Honor's Keeper
                         Prologue
            251, Age of Newness, Early Spring
    "Oh, Sarastaa, Lord of the Dawn, hear now the prayers 
of Thy faithful servant. I bow to Thee, and yet I dare to 
ask Thy counsel. War ravages the face of the earth, and 
some battles are fought not so far from Ava-Sunriver. Do I 
have a right to intervene? Do I have-"
    The clanging of the small silver bell, sweet though it 
was, jangled an interruption to his prayers. Kejermo 
Sunlily opened his eyes and glared at the thing, then 
sighed and rose to his feet.
    He supposed it was for the best anyway. The sunlight 
slanting through the stained glass windows of the chapel 
was beautiful, restful, peaceful- almost too much so. It 
tended to lull him into a trance, as did the smell of 
incense and the continuous soft prayers and songs to his 
god. He forgot his urgency, his need to ask for advice, in 
sheer contemplation of his surroundings.
    The dawn Elwen shook his head as the bell rang a 
second time. He was falling into the trance again. Well, 
he would have to resist it this time.
    He started off toward the door in a smooth glide, 
passing from the chapel to the anterooms without much of a 
transition. Even here, Sarastaa's followers prayed and 
sang as they went about their duties. The only difference 
was that they sometimes bowed to him.
    A courtesy befitting the High Priest of Sarastaa of 
Ava-Sunriver, but he had no time to enjoy it. The bell was 
ringing yet again. Iela might do that out of sheer 
hysteria, but Tushoon was in charge of the bell today, and 
he never rang it for anything less than a real emergency.
    Some of those who saw him came up to ask questions, 
although he did his best to evade them.
    "Is it true that the humans will march on Ava- 
Sunriver, my lord?" asked one wide-eyed young woman, whose 
pale golden robe proclaimed her a priestess in training.
    "For all I know, they will," Kejermo said shortly. He 
was in a hurry.
    The girl paled to the roots of her hair, and almost 
slumped backward into the arms of the young man standing 
behind her. He did not look displeased at this occurrence, 
and held her protectively close as he gave the High Priest 
a bright, challenging look.
    "Then we will fight them!"
    "That is what the Honor's Keepers are for. Protecting 
those of Sunriver who would rather see their home 
destroyed than fight back-"
    The bell gave a long, sustained ring.
    ^Coming!^ Kejermo threw ahead in telepathic 
exasperation. ^What is it, anyway? What is so urgent as to 
call me from my prayers?^
    ^You'll have to see for yourself, my lord.^
    Kejermo tightened his lips. Iela would at least have 
told him, if hysterically. He set off again, leaving the 
acolytes and lesser clergy to stir and murmur nervously 
behind him.
    He came into the great Entry Hall, and paused for a 
leisurely study of it, simply to spite Tushoon for a few 
seconds more. The hall soared up two stories of the 
building that functioned as church, school, and government 
seat of the city. Its walls and floor were formed entirely 
of flamegold, rock colored like Sarastaa's holy Sun. In 
many places, the brilliant colors could not be seen, 
covered as they were with mirrors, great glass windows, 
and lamps unlit at this time of day. The sunlight coming 
through the windows bounced dizzily off the walls and the 
few benches, also of flamegold, that were the Hall's only 
furniture. The alalori, the dawn Elwens, the servants of 
Sarastaa- whatever else could be said of them, they loved 
light.
    Tushoon poked his head out of the tiny alcove that 
usually housed the gatewarden, whoever that might happen 
to be. "Lord Kejermo..." He let his voice trail off, a 
little wary, however exasperated he was, of scolding a 
superior.
    "Yes, yes." Kejermo walked over to join him, ignoring 
the salt Elwen's further fretting at his slowness. He was 
over nine thousand years old, after all. He had a right to 
walk slowly if he wished.
    All right. A part of it was to irritate Tushoon. But 
not all of it.
    At last he reached the alcove... and there halted, 
staring in astonishment. The salt Elwen did not stand 
there alone.
    With him was an alalori girl of perhaps eight years, 
with an expression of oddly old inner calm on her face. 
Her dark hair was pulled behind her in braids that must 
have been the product of loving hands, unless she had done 
it herself. Looking into her shimmering blue-green eyes, 
Kejermo could almost believe she had.
    He glanced at Tushoon, but the kelsina only motioned 
impatiently towards the girl, and the High Priest dropped 
to one knee.
    "Sarastaa's greetings to you, little one," he said, 
and paused to wait for the correct response.
    Small shoulders shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't know 
what I say back to you. Mama never taught me those 
things." Her voice had a hint of real repentance, but no 
remorse, and no apology. She was merely stating a fact.
    "What is your name? And who is your mother? She has 
been sadly remiss in instructing you."
    Tushoon was frantically trying to get his attention, 
but Kejermo ignored him for the moment, more interested in 
the child's answer, which was promptly given. "My name is 
Zinira Dulak. My mother is Jenna Dulak. And I don't think 
she has been remiss. She just didn't have time. She's very 
sick now, and we were traveling before that."
    That last made Kejermo wonder if her calm was a 
womanly effort to hold back tears. But her eyes met his 
with no sign of fear. There was something almost unnatural 
about the child, he thought, and shivered.
    Unnatural...
    Yes, come to think of it, there was. Though, this 
close, Kejermo could feel that she had the famed peace 
aura of their kind, he had not been able to feel it 
farther away. And her skin was too pale a gold; with a 
little effort, she might have passed for a tanned land 
Elwen. And when was the last time he had seen a dawn Elwen 
with dark hair?
    As he stared, eyes narrowed, wondering, Tushoon solved 
the question for him. He drew back Zinira's hair enough to 
expose one ear.
    Smaller than Kejermo's own, and with a lobe.
    The child was half-human.
    The High Priest nearly sat down. He stared at her, 
unable to believe that she existed, unable to keep himself 
from shuddering at the shameful possibilities.
    That her mother was alalori, there was no question. 
Not with the name. Which left all sorts of unpleasant 
speculations on how Zinira had come to have a human 
father.
    Zinira reached out and took his hand, holding it 
between her two smaller ones. Her eyes, the exact color of 
the sky at early sunset, focused on his. Alalori were 
supposed to be immune to the peace auras of their own 
kind, but he felt his muscles relax, as if she were 
soothing him.
    Or perhaps it was only that he finally realized she 
was a child, and could do nothing to harm him.
    "Why did you come here, Zinira?"
    For the first time, something like sorrow brushed 
across her face, but there were no tears. "Mama's very 
sick. I have to get help for her."
    Kejermo met Tushoon's eyes over her head. They both 
knew what this meant. The woman- Jenna- had sent her 
daughter away so that she would not have the pain of 
seeing her mother die.
    Still, they owed it to her, to any alalori- or half- 
alalori- who asked the Church for help.
    "I will go to her," Kejermo said softly, rising to his 
feet. "Tell me where she is."
    Zinira's shoulders slumped, and a tension he had not 
realized was there eased out of her features. "She's in a 
house on the Sunburst Plaza. She said she meant to stay 
there until she got better. It has a red wooden sign with 
a blue bull's head on it over the door."
    Kejermo closed his eyes, knowing what such a sign 
meant, but he said nothing aloud. "Stay here with Tushoon, 
Zinira," he instructed her softly. "He will tell you 
stories, and entertain you." He gave the salt Elwen a  
flip of his hand to indicate that he was free from door- 
watching duty, and another to indicate he should call Iela 
to take his place.
    The salt Elwen, who was also armsmaster and the 
trainer of the Honor's Keepers, nodded fractionally and 
slipped from the alcove, drawing Zinira with him. He had 
already begun a story of a brave kelsina knight 
challenging a salt dragon to mortal combat- salt Elwens 
were full of such stories- and Zinira trotted to keep pace 
with both him and the flow of the words, her face wrought 
with wonder.
    That made it a bit easier for him to turn away. Not 
much, but a little.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "My lady?"
    She stirred, barely raising her head from the pillow, 
and Kejermo knew as soon as he saw her face, her lank and 
lusterless red hair and her glazed aqua eyes, that Jenna 
Dulak did not have long to live.
    "You are-?" she murmured in question, tilting her head 
with a slight frown. Then she saw the insignia on his 
tunic, and inclined her head.
    "No time for bowing now." Kejermo walked over to her 
and sat on the edge of the sickbed. He had no fear of 
catching the disease that was slowly eating her alive; it 
could not be contagious, or Zinira would already have it. 
"Let me know what I can do to heal you."
    But Jenna was still caught in the wonder of his 
appearance. "The High Priest. I never thought she would go 
to you for help. My little darling is more daring than I 
thought." For a moment, a smile of fond pride graced her 
lips; then she coughed, deeply and violently and without 
warning. Golden blood spattered the blankets, and the 
stench of death filled the room- this room of a cheap 
tavern, a place where no alalori should be forced to stay.
    "And there is nothing you can do to heal me," she 
concluded without bitterness. "There is only one thing I 
ask of you."
    "Which is?" Kejermo, deep in his meditations for what 
would have to be the finish to this grim business, looked 
up.
    "Take care of my Zinira."
    The instinctive flinch must have shown in his eyes, 
for she leaned forward and gripped his arm with a hand so 
hot it was difficult not to pull away from her grip. She 
spoke swiftly, her words powered by her fever.
    "My wedding with my Jon was legal. He would still be 
alive to care for her if some land Elwens had not decided 
that I was raped and enslaved, and killed him before I 
could protest. We have been on the move since then. If 
anyone ever decides Zinira is a threat, with no one around 
to protect her-" She coughed again, and a deep tearing 
sound came from somewhere within her chest. "But no one 
would dare attack her, even though she is of half-Elwen 
blood, if she were under the protection of the Church."
    Kejermo hesitated, searching her eyes. Her story had 
rent his heart, the heart Zinira had earlier won. He 
wanted to believe her- wanted so much to believe her that 
it hurt- but any decision he made along these lines could 
reflect badly on him and on Ava-Sunriver. The Elwens were 
at war with the humans, and half-Elwens were feared and 
mistrusted by both sides. He had to hesitate.
