy; even the curalli himself was not sure. Under any 
other circumstances, he would have been sincere, but the 
discovery of his secret had shaken him strangely and he 
was in no mood to be polite.
    Some time ago he had discovered a maxim whose origins 
he could no longer remember: "Every being, no matter what 
its nature, gender, or desires, needs a private soul where 
no one else is welcome." Maruss had not consciously 
enshrined his music as the private part of him, but such a 
sentiment certainly explained why he felt the way he did.
    Myyti took the proffered arm with becoming gravity, 
though she lifted her right hand to her face. Maruss was 
fairly certain it was to hide a giggle, and this suspicion 
was borne out by the hidden laughter of her next words. 
"Come, my gallant. Wilt thou escort me?"
    Maruss relaxed, now sure she wouldn't tell anyone, and 
snapped a short bow. They stepped carefully through the 
bushes; the harp did not part the thorns for them with its 
magic, but the sharp sticks were rebuffed by Myyti's thick 
skin and Maruss's fairly heavy clothing. Consequently, 
they stepped into the open with relatively few scratches. 
Maruss released Myyti and stepped away, hoping he didn't 
seem too eager to leave. He- needed to be alone, though he 
had been several times today.
    The verde girl called softly after him, freezing him 
in his tracks. "Maruss? Is something wrong?" When he 
turned to look at her, she spoke defensively, perhaps 
seeing the expression on his face. "Mother contacted me 
telepathically as I was stoneswimming back and said you'd 
been having some- problems." Her voice lowered self- 
consciously as Maruss stared at her.
    The curalli shook his head warily. Did Maana have to 
advertise this fact to the world? "Nothing I can't take 
care of," he said smoothly, and then wondered why he had 
said it. She hadn't offered help.
    Myyti flushed, just a delicate trace of green on the 
green cheeks, and stepped a little closer. "I- that is- I 
know you can handle it. I just wanted you to know-" She 
faltered to a step. Maruss cocked his head and regarded 
her with a steady stare. People seemed to be losing their 
wits around him lately.
    "I know you'll be here," said Maruss with more 
gentleness, sensing what she wanted to say. "You were 
there the day you rescued me, weren't you?" He saw her 
relax. Myyti's favorite memory, and the first story she 
had ever told him, centered on how she had convinced her 
mother to swipe him, along with Geruth, Elenyi, and 
Phaedon, from the Empire. Mentioning it was always a way 
to win the girl's good will.
    "Thank you," said Myyti, and timidly reached out and 
patted his arm, as if he were a wild animal that might 
turn on her at any moment. "I needed that." She turned and 
plunged smoothly into the earth, moving as easily as if 
through water.
    Maruss stared after her, feeling his face soften with 
compassion. Myyti had not had an easy life. She had been 
taught hate early in her life- first for the Silver 
Unicorn Empire, then for her father, who thought the 
surface Elwens didn't deserve his wife's efforts to rescue 
them. Though Elwens did not practice the elven custom 
known as "divorce," Myyti's parents had come close. Now 
her father remained underground, unimaginable miles from 
the sunlit world he detested, and Myyti traveled back and 
forth between them.
    "Maruss!"
    The curalli's head jerked up involuntarily, his eyes 
easily seeing the slender figure who hurried toward him. 
He stifled a silent groan. It was Elenyi, and she could be 
here for only one reason- to show off a new item she had 
crafted. Generally he appreciated her trust, the fact that 
she always sought his approval, but it was the last thing 
he wanted at the moment.
    Still, he forced himself to stand still, and his 
interest grew when he saw light welling from between her 
fingers.
    The wolf Elwen skidded to a stop, her face laughing. 
She didn't look very different from a wolf when she did 
this: lips curved in a smile, tongue lolling slightly 
between her teeth, eyes blazing with excitement, as a true 
hunter's blazed with hunter's glow. "Look!" She held out 
her night-blue fists and opened them fully.
