Infinite Is The Glory
                        Prologue
             1113, Age of Ascent, High Spring
    The grove began to sing the moment he entered, knowing 
who he was and why he had come.
    Herran Turnlong hesitated a little, throwing back his 
head and sniffing the breeze that wandered through his 
hair like stroking fingers. He had thought for a moment he 
smelled something else, something more that should not be 
there.
    But it was gone, and in any case, nothing he did not 
permit could follow him within the silver-barked trees of 
the grove. This was his place, the source of a great deal 
of his magical strength. He had created it. Only he or his 
invited guests could walk it.
    He moved quietly over the thick, deep, blue-tinged 
green grass, moving so lightly that he did not crush any 
blade. The grass danced beneath his feet, reaching up to 
stroke his ankles as if it were longer than it was, almost 
pulling its roots out of the soil. He knelt to pet it as 
one would a cat, feeling the breeze intensify and the 
sliding caress of leaves on the back of his neck as the 
trees reached out. He smiled and half-closed his eyes, 
letting his head fall forward as he would if his wife were 
embracing him, for a moment forgetting the dread purpose 
and the unhappiness that had lately ruled him.
    Then thoughts of his wife led naturally to thoughts of 
his daughters, and he lost his smile as he rose again to 
his feet, face assuming solemnity. They were the reason he 
was doing this. And not only to prevent the darker 
ambitions that his elder, Sahsraiinar, seemed to harbor. 
It was also to defend them.
    As children of the Councilmaster, they would forever 
be in danger. As children of just one more lord of the 
high blood, they would not.
    Herran avoided the circle of flowers in the center of 
the glade, flowers that would reveal his soul in music and 
images to whoever touched them, and moved to the smallest 
tree on the farthest side of the grove. It had just been a 
sapling when it had died in a forest fire, and the new 
body he had spun its spirit into reflected that. It had 
grown since that day, but it was still the smallest of all 
of them.
    He laid a hand on its trunk, and let the warm deep 
song that played just beneath the surface of the bark 
overwhelm him, reach for him and call him into it.
    It breathed light in his mind, and found the purpose 
for which he had come.
    It agreed.
    Herran opened his eyes and took a step back as the 
leaves of the single tree began to rustle, overwhelming 
the songs of all the others. Slowly, slowly, the azure 
leaves pivoted on their twigs, turning to reveal the 
shining silver undersides.
    Save that the color of the undersides had paled a 
little, to the soft silvery-gray color of another kind of 
tree, a more mortal kind.
    Then they pivoted again, and by the time they returned 
to their normal position, the azure had become a soft 
green, flecked with the same pale silver. The silver trunk 
was flowing and changing as well, sculpting itself anew, 
as it had not changed since he first created it. The 
silver turned brown, the thick trunk turned slender, the 
branches grew more supple.
    When the transformation was done, an aspen stood in 
place of the shining silver-barked tree of no mortal kind. 
It stood watching him, waiting for him, feeling the magic 
that played around him and considering how best to 
accomplish what he wanted it to do.
    Then the earth just beneath it heaved and rippled.
    Herran watched, his heart pounding. He did not think 
this would work and had been hesitant to ask, but he had 
been forced to. This was not supposed to be possible. 
Everyone who saw it would think of it as a miracle.
    Which he wanted.
    He felt the magic grow stronger around him, and then 
as the tree pulled its roots free of the soil, it began to 
sing on a deep, long, sustained note. The music shook in 
the earth all around them, rippled and danced like the 
leaves. The aspen walked slowly towards him, its roots 
writhing like many serpents, dragging it forward quickly 
all at once.
    Herran raised a hand, and the aspen stopped. 
Shimmering trails of green light raced around it, and it 
shone with a brighter light as it drew on the strength of 
the magic that Herran offered.
    "Come," Herran said softly, and then turned and left 
the grove, with the aspen walking behind him.
    It took much magic to maintain this walk, but the 
forest was willing to help him, and gave all it could to 
the effort. They were no longer precisely in the same 
world, Herran found as they emerged from the grove and 
onto the road that led back to Rowan. The track still 
curved and dipped in the same way, but now it was covered 
with a soft blanket of green furze and newly blossoming 
flowers, as newness swelled and rose through the fabric of 
packed dirt usual in his own world.