    "It was legal," Jenna repeated, and the conviction in 
her voice convinced him.
    "All right." He bent gently to touch her hot cheek 
with his lips, in the ancient gesture from kinsman to 
kinswoman, from brother to sister, of sealing a promise. 
"I will protect her as if she were my own daughter. We 
will train her as a priestess, or an Honor's Keeper. With 
the protection of the God, or the skills of the sword, she 
will be able to defend herself."
    Jenna sighed, and her hand slipped from his as her 
head rolled back against the pillows. "That is all I 
wanted to know." Her eyes slipped closed, and this time 
Kejermo knew she was ready. "Do it now, please."
    Kejermo laid one hand gently overlapping hair and 
brow, in the manner of a blessing, and the other over 
Jenna's heart. Then he spoke the words no priest ever 
desires to speak, but that most eventually do.
    "Sarastaa, Thou created this world to be in beauty, 
and we live in it without pain and with hope. When there 
is pain, and no hope, we ask that Thou grant the gift Thou 
promised to us long ago. I ask that Thou take my sister 
home."
    There was a flash of brilliant light, and Jenna's 
entire body gave a terrific jerk. When Kejermo had blinked 
the afterimages away, he found that her heart had stopped 
beating.
    He arose and slipped from the room. Her body would 
burn in a few minutes, as the silver flames reclaimed it. 
Her life had belonged to Sarastaa; in death, she belonged 
to the stars that had created Elwens.
    Those who might have accosted him in the crowd drew 
back in silence from his angry, grieving face.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Tushoon and Zinira were sitting at a table in the 
kitchen, eating cookies and telling and listening to 
another story, respectively, when he entered. Tushoon knew 
at once what had happened and stood, face solemn.
    Zinira knew, too. She slipped from the chair and ran 
to him, to throw her arms around his legs and sob.
    "It's all right, little one," he murmured, stroking 
her hair, still wondering if he had made the right choice.
    She lifted a tear-streaked face to him. "Was it 
quick?"
    With that question, all his doubts vanished. A human 
would never have asked that question, what with all their 
hysterics about grief. She was Elwen.
    "It was quick," he answered, embracing her.




                        Chapter 1
                          A Gift
            267, Age of Newness, Early Summer
    "What is right, and what is wrong?"
    -Rhetorical question, beloved of Elwens.

    Zinira scrambled back to her feet, panting 
breathlessly and ignoring Tushoon's shaking head and 
Rlhona's smile- more of a smirk, really. The next time one 
of the partners knocked the other down was supposed to be 
the last. She hadn't let Rlhona win on purpose, but an 
afternoon of freedom was very tempting.
    The salt Elwen surveyed them for a moment longer, then 
shook his head again. "All right. You're free. But-" And 
he held up an admonishing finger as both the alalori and 
half-alalori girl started to creep off. "Remember to 
return in time for your archery and religion classes."
    "Yes, Armsmaster," they chorused, and turned back to 
the barracks where the Honor's Keepers kept their weapons.
    Rlhona's locker was beside Zinira's, as they were 
partners for the season, and she of course made snide 
comments the entire time Zinira hung up her sword and 
stripped off her sweat-soaked, padded practice tunic, 
replacing it with a better one. "I thought half-humans 
were supposed to be stronger than that. Unless you were so 
busy thinking about your latest lover that you forgot 
entirely to block my strike. Who is it? Some new human 
from the town?"
    Zinira ignored her. She was not skilled in verbal 
banter, and had proved it over and over again. Why should 
Rlhona desire another test?
    The alalori donned her own tunic, with many delicate 
shudders, as if she found the idea of undressing in front 
of Zinira distasteful. "Or maybe it isn't a lover. Could a 
baseblood like you have lovers anyway, no matter how loose 
she was? Who would look at you? And who would-"
    Zinira simply walked away from her. It was the best 
tactic. Rlhona's comments hurt her still, and trying to 
endure them only increased the pain.
    She stepped from the barracks and tilted her head 
back, reveling in the glorious sensation of freedom as the 
wind lifted her wet hair from the back of her neck. She 
hadn't thought she would see the sun before it set and 
they were all called to prayers to ward the world from the 
touch of Dermand, the Sunset Lord.
    She shuddered in turn and skipped down the steps, 
heading for the city. She hadn't gone more than three 
paces when a familiar shape fell in beside her.
    "Where are you off to, Zinira?"
    Zinira reached down and rubbed Alev's golden ears. The 
morningcat's eyes slitted in pleasure, but he was 
dignified enough not to purr.
    "The city," Zinira said, making a wide circle that 
took in the Temple's gates and beyond. "It's the first 
High Day since Bluedance. Suenalan is due to visit Ava- 
Sunriver."
    "Oh. That one." Alev's ears flattened, his tail 
twitched, and his silver claws sprang from their sheaths. 
It made the morningcat shaman look rather dangerous, but 
Zinira knew that he, just like any alalori, would never 
harm an innocent. "I don't know about that one, child. He 
could be a bad influence on you."
    Zinira shrugged, not annoyed at the mothering; there 
was very little she was annoyed by. "He sent a message by 
panbira yesterday saying he had a gift for me. I should go 
and see what it is, anyway."
    "Yes," said Alev blackly, "and I hope you have the 
sense to refuse anything inappropriate."
    Zinira smiled quietly. The year she had met Suenalan 
Nightstone, the sapphire Elwen had been so accepting of 
her mixed blood and her quiet solitude that they had 
become friends. The next day, he had given her a beautiful 
night sapphire, a gem so dark a blue it seemed black. Lord 
Kejermo had refused to have it in the chapel, where she 
had so proudly wanted to display it, and made her give it 
back.
    She understood why now. "I will give him back-"
    A muffled cough made her look up. They had reached the 
gates, and the guards were gazing at her, their 
expressions quizzical. They wore bows and swords, but 
Zinira was not afraid of them. She could outfight them, 
could outfight almost anyone except Rlhona and Tushoon.
    Not that she would ever shed blood for real. Her mind 
recoiled from the thought of it.
    "I'd like to go out," she said. "Armsmaster Tushoon 
gave us the afternoon off."
    One of the guards caught sight of her human ears- she 
was wearing her hair up today- and took a step forward, 
face darkening. The other guard caught his arm and smiled 
apologetically at Zinira.
    "Of course, my lady." Still holding his companion 
back, he pushed the gates out.
    So perfectly balanced that they moved at a touch and 
were soundless, so heavy that they could repel an invading 
army- if one ever dared come to Ava-Sunriver- the gates 
let in the light and noise and smell of the streets. 
Zinira darted through, Alev close on her heels.
    She barely heard the gates close behind her. She was 
staring around in amazement and delight.
    There were more people crowded onto the broad street 
before the Temple than she could ever remember seeing, 
even at one of the Season Turnings or at Wheeling. Of 
course, she had only been living here sixteen years. But 
still, the sheer variety of peddlers and merchants, 
wanderers and buyers, warriors and tricksters, jugglers 
and musicians, took her breath away.
    Seeing someone step out of the Temple, everyone's eyes 
moved toward the gates. But, seeing that they would not 
open again and reveal Lord Kejermo or any other person of 
importance, most turned away.
    Not so the merchants. The more persistent crowded 
around her, shoving their wares in her face, while others 
contented themselves with calling from stalls or booths.
    "Fresh apples, my lady, grown with the faintest touch 
of magic..."
    "Ribbons to adorn my lady's hair..."
    "Bracelets for my lady's slender wrists..."
    "The Book of Sarastaa, retranslated and rebound, yours 
for only seven silvers, my lady..."
    Zinira considered a few of the bracelets- slender as a 
true Elwen, and made of the silver she loved, and carved 
with intricate patterns- but at last had to shake her head 
and turn regretfully away. As she did so, the wind caught 
her hair, lifting it away to reveal her decidedly human 
ears.
    The merchants' calls paused for a moment, and then 
intensified. Perhaps they thought her some special ward of 
the Temple, or thought to show that they were as willing 
to sell to half-humans as anyone else.
    More likely, Zinira thought with a fleeting smile, 
they only saw the chance to make a few quick silvers.
    As she moved beyond the merchants, she walked into a 
chilly silence. Even the alalori in the crowd shrank from 
her, and those Elwens who were strangers to Ava-Sunriver- 
those who carried weapons- clutched their sword or dagger 
hilts, or the smooth wood of their bows.
    Zinira walked past, unconcerned. If her dawn Elwen 
blood did not reassure them- this was a city where one 
simply did not assault dawn Elwens- than the great 
morningcat at her side should.
    It took her forever to reach the place where 
Suenalan's booth was set up, partially because of the 
chill obstinacy of some around her and partially because 
the crowd was trying to stay close to the main road. At 
least she managed to gather the reason for the multitude's 
presence: a land Elwen force had won a great victory 
against the humans in the south, and were marching through 
on their way back to Rowan.
    Zinira felt sick when she heard that, as she always 
did at the mere thought of war, and noticed the other dawn 
Elwens in the crowd turning their faces away as well. That 
reaffirmed, in her own mind, her connection to her 
mother's people, and the hurt that had briefly closed her 
throat eased.
    Alev's tail coiled lightly around her legs. "Do not 
let them ever hurt you," he murmured. "If they see you 
hurt, they will attack you, as the wolves do a wounded 
deer."
    "Yes. Yes." Zinira concentrated on the upcoming 
reunion with Suenalan to ward off the thoughts of war and 
death and hurt and pain. It reminded her of what she did 
not like to remember, her father's death and her mother's 
pain. "You're right."
    The morningcat permitted himself a purr now. "As 
always."
    She smiled and reached out to rub his ears again, but 
he dodged her hand, gazing at her out of scandalized 
golden eyes. "Not out in public!" he hissed, every hair on 
his tail bristling.
    Zinira concealed a chuckle with a gesture. "There he 
is."
    Alev sniffed, but picked up the pace, as if he did not 
want her to remain outside the protective sanctuary of the 
Temple for longer than necessary. Zinira followed, 
eagerness to see Suenalan hastening her steps.