    Golden radiance burst into the night, turning the 
darkness into a second day. Maruss lifted a hand to shield 
his sensitive eyes until they adjusted, and then leaned 
forward, all four senses that would work on this object 
acting in concert.
    It was a tiny globe, crafted of a metal that smelled 
entirely unfamiliar. By some mechanism he couldn't see, 
yellow light welled from it. Whatever it was, it was both 
efficient and quiet; there was not the slightest tock or 
click to indicate how it was done. The curalli extended a 
silver finger, silently asking permission to touch it, and 
Elenyi nodded, eyes shining. Maruss's fingertip brushed 
the metal.
    He gasped. He had meant to lock the sensation in his 
mind, to compare it to glass, steel, and other materials 
he knew. But he was entirely overwhelmed by what happened 
when he merely grazed it.
    Music filled the air, Elenyi's voice- yet Maruss knew 
instinctively that he wasn't hearing it with his ears. He 
was, in some strange way, hear-feeling it through his 
fingers. His hand fell away, and he stared at the globe, 
feeling his eyes widen.
    Elenyi affectionately caressed whatever-it-was. "Isn't 
it wonderful? I was starting to fall asleep while I 
tinkered with light, and it would have been dangerous to 
do so without putting my materials away. I started singing 
to keep myself awake. The light suddenly blazed furiously, 
and I was holding this in my hand." She again touched the 
globe, and closed her eyes as if in bliss.
    "What is it made of?" Maruss was now glad he had 
chosen to wait. He had rarely encountered anything so 
curious, something whose secret begged to be discovered.
    "Crafted of solidified song, as far as I can tell." 
Elenyi continued to beam; the expression on her face would 
have done a goddess credit. "The light fueled by nothing 
but song. Imagine what we could do with these! Light the 
houses for the elves, who can't, of course, see as well as 
we can at night. Heal those who are sick; if they became 
lost in song, they would forget their physical pain. If I 
can make one that gives off heat-" She shook back her 
star-spangled hair. "Ah, stars! I'm too happy."
    Maruss hugged her warmly. "I'm not sure the state of 
too much happiness exists, but if it does, you've found 
it. I wish you the best of luck."
    Elenyi, actually removing one hand from the little 
lightsinger, hugged him in return. "Thank you, brother." 
She flashed into the darkness again, the globe bobbing in 
her hand like a captured firefly. Maruss watched until she 
stepped behind a tree, her aura mingling with its and 
effectively blinding him to her presence. Her scent still 
lingered in the air, however, bright and fresh, slightly 
musky in the way of wolves and alight with elation. Maruss 
wondered at his luck in knowing such people. He turned to 
walk in the opposite direction, not sure of his 
destination.
    The air around him seemed unable to make up its mind 
about whether to be warm or cold, and so settled for a 
slight early spring chill pleasant enough to Maruss's 
cool-adapted skin. He passed trees that were only slowly 
opening their buds, others laden with pale blossoms or 
full complements of leaves, and the evergreens that stood 
clad in their emerald armor all year round.
    Animals of the forest moved around him. On silent 
wings, beyond the reach of a mouse's ears but not of a 
shadowed Elwen's, an owl floated overhead, its meal 
clutched bloodied and dripping in its talons. Maruss was 
glad he didn't look closely at it. A slight scuttle and a 
heavy smell indicated the presence of a raccoon nearby, 
and bright eyes beamed down at him from a branch, 
confirming his suspicions. A frog croaked as Maruss came 
to the stream and knelt to drink, and a too-early cricket 
chirped experimentally. The curalli chuckled back, and the 
insect whirred again.
    Maruss fell back on the dew-soaked grass, studying the 
sky above through a rare gap in the branches. Though he 
could not see the moons themselves from this vantage, he 
saw their mingled light staining the dark green sky. 
Softly, he named them off on his fingers, in the ancient 
name-game he had been taught from childhood. "Rareth, the 
dragon moon; Lureth with her golden light's boon; Takon 
who created the silver unicorns; Salsi of whom the 
rufousos were born."