    Herran fought down his terror and awe, assuring 
himself that it was all right, that he was only doing this 
partially himself, that the force of the tree with him was 
helping.
    But he knew that the tree was in a way a solid 
embodiment of his power, and that ultimately all this 
magic sprang from himself.
    He closed his eyes and fought down self-loathing, as 
he had done so many times over the last twenty-four years 
that he had lost count. It was only for a little while, he 
repeated to himself firmly. Then he would be rid of some 
of his power- hopefully, before the summer was out- and 
the temptations of corruption. He would be an ordinary 
Elwen again, as was his dearest desire.
    Just a little while.
    But there was this to be gotten through first.
    He turned and gave a soft call, his voice a prayer and 
a summons all at once. The aspen walked forward, branches 
waving in counterpoint to the wildly crawling roots below. 
Herran turned his back on it and walked down the grass- 
covered road to Rowan by the light of a strange green 
moon, feeling unseen eyes watching him all the while.
    The Gate had no one standing guard on it in this 
world, and roses both glass and real twined its sides, and 
it opened silently and voluntarily at his approach, the 
great golden wings of the Swan lowering to the ground and 
serving as ramps. Herran made a few passes with his hands, 
and the aspen knew to bend forward as if with the wind to 
keep from losing any of its branches as it passed beneath 
the low arch of the Gate.
    They walked through a city as deserted as the Gate, 
though here the great silver sculptures of animals and 
plants that served as homes and shops for his people 
remained the same. They had been established in his world 
so long ago that their reflection here, and in all the 
worlds that held a mirror of Arcadia, was as strong and 
real as they themselves were, and faithful to the 
originals.
    They came to the Council gardens, more strange and 
beautiful here. No Elwen walked the paths that curved past 
phosphorescent pools, or sat strumming a harp beneath the 
silver willows, though harp music floated from somewhere 
within the motionless tableau. Herran closed his eyes and 
sought for the right place, the place that would both look 
the most impressive and have the right magic to support 
such a tree.
    There.
    There was a tiny island in the midst of one of the 
deeper pools, and there the tree could stand. The pool was 
near the center of the garden, as well, and there were no 
aspen trees for at least two miles in either direction.
    That would make it a mystery, a miracle, exactly as he 
wanted it to look.
    He brought the aspen forward, and coaxed it to wade 
through the water to the island. He watched it anxiously 
as the roots sank into the loose green earth, and then 
rooted and gripped.
    It would stand.
    Herran sighed, and let the verdant magic fade from 
around him. He could feel the gardens returning to normal, 
himself returning to his own world. The faint luminescent 
green of the pool before him faded back into the soundless 
silver color it was to nightsight.
    He was done.
    He turned and walked away.




                        Chapter 1
                Time of Tides and Miracles
    "It was a breaking of long years,
     It was the gift of a thousand tears,
     It was a time when the bards sang again,
     After a million years of imprisonment.

    "It was a time of tides and miracles..."
    -From a song commemorating the War of the Falling and 
the deeds of Maruss Freewind. First and second verses.

    "My lord!"
    Herran started and looked up, and almost smiled to see 
Daemon staring so intently out the window. Feigning 
boredom, he yawned and answered the guard's urgent words 
with lazy ones of his own.
    "What is it?"
    "A tree!" Awe inflamed Daemon's eyes as he turned his 
head to stare at Herran. "A true green and silver aspen. A 
beautiful one. I have never seen anything like it!" 
Already he was recovering his customary serenity, but 
there was still a trace of light in his face, and he 
continued to glance out the window as if he could not 
quite, or could not quite dare to, believe it.
    Herran rose, yawning, and joined him at the window, 
deliberately sending his eyes in the opposite direction. 
"Where? I see no aspen that was not there yesterday, for 
stars' sakes. Or are your eyes good enough to see sprouts 
from this height?"
    "There!" Daemon seized the Councilmaster's shoulder 
and turned him so that he could look out and see the aspen 
on its island.
    Herran did not have to feign staring in wonder. By all 
the stars, the aspen was lovelier than he had thought it 
would be, and fully recognizable as what it was. Absently, 
his hand went to the bracelet on his wrist, rattling the 
silver links and the emerald aspen clasp that secured it.