    The sapphire Elwen was haggling with another customer 
over the low wooden counter of his stall when she 
approached, but he caught her scent at once. She could see 
his green eyes light even from the side, and he hurried 
through the deal as quickly as possible. The moment the 
land Elwen was away, he hurried over and caught her in a 
quick embrace.
    "Little Zinira," he said in his own tongue, greeting 
her in the same way as he always had. "How wonderful it is 
to see you." Then he pushed her away from him and gazed at 
her in doubt. "Are you sure you're getting enough to eat? 
They're not starving you?" This with a sly glance at Alev. 
The morningcat sneezed, and turned loftily to peer in 
another direction.
    Zinira smiled. He was one of the few people she could 
permit herself to joke and laugh with. Alev and Lord 
Kejermo were too stern, more likely to be made fools of 
than to get the joke, and Tushoon could afford no sign of 
favoritism. 
    And as for her peers- well-
    She dismissed the thought, and freed herself from his 
hold. "Of course they're not starving me. I'm in training 
to be an Honor's Keeper, that's all." Her hand 
automatically moved toward her sword hilt, and then she 
flushed. Of course she hadn't brought it. She was ashamed 
of herself for thinking such a thing.
    "Finally the sword?" Suenalan shook his head as he 
turned toward the back of the stall, evidently searching 
for something. "I thought they were going to keep you in 
those meditation classes forever."
    "They're an important part of the training." Zinira's 
excitement heightened as she watched him continue to 
search. She had not forgotten the gift she had been 
promised. It was an effort to keep her voice casual. "We 
have to make sure that killing does not become part of an 
Honor's Keeper. We are for defense only. That thought has 
to be placed into our heads."
    Suenalan turned around at last, a covered basket on 
both arms and a real look of sympathy on his face. "It is 
hard for you, dear one, isn't it? You hate the mere 
thought of killing, more than some alalori I know do. You 
would have been better off as a priestess, or some other 
personage far from blood and war."
    Zinira avoided his eyes as she shrugged. Sorrow long 
suppressed struggled to find a way out, but she held it 
firmly down. "I could never become a full priestess. I 
would finish out my days as an acolyte."
    "Well." Suenalan dismissed the notion with a shrug 
much like hers. "That is neither here nor there- and 
connected neither to your lunch, nor your gift." He held 
out the baskets teasingly, obviously meaning her to choose 
between them.
    Zinira cheated, though, in her eagerness to have the 
gift. She did not have the nose of an Elwen, but she could 
catch more subtle scents than a human could. She sniffed 
delicately, and caught, from one basket, the scent of 
carrots and apples, bread and meat. The other had a smell 
she didn't know.
    She pointed unerringly at the basket on his left arm.
    Suenalan grinned ruefully and set their lunch down. "I 
should have known you wouldn't be fooled. I always 
thought-" Then he cut himself off and shrugged a second 
time, an expression so grim replacing his smile that 
Zinira started.
    "What?" she faltered. "Is it- dangerous?"
    "No, not exactly." Suenalan stood still, regarding her 
with a cautious gaze he had not used in her presence for 
fifteen years. "But it needs careful handling."
    "I can do it."
    "I've no real doubt that you can," he murmured, and 
opened the top of the basket.
    Zinira peered in, and her eyes widened in surprise. 
Lying in the basket was a small creature like none she had 
ever seen, head resting patiently on forepaws. It made no 
sound when the basket was opened, instead lifting its face 
toward the light. Gleaming green eyes fixed on her.
    It looked like a dog. At least, it had the same 
proportions as some of the hounds she had seen hunting 
behind the horses in ancient tapestries. But it had 
retractable claws fully as long as Alev's, its eyes were 
green and slit-pupiled, its chin was triangular and narrow 
as a cat's, and its tail was the same long, lashing whip 
that Alev carried over his back now, as if offended by the 
youngling's scent. Its coat was gray, but touched here and 
there, as though underneath, with faint black rosettes.
    "What is it?" she breathed. Her contemplation of the 
creature was so rapt that she hardly expected a reply.
    "A drath-hound," Suenalan replied, and extended the 
basket toward her. "A creation of the parsepi, the meadow 
Elwens. They are skilled at magically breeding animals. 
They crossed dogs and cats, and-"
    He shrugged eloquently, and extended the basket again.
    Zinira gently picked the- puppy? kitten?- up. Its 
fragile warmth in her arms, the warmth of all young 
things, was counterbalanced by a strange strength. Young, 
yes, but already it had the streamlined muscles of its 
feline kindred, combined with the ability to run long 
distances that belonged to the canine kind.
    "What is its name?" she asked, cuddling the puppy 
close. It did not respond to the overture, save to lean 
its head against her arm. The green eyes remained fixed on 
her, their stare so piercing that she grew slightly 
uneasy.
    "Her," Suenalan corrected. "The breeder said her name 
was Gula. And there is something you should know before 
you fall in love with her."
    "Too late." Zinira smiled at him. "Thank you."
    "You should know." The warning in his voice made her 
glance at him again. "Drath-hounds are definitely one- 
Elwen creatures. They love and serve their masters 
faithfully all their lives long, but they choose who those 
masters will be. She may not choose you."
    "Then why did you bring her to me?" Zinira looked 
searchingly into Gula's green eyes, but could see no hint 
of disapproval there. Of course, there was no sign of 
favoritism either.
    "Because I think you can convince her that it's best 
you be her master."
    Zinira gently set the squirming pup on the ground so 
that she could carry the food Suenalan was pulling from 
the basket and handing over to her. Gula did not run off, 
but stayed by Zinira's feet, her tail lashing, her nose 
twitching. A good sign, or so the young halfblood hoped.
    "Where are we going to eat?" she asked.
    "The Plaza," Suenalan replied, and set out. He glanced 
over his shoulder only once, to smile at Alev, who 
obviously had no intention of accompanying them.
    "Guarding my wares?" he called to the morningcat.
    Alev growled at this effrontery and bounded off. 
Zinira and Suenalan exchanged looks and laughs, both 
knowing the sapphire Elwen's magically trapped merchandise 
would be safe enough, and both glad to be rid of the 
shaman's intrusive presence.
    Walking through the crowd like this was much easier, 
for all knew the deadly magic of sapphire Elwens and gave 
way before the somak and his companion. Zinira again 
tilted her head back to feel the wind on face and hair, a 
bittersweet smile touching her lips. It was so easy to 
forget, this way, that she had been born half-human, lost 
both her parents, and been raised in the Temple for the 
remainder of her life. She might be just another Elwen 
girl at market, walking beside a guard or cherished 
friend.
    It was a dream she could not afford to contemplate too 
closely, or she would wish too desperately for it to be 
true. With a sigh, Zinira let it go. Time enough for 
dreams in Sarastaa's bright heaven.
    The Sunburst Plaza at last opened before them, a 
miles-wide circular expanse of golden and creamy-white 
stones that was ringed with shops, taverns, inns, tables, 
parks, and yet more merchants' booths. But even the 
buildings had to give way to the eight main streets of the 
city, which led, like a sun's rays, in the eight 
directions of the compass.
    Suenalan headed straight for a small park dotted with 
fountains and tiny hedge-mazes, flowerbeds and tables. 
Zinira bowed her head as they passed the statue of 
Sarastaa- a formless flame with a rising sun at its heart- 
and whispered a prayer.
    When she looked up, she found the sapphire Elwen 
smiling at her. "Little one, the Church is the place you 
belong."
    Zinira lowered her eyes and did not answer. Likely he 
was right, but her base blood would not let her become a 
full priestess. And it was no use trying to pretend. Too 
much pain came from pretending.
    Suenalan selected a table near the gate and placed his 
share of the food on the rough-worn boards, immediately 
beginning to stuff himself. Zinira ate more daintily, 
making sandwiches of bread and cheese and eating the 
apples with less noise than she usually made. But she 
recoiled from the meat, eying it in disgust. No alalori 
would eat the flesh of another living creature.
    Something pawed at her leg, and the claws were so cold 
that she flinched. She looked down into Gula's eyes.
    Slowly, shuddering all over as she touched it, Zinira 
picked up the nearest piece of meat and dropped it to the 
drath-hound. She swallowed it at a gulp and sat still, 
awaiting more, tail tucked neatly around her paws.
    Zinira fed her more, relieved to see that she ate it 
without a cat's games, and being careful not to give the 
puppy such big pieces that she would be forced to chew. At 
last, Gula turned her head away, licking her jaws.
    Zinira hesitated, then reached down and stroked that 
soft-furred head.
    Gula at once looked back at her, eyes shining as if to 
warn her against presuming too much too soon. But she did 
not move away from the caress for long minutes, and then 
it was only to wheel around that she might clean herself. 
Zinira sat back with a long sigh, and kept her eyes fixed 
on the creature.
    "Beautiful, is she not?"
    Suenalan's amused voice made her start. How long had 
he been watching her? Flushing, Zinira nodded. "She is. Is 
it a good sign that she took food from my hand?"
    "Very good." Suenalan was already cramming the last of 
the bread into his mouth, while Zinira, preoccupied with 
the drath-hound, had neglected to finish her second 
sandwich. He at least waited until he had swallowed before 
he began talking again. "But do remember what I told you, 
Sunlight Lady. You could be disappointed in her choice of 
masters."
    "I would be disappointed only if she chose someone 
unworthy of her-" Zinira began, then stopped, only now 
registering the title the somak had used. 
    Flushing yet again, turning her cheeks almost the same 
color as a true alalori's with the rush of flame-colored 
blood, she murmured, "You do me too much honor. Sunlight 
Lady is the title of a full Priestess of Sarastaa, and 
even more properly reserved for the High Priestess of a 
city or dawnlight forest."
    Suenalan shook his head, then brushed the silver hair 
this movement had dislodged out of his face with an 
irritated gesture. "When will you learn, Zinira? They may 
fear the human blood that is in you, but you have no need 
to. So long as you walk the fine line between surrendering 
to one race or the other, or make sure that your choice is 
final-"
    "I have good reason to fear the human blood within 
me." Zinira again made a motion toward the hilt of the 
sword she did not wear. "They are training me as an 
Honor's Keeper, drumming skills into me that can be used 
to kill. If my bloodthirsty human nature overwhelms my 
gentler Elwen nature, I might do just that."