    He laughed at himself when he had finished, feeling a 
little silly but also better. Sometimes, as on a night of 
unspoiled innocence like this one, it was nice to remember 
what he had been taught as a child.
    One of those things was going to bed on time, and 
though the night's siren song tugged at him, called his 
heart, he reluctantly put it aside and flitted toward his 
own hut.
    He paused after moving a few steps, certain he had 
heard something stealing lightly after him. Slowly, he 
turned his head, one hand dipping into a pocket. Abruptly 
he whirled, his hand snapping and launching the stone he 
had scooped out with deceptive skill and ease.
    A pained squeal echoed from the darkness, and he 
recognized the voice of a raccoon. Laughing, he continued 
on his way, after first sniffing for blood. Catching no 
scent of it, he concluded the animal was not seriously 
injured and soothed the stabs of his conscience. 
    He reached the white stone hut and pushed the door 
open slowly. A rush of warm air greeted him, air penned up 
in here for more than an hour. Coughing, he stepped 
inside, thinking with a sadness that surprised him about 
how little time he really spent here.
    He curled up on his bed and closed his eyes, not 
bothering to pull the tumbled sheets over himself since he 
slept fully clothed. A head-splitting yawn persuaded his 
whirring mind to settle into comforting darkness and 
forget the sounds it insisted it heard outside the window.
    Sounds like a soft chuckle, and a mocking rap on the 
sill.
----------------------------------------------------------
    A deferential tap on the door woke Maruss only a few 
hours later. He opened his eyes and groaned loudly when he 
saw sunlight filtering through the window. Late again for 
his lesson- and this time it was not likely Yuzim would be 
forgiving. He leaped hastily to his feet and strode to the 
bucket of water in the corner, stooping to splash cold 
liquid on his face while shouting, "Come in!"
    Myyti peered in and smiled slightly, lifting her 
clawed hand again to cover a giggle. Maruss was certain he 
must present quite a sight- his hair and clothes rumpled, 
his skin covered with sweat from panic as he attempted to 
wash, dripping most of the water on his tunic.
    For no reason, Maruss felt irritated. He picked up the 
bucket as if to dunk his head in it, but instead flung 
most of the contents at Myyti.
    The verde girl could not duck, and the water settled 
over her with a wet smack. Her hair abruptly clung to her 
skull, and her pale gray clothes turned dark. She spat 
water and began to laugh aloud.
    Rolling his eyes, Maruss splashed a little more water 
on his face, then set the bucket down, knowing the girl 
would not return the trick. She knew his habit of visiting 
Yuzim in the mornings, and also knew the elf did not 
appreciate anyone entering his building in wet clothing.
    "Thank you for the early morning wake-up call," said 
Myyti humorously, her lips twitching even after her 
laughter had stopped. "I came to invite you to go see 
something I discovered after your lesson is finished."
    Maruss paused and swiveled a curious eye toward the 
verde, but she returned his gaze blankly, innocently. 
"Well?" he asked grudgingly at last. "What is it?"
    "If I told you," said Myyti slowly, tasting each word 
as if it were flavorful, "it wouldn't be a surprise any 
more, now would it?"
    Maruss ignored the urge to fling both bucket and water 
in his foster sister's general direction and nodded 
acceptance of the invitation. "Thank you," he added 
quietly, gratified as always. While such invitations could 
be bothersome at times, he was touched by how much his 
foster siblings trusted him.
    Myyti abruptly made a sour face and plucked at the wet 
gray cloth of her tunic. "I just remembered that Mother 
said don't let anything happen to these clothes." She gave 
a practiced careless shrug, laughing when Maruss felt his 
skin pale. "Don't worry, brother. You couldn't have known, 
and Mother, I'm sure, prefers high spirits to good 
clothes."
    Maruss was not so sure about that, but he didn't have 
time to argue. He headed for the door.