    "Who do you think planted it?" Daemon asked softly, 
his hand still on Herran's shoulder. Herran shrugged it 
off a little, so that the guard would not feel the muscles 
tensing under his hand.
    "Who could it have been? It would take enormous magic 
to transplant a tree that large, wouldn't you think?" And 
for all that it had been small compared to the other trees 
in the grove, the aspen, he saw now, was among the largest 
in these gardens.
    "The stars?"
    "Stranger signs of favor have happened," Herran 
replied, grateful that his friend had suggested it himself 
and spared Herran the trouble of having to come 
dangerously close to a lie.
    "But who would be favored with an aspen tree in the 
gardens?" Daemon asked with a faint frown.
    Herran spun the bracelet on his wrist. Daemon turned 
at the sound and stared at the aspen tree clasp for a long 
moment.
    "You don't think-"
    "Why not? He is a good Councilman, and has been 
gaining support lately." That much, at least, was true, 
even if much of the support was Herran's doing. It gave 
him some relief to think that not everything was subject 
to his gift for the Game.
    "But Aereri Sulonin, Lord of Sulonin though he is, is 
not that important."
    "How do you know?"
    Daemon hesitated and looked again at the aspen. "You 
really believe that that is a show of support for him? 
Simply because the aspen is the symbol of his line?" There 
was a seed of doubt in his voice, though, as he rejected 
his first, biased conclusion that Aereri was not important 
enough to the future of Rowan to warrant such a sign.
    "What else could it be?"
    And indeed, it was a show of support, though not from 
the stars. Herran had toyed with the idea of revealing his 
magic to them by walking the aspen across Rowan in front 
of everyone. But that would be too blatant a show of 
support, when he did not want to make it clear that Aereri 
was really his chosen successor to the post of 
Councilmaster, but simply make everyone else think that 
there was no better choice. And though the power of his 
magic would have struck fear into them and seen him taken 
off the Council at once, it would have done so before he 
had done everything he wanted to do.
    He would wait, then, and assure himself that Rowan was 
in Aereri's capable hands before he left the city's 
highest post forever.
    The thrill of anticipation that ran through him at the 
thought almost made him miss Daemon's next question.
    "My lord?"
    "Yes?" asked Herran, blinking and smiling guiltily, as 
if he had been caught in the middle of a reverie.
    "You would not take this as a sign of the 
Councilmastery's passing to Aereri, would you?" There was 
suspicion in Daemon's voice. "Simply because the stars may 
favor him is no reason for you to give up your power to 
him. The stars favor you as well, and yet you were a 
Councilman for long years before Liant chose you to 
receive his power."
    "If they have chosen Aereri as my successor, who am I 
to argue with them?"
    "Herran..."
    Herran sighed. Daemon only used his name when truly 
angry with him. He spoke quickly and quietly to reassure 
him. He could not reveal to Daemon what he was doing, 
because the guard would disapprove of it so heartily that 
he might well manage to talk Herran out of it. But he 
could keep him from feeling pain.
    "You know well that I could give up the Councilmastery 
without looking back, Daemon- if the city were in good 
hands. I shall have to look at Aereri more closely to make 
sure, but I think that he would make a good Councilmaster, 
yes, and I am not opposed to the choice of the stars."
    "If it is not the stars..."
    "Who else could it be?" Herran asked again, speaking 
quickly to head off that dangerous line of thought. "If 
there were a mage powerful to walk an aspen to the middle 
of the gardens, then why would he or she not try for the 
Councilmastery, instead of neutrally supporting Aereri?"
    "Perhaps for the same reason that Quirrin supported 
you for the seat instead of taking it for himself."
    Herran had to close his eyes to avoid nausea at the 
thought that he might be like the master torturer in any 
way that he did not already know about. But there was one 
fundamental difference between them that he knew about, 
and that he would cling to, no matter what Quirrin or 
Daemon would say: he knew that Quirrin desired power, and 
he did not.
    He was doing his best to get rid of it, to pass it on 
to more capable shoulders, the shoulders of a man whom 
Rowan could love.
    The remembrance of the first time he had looked into 
the eyes of his people and seen the wish for him to die or 
be deposed gave him strength. He opened his eyes and gave 
Daemon a serene look. "I will look into it. But if that is 
so, then I fear it will be some time before we learn the 
identity of the mage. Someone powerful enough to transport 
the aspen into the center of the garden would also be 
powerful enough to conceal himself."