    "You poor girl," Suenalan said. "I have traded with 
humans, and they are no more bloodthirsty than-"
    A clear, crystal trumpet-bugle rang out over the 
Plaza. It should have been impossible for sound to travel 
so great a distance, but it did. 
    Suenalan stood, his face and eyes suddenly very solemn 
and eager at once. Zinira stared at him sadly. It was a 
look she could never share. It was the look of a full 
Elwen, one who could think of the victories in battle, and 
not the deaths.
    She rose, meaning to slip from the table, but the 
sapphire Elwen caught her arm without turning around. "Did 
you hear who leads this land Elwen army?"
    "Who?" Zinira relented for a moment, playing along to 
satisfy him.
    "Eleriad Deerfriend."
    The swift leap of her heart she crushed at once, 
telling herself it was unfit for a peace-loving alalori. 
Still, she at once pushed forward to stand beside the 
trader, who nodded and made room for her. Gula wobbled 
over, fell between them, and went to sleep, caring for 
nothing but that her belly should be full and her sleep 
undisturbed.
    The trumpet sounded again, then a third time, and then 
the land Elwens came into sight, riding almost directly 
through the center of the Plaza. They split to go around 
the statue of the Dawn Lord, here and there one bowing to 
it. There were worshipers of the Holy Sun even among these 
fierce killers, it seemed.
    Zinira felt an odd flutter in her heart that shook it 
out of normal position again. A proverb Iela had taught 
their religion class yesterday came back again: "Land 
Elwens give Arcadia her greatest heroes- and her greatest 
dangers."
    It was true. They had killed her father. They were 
merciless to humans. And yet they were more like humans 
than any other Elwen race- prolific, politically powerful, 
high-strung.
    But the greatest musicians, revolutionaries, and 
inventors of Arcadia had been land Elwens. And for more 
than a hundred and fifty years, since the beginning of the 
War of Acceptance, they had defended the other Elwen races 
against the human incursion.
    Zinira was standing almost directly at the edge of the 
Plaza, and thus she had an excellent view of the powerful 
woman who rode at the army's head. Her breath caught, and 
she felt as if her eyes might overflow with tears. 
    Yes, she even felt as if her wayward nature might 
escape her, and she might lay her sword at this woman's 
feet.
    Eleriad Deerfriend- scion of a family in existence 
since the Age of Dawn, inventor of the starflight that had 
settled people on the moons before the secret was stolen 
from Arcadia by a Dragonlord, battle-leader of the War of 
Acceptance and hero of a hundred skirmishes and pitched 
struggles- looked deathly tired. Her swept-back white hair 
was tied at her shoulders with a silver bow, giving her a  
stark appearance, and her silver eyes betrayed her utter 
weariness. Lines cut deeply into the tanned skin of her 
face, which should have been, like that of any other 
Elwen, agelessly smooth. She almost slumped over her black 
horse's saddle.
    But for all that, she had an air of command, of power 
rightfully wielded. Again, Zinira felt back the compulsion 
to kneel to her.
    On her left side rode her younger son, Alicalor, 
carrying the flag of the Deerfriends. The Running Stag had 
stricken terror into millions of human hearts. Zinira's 
eyes passed quickly over him and dismissed him. He looked 
like a man who enjoyed killing too much, and he smelled of 
drink, besides.
    The place on Eleriad's right was conspicuously empty. 
It was reserved for her husband, West Sunfall, who had 
died at the beginning of the War- or possibly for her 
eldest son, Dacevem, who had died an Age ago in a 
mysterious accident.
    But those disconcerting reminders of the legend that 
echoed around Eleriad need not discomfit her, Zinira 
quickly realized. There were plenty of other people to 
look at. As befitted a heroine, Eleriad had heroes riding 
in her train.
    There was Alima Lafoxbane, bending over the raven 
pendant that marked her as a priestess of Tirosina, the 
Goddess of Dark Music, and whispering something. Probably 
a prayer to keep herself from being harmed on Sarastaa's 
holy ground, Zinira thought with a blend of righteous 
indignation and fascination. There was Terin Goatleap, 
carrying the great spear adorned with moonstones, the 
symbol of his house, and a trumpet that could be used to 
call on the birds of the air. There was Jashan 
Leaflaughter, looking as weary as his Lady. Perhaps he had 
cause; he had once held off a human army in a narrow pass 
for more than two hours before help arrived. He had lost 
an arm for his troubles, and rode awkwardly, controlling 
his horse more with knees than hands.
    On it went, and on, a flashing glory of trumpets and 
banners, sparkling bridle-bells and swords. The horses 
snorted and picked up their pace about halfway through the 
procession when their riders asked them to. Gula woke up, 
as if she found the sight of the prancing horses 
sumptuous, but did not move from her place between the two 
Elwens' feet.
    At last, the last gaily bedecked stallion swished 
past, and a silence fell over Ava-Sunriver. Zinira stood 
gazing after the land Elwens, feeling a great yearning 
cloaking her shoulders. If war could only be the way they 
made it seem to be, she would have no objection to 
becoming a warrior at all.
    Suenalan's hand fell on her shoulder, and he drew her 
gently from the park. Zinira followed without protest. She 
knew that, after the passage of defenders so bright and 
beautiful, anti-human sentiment would be running 
particularly high. She had no wish to be caught up in it. 
Gula lolloped at their heels, occasionally dancing off to 
investigate an interesting smell but not letting them out 
of sight.
    Alev was waiting for her at Suenalan's booth, sprawled 
in the westering sunshine. "About time!" he said darkly, 
rising and doing a long stretch. "What was I supposed to 
tell Tushoon if you were late for your archery lesson?"
    He saw Gula then, and growled deep in his throat. The 
drath-hound merely sat back on her haunches and regarded 
him.
    Both the Elwens ignored him, instead turning to 
embrace each other. "Sarastaa's light bring you home," 
Zinira murmured against his cheek. 
    "And you, little one." The sapphire Elwen would not 
give her a more formal response, not being a believer 
himself, but he did respect her beliefs and manners, He 
often said that manners made one a better Elwen. 
"Farewell. I will still be here tomorrow, if you wish to 
visit me."
    Zinira nodded, then looked down at Gula. "And thank 
you for her."
    "You may not, if she doesn't choose you," Suenalan 
murmured, but he let it go and turned back to his wares of 
gems and rare fruits.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "Light," intoned Iela, "is the foundation of all 
things. It is part of everything, even darkness- for 
darkness is merely where light is not."
    Zinira shifted in her chair. She had heard this all 
before, and while she normally found even repetitions of 
doctrine fascinating, Iela had repeated this one so many 
times that it had lost all of its charm.
    Iela Dawnbeam paced back and forth in front of the 
room, her long red hair swaying behind her and jingling. 
The crystal mirrors and bells that marked her as one of 
the most dedicated of priestesses sang softly among the 
flaming strands. Her pale blue eyes flashed with fervor.
    "Are you listening, Zinira?" The priestess pounced on 
her. The others in the class either wore smirks- Rlhona's 
was the widest- or as open an expression of sympathy as 
they dared, but none made a move to intervene. Iela's 
voice was too sharp. "Do you know what comes next?"
    "Yes. Light is Sarastaa's holy gift to the world, to 
illuminate all we do," said Zinira, bowing her head.
    She looked up to see Iela watching her with an 
uncertain look on her face, as if trying to find some 
fault in the innocent words. But then the priestess nodded 
and permitted herself a small smile.
    She knows I am a true believer, and in that I am as 
much as any alalori, Zinira thought. 
    Iela began her pacing again. Her hands fluttered and 
dipped like butterflies or hummingbirds, never coming to 
rest for long in one place, not even on her braids. 
"Zinira is right. If it were not for the light of the God, 
this world would be still be stumbling about in the 
darkness of ignorance, enslaved to the evil races. All 
praises to Lord Sarastaa!" She extended her arms and bowed 
her head over them, the first time she had been perfectly 
still throughout the class.
    The students imitated her, the gesture almost 
automatic for all of them, but infused with belief and 
grace and ceremony all the same. Zinira almost thought she 
could feel the late sunlight warm on her neck and hair, as 
if the Lord of Dawn approved.
    When they arose again, Iela was speaking again. Past 
the obligatory introduction, she could get to the real 
heart of the lecture.
    "Sarastaa favors peace, that we all know," she said, 
absently making the sign of the Sun over her heart. "But 
does anyone really know why? Do any of you know why?"
    They all shook their heads silently. Zinira felt a 
prickling at the back of her neck, where sunlight's 
fingers still touched her. This could be the answer to all 
the confused questions that had been bouncing around in 
her head for days now. The God did answer the prayers of 
even His half-human worshipers.
    "It is because life was born of the world, at once 
both part of it and apart, and war does destruction to 
both of those sacred entities. The God loves all His 
children, even those who have betrayed him, and does not 
like to see their blood spilled, staining his sweet grass 
and fouling his pure rivers. If you would fight with a 
sword or shoot a bow willingly, then you would willingly 
cause the God pain. Do any of you wish to hurt Him?" Her 
eyes flashed around her rapt audience, daring anyone to 
raise a hand.
    In the solemn silence, Zinira could hear Gula, under 
her chair, yawn. She bit her lip to keep from giggling.
    Iela heard the faint noise, too. She peered under 
Zinira's chair, her brows knitting, and then looked at 
Zinira almost accusingly.
    "You did not ask permission to bring this pet here."
    "I did not think I needed to," Zinira said, honestly 
startled. The room was full of animals- all of them well- 
trained not to make a sound, true, but then, she hadn't 
had Gula long enough to train her. There were small 
golden-winged bats perched on shoulders or clinging to 
tunics or hair, pale calico and ginger cats sprawled on 
laps, parrots of bright colors perched in the rafters, and 
even others.