    Myyti stopped him again. Resigned, Maruss stood still 
and kept his eyes on the hand on his arm, knowing he would 
reveal his exasperation if he looked up at her.
    "I don't understand," said Myyti softly, and Maruss 
gave a small start of surprise. Already she had revealed 
this wouldn't be an ordinary conversation. The girl, 
supremely confident and used to shifting through lessons 
in search of the truth, did not often admit she didn't 
understand. "Why do you tolerate Yuzim? He's unfair to you 
all day, every day."
    Now the curalli had no choice but to lift his head and 
stare at her. Though different from her mother, Myyti had 
always looked to one of Maana's tenets with unwavering 
faith: the one that stated judging a person immediately 
was wrong. "Myyti, now I am afraid I am the one who must 
say I don't understand."
    With startling speed, Myyti's eyes narrowed, and her 
fingers tightened around his wrist. "Yes you do." The 
words were soft, hissed through her teeth.
    Maruss, confused, was still staring at her when he 
felt wet warmth trickling down his wrist. Lowering his 
eyes, he saw white blood running from the wounds Myyti's 
gripping claws had punched. With a grimace, he wiped at 
the holes, wishing desperately that he possessed healing 
magic. Phaedon, Yuzim, or both would be after him when 
they saw these, making sly comments about playing with a 
sword when no master was in sight...
    Maruss stopped, appalled. Myyti's sickness was washing 
off on him: he was judging these people, saying what they 
might or might not do. 
    It couldn't have been totally from association with 
the young verde, but Maruss felt unclean, stained by his 
thoughts, and he was already late. With strength he hadn't 
known he possessed, he tore free from Myyti's grip and ran 
into the woods, backhanding any branches that got in his 
way, ignoring the girl's anxious cries. A twinge of guilt 
stabbed him; it wasn't that he blamed her. He simply 
didn't have the time any longer.
    He ran like a rabbit all the way to the granite arena, 
pausing only to dip his wounded hand in the stream and 
cleanse it. It represented all he could take of the bath 
he would be forced to endure later, in order to purify 
himself. He liked being clean but detested water, and 
indeed did not often have to take baths. This occasion, 
however, was anything but normal.
    As he ran. he locked away the disturbing part of his 
mind and heart that had found his thoughts about Yuzim and 
Phaedon to be no less than truth.
    He flung open the granite door without knocking and 
was startled to see both Yuzim and Phaedon standing in the 
huge main room. He had never known Phaedon to awaken 
before the sunrise. 
    You're judging again, his conscience reminded him, and 
he physically winced as he moved to take the spear from 
the wall, highly conscious of the eyes on him. He did not 
offer excuses; it was not his way, and they would never be 
believed in any case. He turned when he had the heavy 
weapon in his hands and fixed his eyes to Yuzim's face 
alone as he spoke, afraid of showing his confusion 
suddenly, as a wounded moose will not show its injury to a 
pack of hungry wolves. "I am sorry, sir," he said, quietly 
and with dignity. "I'll stand whatever punishment you 
think fair."
    Yuzim's response surprised him more than anything had 
in his life. The elf's blue-black eyes lighted with hungry 
fires, and his hand went to his belt, drawing the fine, 
light steel sword free. He moved gracefully toward Maruss, 
the sword held high.
    Without the protective padding.
    Maruss eyed the blade as he held the spear before him 
in the most effective position its weight would permit 
him. "Sir?" he dared to ask.
    "Shut up."
    The words were a burbling snarl in the bladetrainer's 
throat as he flung himself savagely at the young curalli. 
Maruss barely lifted the spear in time to halt the 
descending arc of the sword, and then it did no good.
    Without its padding, the edged and magically 
strengthened steel shattered the spear shaft in two, 
cutting through it as easily as if through soft cheese. It 
was only slowed a little; then it swept toward Maruss's 
head.