    Daemon frowned and started to reply, but at that 
moment there came a delighted shriek from below, in a 
voice they both knew well, and the Council began spilling 
out into the garden.
    "The rabble has seen the tree," said the guard in a 
tense voice, looking at his lord.
    His lord's smile must have confused him, but Herran 
gave no explanation as he rose to his feet and headed 
towards the door. Daemon followed at the Councilmaster's 
shoulder, watching in every direction for possible 
enemies.
    Herran kept his smile on his face even as he watched 
that action from the corner of his eye. You should have a 
better way to spend your life, Daemon, my friend. And as 
soon as I can shed this mantle that I hate, you will have 
it.
----------------------------------------------------------
    He joined the crowd unnoticed; not even their hatred 
of him could compare with the wonder of the tree. He stood 
silent as they wondered at it, and Keesa, the one who had 
cried out when she saw the tree, made to wade out into the 
pool and stroke the bark. The Councilwoman's face was 
filled with wonder, at peace for once, and she looked 
almost like the young woman Herran had once patrolled with 
again. She then turned and looked into the shocked face of 
Aereri Sulonin.
    "Did you put this here, my lord?" she asked in a soft 
voice.
    Aereri shook his head, his eyes, green as the aspen's 
leaves, fastened on it. "No," he said. "I cannot imagine 
how it could have gotten-"
    There was a slight tremble, and the tree extended its 
leaves towards him. A loud murmur ran through the Council, 
and then they were silent, as they watched raptly. An 
Elwen might command a tree to do that on his own land, but 
this was not the Sulonin land, and everyone knew that 
Aereri's earth magic was not strong enough to do this in 
any case.
    Therefore...
    Herran could almost feel the thoughts racing through 
their minds as they stared, as the tree leaned the longest 
of its branches forward and strained in Aereri's 
direction. The Lord of Sulonin, supported by murmurs from 
those closest to him, stepped forward and laid a hand on 
the nearest leaf.
    "I bid you greetings."
    The tree shimmered, and trails of green light raced 
around it at the sound of his voice. It then drew back the 
branch that had been straining to reach him and bowed its 
crown of branches to him. Then a gleaming beam of silver 
light, so brilliant it outshone the sun, cut down from the 
sky above and struck him.
    Aereri only stood in what seemed to be starlight, 
blinking and struggling to keep his jaw from dropping. 
Keesa, with her delighted whoop, was not so restrained, 
and neither were the Council members- scattered, but still 
four or five of them- who clapped and said approving 
things to each other in low voices.
    Herran let the starlight fade, and smiled. They were 
so inexperienced in handling emotional magic that they did 
not recognize it when it happened. Now it would seem that 
the stars favored Aereri, and though at first no one would 
know what first, it would be only a matter of time before 
they came up with the only plausible answer. Aereri was of 
a family of minor blood, not as powerful as the families 
like Turnlong or Goatleap, but still high and blood-linked 
to his lands; and he was a Councilman already. There was 
only one honor higher than that.
    He stroked the tree's leaves again, and then slowly 
stepped away, his gaze fixed on the shimmering magic that 
outlined the trunk. It sank back into the earth as he 
watched, and the tree swayed, though there was no wind. A 
sound like a breath of soft, happy harp music ran through 
its leaves.
    "I do not know how it came to be there, my lords, my 
ladies," he said at last, after a long silence. "But I am 
grateful for the gift."
    "It is Rowan who should be grateful."
    Herran smiled again. He knew that he did not have to 
wait long for Ariawen to take up the call. She had always 
hated him, because of the slow but inexorable pace of the 
changes that he tended to set, and she was not a fool. She 
had seen what she wanted to see from this.
    That it also happened to be what he wanted her to see 
in this case did not really matter. It was only a vague 
detail, easily ignored.
    Aereri turned to the tall, brown-haired Councilwoman 
as she stepped forward, her dark eyes glowing. "Why, my 
lady?" he asked softly.
    "Do you not see?" Ariawen made a sweeping motion in 
the direction of the tree. "The aspen is here, and the 
starlight touched you. You alone, of all the Elwens here, 
though we are all the children of the stars. You are meant 
to be the next Councilmaster of Rowan."