    Iela snorted. "I suppose you did not." She spun away 
again, and Zinira breathed a sigh of relief that she had 
survived that test, too. 
    "War," said the priestess again, speaking the dreaded 
word without a hint of relish, but without flinching, 
either. "All those who fight are doubly traitors to 
Sarastaa, first by not worshiping Him and secondly by 
doing harm to His creatures and His code of peace. And 
yet, war rages in our world now.
    "What is to be done about it?
    "We may take comfort that it was no alalori who 
started it, at least. Of that, we can be sure. We have 
always attempted to stay far away from those who would do 
such a thing.
    "It was the land Elwens who declared war on the 
humans, them and their hot, foolish passions. Simply 
because the humans wanted some of their land and were 
jealous of their powers, was that any reason to slaughter 
them? Was that any reason to spill more blood than has 
been spilled on Arcadia for the past seventeen thousand 
years? Was that any reason to deny them entrance to the 
Council of Arcadia and a representative of their own? Thus 
its name, the War of Acceptance. Humans wanted only to be 
accepted as a race, and the land Elwens first denied them 
and then began to kill them!"
    Zinira shifted again in her chair, uneasily 
fascinated. There was all the conviction of the world in 
Iela's words, but something disturbing in her manner of 
expressing it.
    "We must not let ourselves be caught up in this 
foolish struggle." Iela was now pacing so quickly, and 
shaking her hair behind her so fast, that her bells and 
mirrors sang a high, shrill music. "We must stay behind 
the city walls, and trust that they will be enough to 
protect us. Or, if last comes to last and the humans 
attack, we must retreat to the dawnlight forest. There, 
under the protection of His grace, we can-"
    In the distance, a chime rang high, twice. The sweet 
silver sound of it startled Zinira as if it were the 
breaking of a trance, and she shook her head sharply. Gula 
placed a cold claw reassuringly on her leg.
    "The call to Sunset Prayers," said Iela, at once 
changing the subject, as if she had never once launched a 
diatribe disguised as a religion class. "I trust you will 
all report to the Chapel at once."
    She sailed out, and a golden parrot flapped from the 
rafters to follow. Elwens and animals hurried after.
    Gula moved like Zinira's shadow as she tried to make 
it quickly out of the room. She enjoyed Sunset Prayers 
sincerely, and often tried to get a seat near the altar, 
where Sarastaa was said to look with most favor. More, she 
did not want some of the other students in the religion 
class, who were in both her archery class and her Honor's 
Keeper training, to catch up with her.
    They did, of course, led by Rlhona. The young alalori 
woman tossed her long blond hair over her shoulders and 
smiled maliciously, though she apparently spoke to her 
friends rather than to Zinira.
    "It seems someone is having a rather bad day. First 
knocked down in sword practice, then couldn't keep a 
straight shot in archery class, and now having trouble 
sitting still during religion. Poor girl!"
    There was a snickering chorus of laughter. 
    "And now she's acquired this ugly beast. Is that your 
familiar, witch?" Rlhona asked, staring down her nose at 
Gula.
    Gula made no sound- it seemed that drath-hounds did 
not- but Zinira did not miss the faint vibration as Gula 
leaned against her leg. It might have been a purr or a 
growl. Zinira hoped it was a growl. The mere thought of 
Gula choosing something like Rlhona for a master was 
enough to cause her shudders of dismay.
    "We'll be late for Sunset Prayers if we linger here 
much longer," Zinira pointed out, and then nodded to the 
impatient students still in the classroom behind them. 
"And I don't think they, or Lord Kejermo, would like 
that."
    They stared at her narrow-eyed, but could find no 
fault in her reasoning, or her devotion. She had been 
raised in the True Faith as vigorously as any alalori; she 
would no more think of questioning the Principles than 
they would. And one of the Principles was to be at 
Sunrise, Noon, and Sunset Prayers on time.
    Rlhona swept ungraciously ahead, but looked over her 
shoulder to whisper, "Just you wait."
    Zinira inclined her head in grave courtesy, and had 
the satisfaction of seeing the Elwen girl look as if she 
would like to storm away. But she squashed the 
satisfaction at once. It was too much the kind of thing a 
human might feel.
    They made their way through the Temple, a winding maze 
of corridors, halls, anterooms, and dwelling rooms to 
those who did not know it, and sometimes those who did. 
Zinira walked confidently, however. Unlike most of the 
other students, she did not come from rich parents, but 
lived here.
    No, she did not come from rich parents, she thought, 
her smile sad. She would have given almost anything to 
have been born true alalori, servant of the Dawn Lord, 
safe and secure in her place in life.
    But this was her place, and her life.
    They poured into the chapel, now full of the deep red 
and purple, orange and antique gold, light of sunset. 
Zinira drew in a breath of revulsion. This was the time 
when the world was in the most danger. Dermand the Sunset 
Lord had lit his fire in the west, determined to char 
Sarastaa's creation to ashes.
    Lord Kejermo already stood on the altar, clad in the 
formal golden robes of the High Priest, his arms 
outspread, his face solemn. His blond hair was braided 
with bells alone, though he wore mirrored rings. His eyes, 
as blue-white as the fire of diamonds, traveled over the 
audience, counting them.
    Zinira hurried forward, and found one seat by the 
altar still free. She knelt on a padded cushion, the lower 
half of her back cradled by something like and yet unlike 
a chair, and bowed her head.
    The warmth grew and grew as the number of bodies and 
the brightness of the sunset light increased. Summer 
Sunset Prayers were always the most spectacular. It was 
the season when the Twin Gods of Dawn and Sunset were at 
the height of their power, and when the most voices were 
needed to defeat Dermand's foul plans.
    At last, Lord Kejermo nodded, and began to dance 
solemnly about the great altar. Those priestesses and 
priests who felt themselves called upon to dance this 
evening sprang up behind him and began to make even more 
graceful movements. The instruments twined in their hair 
mingled with the clash of unseen crystalline cymbals. 
Zinira closed her eyes, thinking of the contrast between 
this peaceful music and the martial sound of the trumpets 
of the land Elwens.
    Those trumpets had touched some strange place in her 
soul. But this song did, and always would, have the power 
to stir her heart.
    Private prayers to Sarastaa were always uttered before 
the Sunset-Singing began. Zinira could hear the murmurs of 
some around her, and the intense silences of others who 
preferred to keep their prayers private.
    She spoke aloud. She knew the God could hear her 
either way, but she preferred that He need not have to 
pick through the untidy mind of a half-human.
    "My Lord, I know Thou grants boons when and how Thou 
seest fit. But I ask you for one now, the boon of 
foresight. Will my human blood someday overmaster me, and 
cause me to go against Thy rules? If I knew that, perhaps 
I could act with the proper caution, and serve Thee as a 
proper daughter."
    For a long moment, she felt no increase in the warmth 
on her neck or the love in her mind. She had not really 
expected to. Sarastaa cared about His sons and daughters, 
but He rarely answered prayers directly. 
    But then, in a sudden flash such as she had seldom had 
before, she saw herself standing on a hill in blinding 
rain, trying to make out a muddy human encampment. Her 
hair was slicked to her head, but bound back nonetheless, 
prominently displaying her ears. Her hand rested with 
casual familiarity on the hilt of a sword.
    And there was danger behind her.
    As suddenly as the vision had come, it was gone. 
Zinira leaned back and tried to close her eyes, but she 
could not entirely banish the worried, distracted feeling.
    What did it mean?
    And then the Sunset-Singing began, and she was too 
overwhelmed to consider it. Her voice rose to join with 
the others, not as sweet but equally as loving.

    "Lord of Dawn, gather us into Your hands,
     And bear us away from the fiery lands.
     For as Arcadia for the sunrise yearns,
     The western country bleeds and burns.

    "Bright colors that are your displeasure sign,
     Warning away infidels with this cloak of Thine.
     The blood and the burning consumes the morning wood,
     Putting to flight all things divine and good.

    "Dermand the Sunset Lord strides the skies,
     His heart only cruel, his eyes unwise.
     He seeks to rule the world You shelter and protect,
     Giving You not a moment's respect.

    "But even those who honor the Sunset Lord in this land
     Are yet guarded by Your warding hand.
     May You never abandon your favored post,
     Or all Arcadia in fire will be lost."

    The Sunset-Singing faded into that perfect silence 
that signaled a time for meditation and inner searching. 
Zinira was just about to begin when someone cleared his 
throat.
    She looked up in surprise, along with everyone else, 
when High Priest Kejermo stepped to the edge of the altar.
    "I have something to speak to you about."
    A confused murmur rustled through the audience. The 
High Priest had no need to make sermons, especially since 
it was well known that he had no liking for speaking in 
front of an audience. That tedious chore was left to 
lesser priests.
    But now Kejermo did look ready to speak. He also 
looked grim, as if he were taking on a dangerous adversary 
he meant to wrestle to the ground. But he would do it.
    "I know you are all aware of the War of Acceptance," 
he began, and then his face flushed as he realized what a 
banal statement that was. He hurried on past it, his voice 
steady enough to make Zinira forget his bright gold 
cheeks. "What you may not realize is how close it presses. 
    "The land Elwen victory in the south, in the Mountains 
Eternal, is only the first of many that will move closer 
to Ava-Sunriver, I fear. The purpose for which this town 
was created- to defend the dawnlight forest of Sunriver, 
and those who dwell there and would rather not fight- may 
soon be put to the test."
    As if by one accord, everyone glanced out the chapel's 
windows to the east. The golden light of the forest beamed 
in over Ava-Sunriver's walls, a faint and familiar beacon 
that never allowed uninterrupted night.
    "And our cousins in Swiftsun will be even more quickly 
and surely threatened," Kejermo continued, pulling all 
eyes back to him. "Yet what can we do to help them?" A 
sigh that seemed to come all the way from his heart 
escaped his lips. "We cannot ask protection of the Dawn 
Lord, for He has given them all the light and sunfire He 
can and will. We cannot send armies to them, as we do not 
fight save in defense of our lives. And if their own 
Honor's Keepers do not save them, nothing will."