    Still, the tiny delay was all the time the curalli 
needed. He rolled from under the sword and heard it clang 
against the stone with a shrill protest that set his teeth 
on edge. From the corner of his eye he saw sparks leap. He 
jumped to his feet and stared warily at Yuzim.
    Had he not reacted as he had, but stood still and 
trusted in the bladetrainer, the blow would have cleaved 
his head in two.
    So involved was he in staring at Yuzim that he nearly 
forgot. They nearly closed the trap on him. But he saw the 
elf's blue-black eyes flicker over his shoulder for the 
barest of moments, and reacted with the speed of instinct, 
kicking out behind him at exactly the right height.
    Phaedon grunted and went down, balling up in a pained 
huddle. Maruss stared at him silently, keeping one eye on 
the fighting master. Phaedon clutched not his fine sword, 
which stood in a corner, but a bloodied dagger that had 
obviously been used for killing before. 
    Maruss's sense of honor revolted, and he looked over 
and spat on the floor, wishing the pain were great enough 
for him to retch. "So this is how you planned to kill me," 
he murmured, voice thick with disgust. "With a dagger in 
the back."
    He saw Yuzim's charge and whirled gracefully away, 
then jumped high and clung to the walls with the aid of 
the tiniest cracks possible in the granite, cracks only a 
curalli could have found or used. There, he stared down at 
Yuzim, too old and not agile enough to climb the wall 
after him, and Phaedon, still too much in pain. The 
bladetrainer leaped after him, steel scraping regularly 
against granite as he attempted to climb the smooth stone 
and was rejected by the wall again and again. "Come down, 
you rodent!" he called at last, when it was plain he 
wasn't going to get anywhere near the violet-eyed curalli. 
"If you claim to have honor, challenge us on the ground, 
fairly!"
    Something swelled in Maruss, giving the impression of 
a great bubble. The bubble burst, and anger flooded him 
like water. "Fairly?" he snarled, feeling his face twist. 
"You would have killed me if I hadn't run! Phaedon would 
have killed me- dishonorably- if I hadn't stopped him! You 
knew I couldn't use that spear. What is this?" He shook 
his indigo hair in confusion, hoping against hope that, 
just once, something would be explained to him.
    The questions appeared to enrage the blademaster even 
further. "How dare you say such things to me!" he 
screamed, face turning so livid that Maruss could see the 
flush even under his violet skin. "Rat! Rat with violet 
eyes! Will you come down, or must I report what happened 
today to Maana?"
    Maruss's guts twisted uncomfortably. Perhaps Yuzim was 
crazy, but Phaedon had most likely been coerced into going 
along with the elf's plan. If Yuzim told, the silver-eyed 
curalli would be in trouble, when none of this had been 
his fault. "I'll come down," the curalli called 
resignedly, starting to scamper down headfirst, like a 
squirrel. 
    Behind him he heard a soft gasp and stared out the 
window near his back in consternation. But there was no 
one there, only the soft rasp of wind across granite. With 
a shrug, he dismissed it as a trick of his wistful 
imagination and jumped the last fifteen feet, landing 
lightly on the floor.
    The elf advanced toward him, and Maruss reflexively 
tensed, but Yuzim seemed intent only on examining him. 
"You know," he said suddenly, "you are not the only young 
shadowed Elwen I have ever trained." A self-pitying note 
entered his voice.
    Judging again. Maruss steeled himself against his 
mind's suggestion. Whatever the reason for it, the emotion 
he could sense was self-pity, not any other.
    "I wish to Sarastaa I knew," Yuzim said softly, "how 
you shadowed Elwens manage to insinuate yourselves into 
the minds and hearts of hapless people. So evil- oh, yes, 
I've read the books on your kind," he added, when Maruss 
stiffened indignantly. "And yet, so beautiful. So deadly- 
and so graceful. So loveless- and so loyal. You are finely 
balanced bags of contradictions," he said, turning his 
head slightly, and Maruss realized Phaedon must have 
recovered.