    Tushoon sprang from the audience to the edge of the 
altar, though he did not quite dare to step onto it. 
Legend said Sarastaa would strike down any non-alalori who 
tried that. 
    "Our Honor's Keepers are well-trained," he said 
loudly. "Give me a chance at the humans, Lord Kejermo, and 
I will show you how well!"
    A murmur of amused tolerance went around the room. 
Kelsinae, of course, could have such bloody thoughts, 
could think of attack rather than defense and charging the 
enemy with blades in their hands rather than waiting for 
her to come to you, Zinira thought. It was only to be 
expected. They were not alalori.
    Kejermo bestowed a gentle smile on Tushoon, but he 
shook his head. "No, Armsmaster. We will wait and see what 
befalls our poor province." Then his face cooled and 
changed, becoming more distant and remote. It was the face 
of the true High Priest- not the ecstatic mask it had been 
when he had sung the praises of the God, not the face of 
the kindly foster-father Zinira remembered dimly. It was 
the face of the man who had been chosen to intercede with 
the politicians of the outside world.
    "But I will ask you to keep the Honor's Keepers well- 
trained. I fear a time may come when they will be needed."
    Howls of protest rose up all around them. Rlhona's was 
one of the loudest, Zinira noted. It was strange, since 
she was an Honor's Keeper herself and seemed to enjoy the 
Path of Steel. She was probably just eager to prove her 
piety to the High Priest.
    She herself felt shock- shock and a strange elation. 
She supposed it must be the human blood stirring again.
    Iela, who had danced that evening, emerged from behind 
Kejermo. Her long fall of brilliant hair, the sparkle of 
the silver bells in the starlight, and her passionate 
voice helped her quickly claim center stage. "My lord, no! 
As a priestess of Sarastaa, a Lady of Sunlight, I cannot 
and will not countenance this! On the day when the humans 
attack us, we will not spend innocent lives. We will 
retreat into the dawnlight forest, where the grace of our 
God will protect us."
    Supporting cries rose from the audience, similar 
sentiments repeated a hundred times over.
    "Yes, I won't stand by and see people killed!"
    "Why should we remain here in Ava-Sunriver if we're 
going to see that?"
    "Swiftsun doesn't need the help of armies. We do, to 
put the people who desire war out of their misery!"
    It went on and on, Lord Kejermo listening patiently 
all the while as the opposition grew more and more heated. 
Zinira shifted in her chair. She had never known him to 
wait this long past the point of utter ridiculousness, and 
suspected something had come up.
    Nevertheless, she started along with everyone else 
when he flung his hands up. The burst of sunflame around 
him was enough to make everyone stare in awe. The flame 
was not supposed to be possible so long after the sun had 
set, and was granted by Sarastaa only to the most favored 
of priests and priestesses. It made a bright halo around 
the Lord Kejermo, even brighter in a chapel lit now only 
by lamps and low-burning braziers.
    "No." His voice was simple, but powerful. "I have 
asked the God's counsel of this, not yours. I trust His 
word more than anything any mortal could offer me. I have 
been studying and praying for long years, praying mostly 
that it would not come to this. But I decided long ago 
what I would do if it did."
    He said nothing else for a long moment, glancing 
around to see if every eye was on him. They were all 
attentive, most still stunned, and so he continued.
    "I will increase the training of the Honor's Keepers 
and ask that the land Elwens send a detachment south to 
protect us. The scouts will increase their reports of the 
humans' movements.
    "And any alalori in this room who does not like this 
proposition may retreat to the dawnlight forest." In the 
shifting, glowing, flickering radiance of his summoned 
light, his face was sorrowful but implacable. "Ava- 
Sunriver will be sorry to lose you, but I would not have 
any stay with me who are not willing."
    Rlhona stood up and marched loudly out of the room, 
accompanied by her friends. After a moment, several 
priests and priestesses followed. A few others made as if 
to rise, then sat back down.
    No others left.
    Zinira felt her heart tighten as she glanced at the 
door. Freedom, so near. She could go to the dawnlight 
forest, where all was undisturbed beauty and peace, and 
never have to worry about the ways of war.
    But if Rlhona and others were leaving, the Honor's 
Keepers would be a smaller band, and all its members more 
needed. And to her, it smacked of cowardice to run away 
from a home that required defending.
    That was her human blood speaking. But whether it was 
that, or the promise of being needed that seduced her, she 
turned around to face the altar again. Her hands clenched 
into fists, but she knelt there, unnaturally dark hair 
absorbing Sarastaa's light, head bowed to the warmth of 
the sunflame.
    She had made her decision.
    In the silence, Gula licked her hand.
    Kejermo surveyed the audience, this time as if testing 
their resolve. He looked last of all at Iela.
    "No." The priestess shook her head, and her voice was 
a lament, bright and sweet and firm. "No. I will stay, and 
see if I cannot divorce your thoughts from this madness. 
It must be madness that is inside you, eating your reason 
and your faith in the God like a fire."
    "What is fire but another incarnation of light?" asked 
Kejermo rhetorically, and spread his hands. Flame flew 
from them with a whoosh, igniting the braziers once more. 
The sweet scent of incense filled the room, seeming to 
chase away the scent of blood that lingered in everyone's 
thoughts, and most certainly in Zinira's.
    "Thank you, all of you, for staying." The High Priest 
nodded slightly, his blue-white eyes aglow with solemn 
promise. "I know what sacrifice you make, testing your 
faith in Sarastaa against my promises. But He is with me. 
I would not lie to you. He approves of this course, and 
will do everything in His power to help us. Regardless of 
His Code, He knows that there are times when light can do 
nothing but become the flame.
    "I ask now: Are you willing, now that you have seen 
what it means? Will you become the flame?"
    Everyone in the room, including Zinira, surged to her 
or his feet. Their voices rang out, hailing the High 
Priest, replacing the doubtful questions of ten minutes 
earlier with loud assurances that they trusted him and 
would follow his lead.
    Kejermo bowed his head. Zinira wondered if she was the 
only one who saw tears shine on his cheeks.
    Does he weep for an end to peace, or the lives he has 
taken into his care? she thought, and knew even as she did 
so that the thought was really too wise for a child such 
as she, too old. The realization slipped through her 
fingers like light, and before she could reclaim it, the 
Lord was speaking again, this time the farewell that was 
the traditional end of Sunset Prayers.
    "Sarastaa's bright light go with you all. May He 
illumine the paths of heart and mind, soul and spirit, 
grief and joy. May He show you what it means to be of the 
Light, and how best to serve Him." The High Priest turned 
his head towards the roof of the chapel, a glorious vault 
of flamegold decorated with sunbursts and spreading rays 
and bright birds. "And may Thou look upon us with favor, O 
Lord of the Dawn.
    "And may I make the right decision," he whispered 
beneath his breath.
    Again, Zinira wondered if anyone had noted his very 
obvious sorrow. But he was already gone from the altar, 
towards a place she could not follow, and she had no 
chance to question him. Obediently, she flowed toward the 
chapel doors along with everyone else.
    Vespermeal was quiet, eaten as always in the kitchen 
at long tables. Zinira was not very hungry after her meal 
with Suenalan earlier and the sight of the sorrow in the 
High Priest's eyes- sorrow made a poor seasoning, as the 
proverb ran- and she slipped away as soon as politely 
possible.
    Her chamber was at the end of a long corridor crowded 
with the rooms of other acolytes and students. It was not 
well-lit, but then, the servants, whoever they would be 
tonight, were likely still at table. Zinira moved easily 
through the darkness, guided by the nightsight that 
allowed her to see the auras of all things, lost in 
thought.
    The feeling of a hand catching her arm startled her, 
and for a long moment she did not realize what it was. She 
had never felt so rough a touch in her life, never felt a 
grip executed with serious intent to harm.
    But the next moment, her unseen assailant bowled her 
to the ground, and Zinira fell with a grunt. Whoever it 
was continued clutching her arms, while someone else 
walked around in front of her.
    Her heart almost stopped beating when she recognized 
the hate-eyed woman.
    Rlhona.
    "You thought you would be so brave and clever, 
staying, didn't you?" the blond woman purred, pushing her 
hair back from her face. Zinira could not really be sure 
of the expression on her face, because her eyes were not 
as good as an Elwen's in the darkness, but she was willing 
to bet it was disgust. "You would be the favored student 
in the class, the best Honor's Keeper. And all would speak 
of your bravery, while Rlhona Siaumil had fled."
    Rage thickened her voice suddenly. "Well, it will not 
happen! I swear to that!"
    Zinira tried to speak a word in defense, but Rlhona 
slapped her on the cheek. "Silence, baseblood!" she 
snarled, and what Zinira could see of her face flashed 
with dangerous anger.
    "Cut her hair off," suggested the one behind her, 
tugging on her hair until the young woman gasped aloud in 
pain.
    "No." Rlhona shook her head, seeming to calm down. "It 
would be a moment's ugliness, passing in a few months, and 
it would not lower her favor in Tushoon Saltdancer's eyes. 
It will have to be something different." She drew 
something from her boot.
    Zinira's eyes widened, and she began to thrash as she 
recognized the smell of steel. It was forbidden to remove 
weapons from the barracks, but Rlhona obviously had.
    "Frightened? Good. You should be." Rlhona smiled, 
murderously sweet. "I'm going to cut your throat."
    Zinira tried to scream, but Rlhona's friend gave her 
head another sharp jerk, and the sound died into a moan of 
pain. She watched the knife approach with slow dread, 
paralyzed with fear, helpless to defend herself, and sick 
at the thought of death.
    Something bounded over her, light and swift as a 
shadow, and Rlhona went backwards.
    Rlhona's friend let out a noise of surprise, and 
Zinira felt the paralysis leave her muscles and her 
training come back to her. She flipped forward, ignoring 
the tears of pain that leaked from her eyes and the hairs 
that were pulled from her scalp. The other alalori flew 
over her head and banged into the wall, where he lay 
still.
    Zinira scrambled to her feet and summoned light, one 
of the talents she had inherited undiminished from her 
mother's people.
    Rlhona sat gagging on the floor, gingerly running her 
hand over her lacerated throat. Gula, her teeth bloody, 
stood between Zinira and danger like a gray wall. She 
still made no sound, but her tail lashed the air with 
sharp, angry flicks.
    Zinira drew a deep breath. It seemed that there could 
be no doubt: the drath-hound had chosen her, and had saved 
her life in the choosing.
    "Gula," she called softly.
    The drath-hound prowled to her side, keeping her head 
turned backwards to watch Rlhona. Zinira placed a hand on 
her head, stroking her, feeling her anger calm.
    "I will forget this," she said sharply to Rlhona. "I 
can only assume you were possessed by the madness inherent 
in our training. But come after me again, and Gula may 
well kill you. Do you understand?"
    Rlhona nodded, dazed. Zinira walked quickly on.
    She only began to shake, and weep, around the corner.




                        Chapter 2
                    Lady of the Sword
    "There is a strange glory in war
     That speaks to all who hear it.
     It lures away all the young and strong
     Who never should come near it."
    -Fragment found in a manuscript burned by the Release, 
from the Library of Sager.

    Zinira sighed, then placed two fingers in her mouth 
and whistled. The shrill sound startled a morning laugher, 
who flew from its perch and landed on a higher branch to 
scold her with an irritating buzzing noise quite unlike 
the liquid chuckles it had been using to greet the rising 
sun.
    "Sorry," Zinira apologized briefly, and then she was 
off, ducking beneath the branches of a sorry excuse for an 
oak as she hunted for her drath-hound.
    "Gula! Where are you?"
    Relative silence answered her, broken only by the soft 
chuckles of morning laughers resuming their songs, the 
shrill warning of a jay, and the scampers and scatters of 
feeding deer. She would have heard less if she were a 
human, more if she were an Elwen, but she thought she 
heard enough to be sure her companion was nowhere near. 
Damn drath-hounds for running without a sound, anyway.
    Zinira retied one of her braids for the exercise as 
she stood still, scanning the bushes with her eyes. It had 
been her custom for a dance now, to take Gula outside the 
city to hunt just after Sunrise Prayers. The drath-hound 
always caught and ate her meal out of sight, as if she 
knew how much it upset Zinira to see her eating.
    She had disappeared before, but she had never been 
gone for this long. And in the untamed forest, even a 
drath-hound might find trouble.
    The braid firmly worked back into place, Zinira peered 
into the bushes where the sounds seemed especially loud. 
But it was only a doe and her well-grown fawn who looked 
at the half-Elwen and then moved away at a leisurely pace. 
The animals around Sunriver were never hunted.
    "Gula!" she called again, and then whistled a second 
time. The doe and her fawn bounded off, but the call 
produced no other result.
    Zinira grimaced. She would have to go after Gula, 
tracking her by scent, and that was not a prospect she 
relished, what with her weak nose and all the confusing 
scents in this forest. But she had no other option. The 
drath-hound ran too lightly and swiftly across the ground 
to leave clear spoor, and buried her droppings like a cat. 
Her air-trail was the only way to find her.
    Zinira dropped to one knee, waved away flies and 
clinging branches, and studied the ground. Scents of deer, 
squirrels, birds, and some musky animal she did not know 
mingled and danced in her nose, and then she struck Gula's 
smell, warm and faintly cinnamony.
    She stood slowly, careful not to lose the scent, and 
began making her way into the heart of the forest. The jay 
cried again, but most of the birds had fallen silent.
    Had she not been slightly worried about her friend, it 
would have been a pleasant walk. The sun was high enough 
now to send golden beams slanting through the trees, like 
Sarastaa's arms coming to lift His children to heaven. The 
slowly disappearing leaves of other years cushioned her 
boots, the living leaves brushed and crackled around her 
head without dislodging into her hair, and the sound of a 
running stream played a cheerful counterpoint to her 
steps.
    Gula seemed to have followed the stream for a long 
time; Zinira even found the place where she had flipped a 
fish out of the water and made a meal. Sunlight streamed 
onto the bank there, sparkling radiantly on the water, and 
she looked up- and downstream, expecting to see the drath- 
hound stretched out for a long nap in the warmth.
    But there was nothing, save a few visible traces at 
last. Gula had suddenly turned and plunged into the 
forest, her paws making deep impressions in the wet earth.
    Wondering, Zinira followed. She knew of nothing that 
could have prompted Gula to act like that, unless the 
drath-hound had intended to come back to her.
    Had something happened to her on the way?
    Automatically, Zinira's hand went to the borrowed bow 
and quiver of arrows on her shoulder. Tushoon had insisted 
she take them when he caught her sneaking out of the 
Temple five days ago.
    "Those woods are dangerous," he said as he pressed 
them into her hands. "I doubt there's anything magical 
living in them, but there could be. And ordinary bears 
that have always been left alone and don't know what 
Elwens are can be quite as dangerous as wanderwolves or 
il'iini. Beware of cubs especially. They might snuffle at 
you, and if their mother finds you-"
    "I don't want them," she interrupted, trying to hand 
the weapons back to him. A cold shiver had gone through 
her the moment she thought of hitting living flesh.
    Tushoon smiled gently. "I never said you had to hunt, 
my lady. Take them to defend yourself or Gula." He looked 
down at the alert drath-hound with something like 
reverence, even though there was mistrust in her green 
eyes. "She could stir up something her breeding didn't 
equip her for."
    An odd sound pulled Zinira out of her reverie. It was 
like a strangled yap, the kind of sound a fox caught in a 
snare might make-
    Or a dog who had never known how to bark.
    Zinira paused only to nock an arrow and then began to 
run, briefly grateful that her training had shown her how 
to do that without injury.
    Gula's scent grew stronger and stronger, until finally 
the drath-hound burst from the bushes in front of her and 
jumped up to lick her face with a rough tongue. The next 
moment, she was heading toward the place she had come 
from, the strangled sounds she could not quite produce 
even more urgent.
    Warily, Zinira followed, the bow tightly pulled.
    Gula reached the small clearing that opened at the 
heart of a grove of hylea trees and trotted directly to 
the center, where she sat staring at something. Zinira 
came to stand by her side, too stunned to speak.
    It was a land Elwen woman.
    She lay on her stomach, so that Zinira could see 
nothing of her face. Her back was just barely covered by 
the shreds of a once-fine white tunic, and the well-tanned 
skin bore the marks of well over a dozen scratches and 
bites, none of them deep but all bloody. Her dark leggings 
existed now only as the tiniest scraps, scattered all over 
the glade. Her long chestnut hair had been chewed on, and 
some of it-
    Zinira swallowed to combat the queasy feeling in her 
chest. Patting the anxious Gula on the head, she knelt and 
examined the bites. 
    Odd marks, very close together, as if made by a shark 
or another animal with moving rows of triangular teeth. 
The claw marks didn't look very old- they were still 
clean- but already the skin around them had turned an 
angry silver. And the ends of her hair had been singed, 
not simply chewed, as if someone had held a torch to her 
head.
    Her heart pounding hard, Zinira looked around for 
clues. But the only thing she saw was a small cylinder a 
short distance away that looked like a scrollcase. As the 
woman wore official courier's dress- or what was left of 
it- that was probably her message.
    She sent Gula to fetch it with a motion while she 
gently turned the woman over.
    Hair fell away to reveal a face that looked kind but 
hard, and covered with old battle-scars. Zinira gently 
thumbed back an eyelid and saw gold-green unconsciousness. 
She would be no help in getting herself out of here.
    Gula came back, carrying the scrollcase gently in her 
powerful jaws. Zinira opened it, saw Eleriad Deerfriend's 
official seal on the scroll, and closed it again.
    "You're important," she said to the woman aloud. 
Talking might help to calm or at least cover the ever- 
louder hammer of her heart and the flips of her stomach. 
"I've got to get you to safety. But Gula won't leave me, 
and I can't open a reliable telepathic link. How, then?"
    As if in answer, the jay screamed again from the tree 
above her.
    Zinira started, staring upward. It was a sable jay, 
easy to mistake for a raven but for the sheen of its 
feathers. As she watched, it took off again, six-foot 
wings spread wide, repeating its harsh warning over and 
over.
    She had never known anything to so terrify a sable 
jay. Unless...
    A low laugh sounded from the bushes.
    Zinira stood. Her fingers trembled only a little as 
she nocked the arrow.
    "Who's there?"
    Laughter. The bushes began to sway and dance and 
crackle like a High Day fire stirred with a poker, but 
nothing showed itself.
    Zinira paced a slow circle about the messenger, her 
eyes searching for any kind of clue. She could tell now 
that the laughter was neither human nor Elwen, and in fact 
not an expression of humor at all. It was merely the 
natural sound of some creature that bore a horrid 
resemblance to a sinister chuckle.
    "Sweet Sarastaa," she prayed aloud, "let me be wrong." 
Her palms were sweaty again. Gula leaned against her leg, 
that faint vibration that was all the growl she could make 
thrumming through Zinira as well.
    A dark shape stepped from the bushes, and proved she 
was not wrong.
    It stood nearly as tall as a horse, but it had no 
equine characteristics. It was so muffled in thick, sleek, 
dark fur that it was impossible to tell exactly what it 
was. But the head was quick and slender as a snake's, the 
flowing movements as graceful as a cat's, and the soft 
puff of fire that darted from its mouth as hot as a 
dragon's.
    An il'iini.
    Gula's strangled warning issued again, and for a 
moment the creature stopped as if listening. Then it 
sprang with horrific speed, claws spread wide.
    Zinira felt the arrow leave her hands, sped on its way 
by no skill or thought but the knowledge that she was dead 
if she missed.
    She missed.
    The dark weight crashed into her and bore her to the 
ground, bringing ringing pain into head and shoulder. The 
il'iini grinned down at her, tongue hanging from between 
rows of gleaming teeth. It leaned toward her shoulder as 
if enjoying the game.
    Gula was trying to distract its attention, but other 
il'iini were breaking from the forest now- they hunted in 
packs- and she had more than enough to deal with.
    Zinira looked death in the eye for the second time in 
a dance, but this time it was no Rlhona, whom she could 
persuade to leave her alone. This was a creature 
impervious to reason, at least twice as big as she was, 
and not at all vulnerable to what a half-human could do.
    Unless...
    The clearing was open to the sky, and sunlight fell 
upon it. It might be enough. It might.
    Zinira closed her eyes and stretched out her hands 
beneath the thing, praying with all her might to Sarastaa. 
O Lord of the Dawn, Lord of the Morning, I know Thou 
mayest refuse my boon. But if Thy daughter is to live past 
this moment, she must have Thy greatest gift.
    Warmth gathered in her hands, and then they burst into 
sunflame.
    The il'iini roared and leaped off her. Zinira 
struggled to one knee, her breath coming in harsh pants, 
and found herself encircled by three il'iini. They gazed 
at her with those eyes that were not quite distinguishable 
from this distance, but she sensed they were eying her 
with speculation.
    Gula had somehow managed to rip the throat out of one 
of them and now kept the other two at bay, straddling the 
land Elwen woman's body. But the stalemate couldn't last 
forever. Even as she regained some of her strength, Zinira 
felt the sunflame flare and die. Breathless, she reached 
for her bow- and found it broken, snapped in half by the 
sudden weight of her attacker.
    The il'iini laughed and began to move in.
    Zinira stood. She could meet her death on her feet, if 
nothing else. She took a few cautious steps backward, 
though, the hope in her stubbornly playing itself out 
until the last moment.
    Her heel bumped into the hilt of something cold.
    She glanced behind her, and the il'iini belched fire. 
The flames scorched her left arm, wringing a cry from her, 
and they laughed again and jumped at her.
    But she had seen the messenger's sword, likely flung 
this good distance from her at the beginning of the 
attack, and now she scooped it up with her right hand. She 
could hold it easily, though for an Elwen it would have 
been a two-handed grip. For once, she blessed her human 
strength.
    She whirled in time to skewer one of the il'iini. It 
struggled weakly, dark blood flowing down dark fur, while 
its companions flew past her and settled to earth to stare 
at her once more. When it was dead, she drew the blade 
free and turned to face the other two, cutting threatening 
circles in the air.
    She barely noticed that she had killed for the first 
time. The dark, heady exhilaration of staying alive under 
impossible circumstances pumped through her, and she was a 
leaf in its tide. No room was left in her mind for other 
considerations.
    Gula made her warning sound again, and Zinira heard 
the rush of two more il'iini come bounding toward her, to 
join the attack and surround her completely. Then they 
would close in and slowly kill her, Gula, and the land 
Elwen woman.
    Or so they thought.
    Her left arm hurt like- well, like fire- but nothing 
was wrong with her right arm. She pivoted in a fast 
circle, and called Gula's name as she did so.
    Her sword sliced at the two il'iini behind her, enough 
to startle them and make them jump backwards into Gula's 
furious attack. The drath-hound used her smallness to her 
advantage now, dodging around their thick legs and heavy 
paws in a whirlwind of claws and teeth, too swiftly to be 
caught. The il'iini tried to catch her, distracted from 
Zinira by the pain the drath-hound was causing.
    Zinira cut viciously at the nearest with her sword, 
her confidence increased- at least until a paw slapped and 
took it from her hand.
    She looked at her empty hand, then began backing up 
toward the land Elwen woman, with some idea of protecting 
her until the end.
    The il'iini she had tried to skewer laughed and 
sauntered forward, but the other had turned its head and 
was standing, eyes narrowed, in an attitude of listening. 
Zinira wondered if it heard some bigger forest beast on 
the way to devour them.
    Gula bounded to her side, her beautiful coat covered 
with dark blood, and stood facing the great animals as if 
undaunted. She probably was, Zinira thought in admiration.
    And then she heard what the il'iini's sensitive ears, 
and possibly Gula's as well, had caught before hers did. 
The staccato beat of a horse's hoofs, drawing rapidly 
nearer along the trail that led out of the clearing's 
other side.
    The il'iini who had first heard the sound snarled 
softly, but the biggest one laughed, overruling it 
somehow. They all turned back toward their herd of prey, 
one member of which was downed and helpless, and another 
weaponless. Zinira prayed she could at least face death 
without soiling herself, and then she closed her eyes and 
offered up a personal prayer to Sarastaa.
    O Lord of the Dawn, hear Thy daughter in her anguish. 
Light bring me to Thy halls-
    There came the sound of a shriek, full of terror and 
rage and grief. "Megala!" And then the rasp of a sword 
drawing free, and the smell of fire that was somehow 
sharper and cleaner than the fire of an il'iini.
    Zinira opened her eyes.
    Behind the turning, newly startled beasts was a land 
Elwen on a horse, blade in one hand and fire in another. 
His eyes, the same gold-green color of the woman's, were 
wild with a maze of emotions that sparked and culminated 
in the flames raging over his bare skin without harming 
him. Land Elwens could turn their emotions into magic, one 
reason they were so deadly in battle against humans, who 
wielded no magic at all. Of course, caught from behind and 
unawares as the woman had been, they were as vulnerable as 
anyone else.
    But this man was aware, on a horse, and very angry.
    So angry, in fact, that Zinira used her hands to brush 
her hair down over her very human ears, ignoring the pain 
in her left arm.
    The il'iini still did not run away. Perhaps the sight 
of the horse tempted them, the kind of meat they were more 
used to, or perhaps they did not believe a single fighter 
could resist them. They sprang, blowing their flame.
    The horse reared, and its hooves crushed one beastly 
skull before the land Elwen threw his flame.
    Zinira dropped a shielding arm over her eyes. The 
explosion was so bright, however, that the light followed 
her through the barrier of flesh and imprinted the lines 
of her veins on the backs of her eyes.
    There was not even a scream, and, when she looked 
again, no sign of bodies. Only a great, charred circle lay 
where a moment before il'iini and fruitful grass had been. 
Even the one she had killed was gone.
    Zinira swallowed slowly and stared up at the land 
Elwen, who had ridden over beside her. He looked at her 
kindly from his sun-leaf eyes as he sheathed his unused 
sword, though his smile was a bit strained.
    "Is that my sister you're protecting?"
    Grateful that her years in the Temple had erased all 
trace of her outside-Ava-Sunriver accent, Zinira said, "I 
think so, sir," and stepped back. Gula moved with her, 
watching the land Elwen alertly. Zinira put a hand on her 
to calm her down, then realized there was no soundless 
growl. The drath-hound was only being cautious.
    The land Elwen started when he saw the woman and slid 
at once from his horse's back to the ground. Zinira caught 
the stallion's reins, and it danced a moment before she 
exerted her peace aura to calm it. It snorted and relaxed, 
nostrils flaring wide as it sniffed her dark hair.
    The man turned the woman back onto her stomach and 
passed a hand over her back. Zinira's eyes widened as 
flickering gray-green liquid slid over her wounds, leaving 
no trace of them behind.
    The land Elwen worked in silence, only saying anything 
when he stood to retrieve more courier's clothes from the 
pack on his horse's saddle. He apparently saw the 
frightened expression on Zinira's face, and smiled 
reassuringly. "She'll be all right now, my lady. She has 
nothing serious, though I dare say she'll fuss about her 
newly shortened hair." He laughed, as if at a private 
joke, and stooped to clothe- Megala, Zinira thought he had 
said her name was.
    Zinira closed her eyes again, and all the strength 
went out of her at once. The horse snorted in protest as 
her weight dragged at the reins, and she let it go, 
thinking it would not go far. Gula was there to support 
her, and she moved like an old woman, one hand resting on 
the drath-hound's head, over to a log.
    There she sat and put her head in her hands.
    All she could see, whether she closed her eyes or not, 
was the il'iini she had killed. It had been a living 
creature, and she had taken its life.
    She had killed.
    She had never thought the Honor's Keeper training was 
for real. How could she? The bright swords flashing in the 
sunlight she so loved, the precise movements, could not 
have prepared her for the hack and slash of battle. There 
was something almost brave about battle when seen from a 
distance, but in close it was hard and ugly.
    The birdsong no longer had any power to comfort the 
young half-Elwen, nor the martial music of the land Elwens 
to stir her. She had never longed more for the singing of 
Sunrise Prayers.
    If she had stayed inside the walls...
    "Megala might be dead."
    Startled, Zinira raised her head, and had to blink 
through a mask of tears she had not realized she was 
crying. Nor had she realized that the male land Elwen had 
approached so closely, and was looking at her- most 
especially at her ears- with wonder and doubt mingled in 
his face.
    "You are half-human. Yet you aided us. Why?"
    Zinira swallowed the bitter retort she wanted to give 
along with the tears. Standing, with a small bow, she 
replied, "I am half-alalori, my lord. Our purpose is to 
aid life. I wish with all my heart I had not killed the 
il'iini, but I am happy I was able to preserve Megala's 
life. Is there something more I can do for you?"
    The land Elwen looked away, seemingly abashed. "You 
shame me," he said at last. "You have chosen your side, as 
your actions declare. A human would have cut her throat." 
He turned back, took a deep breath, and extended a hand. 
"Shall we start over? My name is Lenden Wildeyes, and I 
thank you for your valiant defense of my sister."
    Zinira accepted the handclasp, a little dazed that his 
mood had changed so fast. But land Elwens were like ponds 
touched by the wind.
    "My name is Zinira Dulak, my lord. As you have greeted 
me by the customs of your people, permit me to greet you 
by the customs of mine." She spread her hands and bowed 
her head twice, once for Sarastaa and once for the guest 
she was greeting.
    "Phaemerrasta li toa ti mira." May light return to the 
world.
    It was the greeting used to an equal, and she knew she 
was a little daring in claiming it. Yet, when she looked 
up, Lenden was smiling.
    "You are courteous indeed, little sister," he said, 
doing her a courtesy in return. "How did you happen to 
come upon Megala?"
    Zinira was about to answer when a groan told them 
Megala was awake. They hurried to her side. Zinira 
supported her head while Lenden took her hand.