    Aereri had not considered the notion, and his eyes 
widened. Then he shook his head, emphatically. "I will 
have nothing to do with treason, my lady."
    "Treason?"
    They all started as Herran lifted his voice, making 
himself known for the first time. Ariawen muttered a 
curse, and her skin shone silver with a vivid flush. But 
Herran pretended to ignore her, stepping forward to look 
at the tree instead.
    This was going better than he had anticipated. No one 
had connected the tree to him, and the more time passed, 
the less chance there was of that. He had not really 
thought that anyone would, but one could never know the 
exact intelligence of the other Council members. Keeping 
it hidden was itself part of the Game.
    "Where did this come from?" he asked, turning away. 
"Has anyone thought to question the guards?"
    "An excellent idea, my lord," said Aereri at once. He 
was loyal to Herran, and did not want the mantle of 
Councilmastery. He was hoping there was a rational 
explanation for this, Herran knew.
    There was, but one that he would not come to realize 
until later.
    Herran nodded. "Do you wish to question them, my lord, 
or should I?"
    "Your earth magic is stronger than mine. I would 
prefer that duty, if you would stay here and try to find 
how this tree was moved."
    It could not have gone better if Herran had planned it 
himself. Aereri had just reminded everyone that his magic 
was weaker than Herran's, and could not have done this.
    Good.
    "If you would like to do that, my lord, then I will 
stay here."
    They all stared at him. Since when had the 
Councilmaster, so insistent on doing things his own way 
that most called him dog-headed, begun to submit to the 
will of others?
    But Herran gave them no time to wonder. It was time 
for the next miracle. He turned to the tree and called up 
magic as if to study it.
    In reality, it was to ask something else of the aspen, 
and get it.
    The green light rose, and swirled outward in a 
violent, glimmering mist, settling on Aereri's brow and 
resting there like a crown. There could be no more obvious 
symbolism, Herran thought, seeing them stare as Ariawen's 
idea took root, except-
    And the mist formed into the image of the rowan tree 
standing before Aereri, bowing to him as the aspen had 
bowed.
    Not only lord of the Sulonin line, Herran willed them 
with all his heart to think. Lord of Rowan, as well, or 
soon to be.
    And it was working. Those nearest at him were looking 
at him with contempt in their eyes, as though remembering 
that no stars or mist or light or magic had ever 
proclaimed Herran Lord of Rowan.
    Herran let his awed voice rise first, as though he had 
not noticed the stares. "It would seem, my lord, that the 
stars favor you indeed," he murmured. "And they are not 
the only ones."
    Aereri started and glanced at him. Then he stared, 
with his eyes narrowing. Of all of them, Herran thought, 
returning his clear gaze calmly, he was the most 
intelligent. He was the most able to decide, if he wanted 
to, what was really going on.
    But there were temptations not to solve the mystery 
that would be obstacles in his path. Though he might not 
desire glory for himself, he did desire it for Rowan, and 
what Elwen would not welcome the thought that he or she 
was the key to the glory?
    Herran, of course. But the difference was that he 
knew, after almost four hundred years of trying, that he 
was not. Aereri could believe that the stars favored him, 
that he might have a chance.
    If he wanted to.
    And a moment later, the suspicion vanished from the 
bright-as-emeralds gaze, and Aereri nodded, taking 
Herran's words to mean only that Herran thought this a 
wondrous thing. He had always known of the Councilmaster's 
desire to step aside. So long as he did not suspect, 
before Herran was ready to tell him, that the 
Councilmaster was engineering the situation where he could 
step aside...
    "I will question the guards, my lord," he said, and 
turned and left.
    The other Council members murmured and stared, looking 
at each other and trying to decide, without speaking a 
word, who should be their speaker. At last, Keesa came 
forward, her red hair rippling in the sunlight and her 
gaze and words direct as always.
    "That is very kind of you," she said quietly.
    "Kind?"
    "I know that you want to step aside, and that you 
would welcome the stars' favoring of Aereri for personal 
reasons," she said quickly. "But to know that the 
fundamental greatness of the man is what suits him for the 
office... I saw and felt that you were not surprised. You 
knew that this would happen someday. You always knew that 
he was fit to take your place." There was a slight 
asperity in those last words- they had been enemies in the 
past- but that passed, and she was left gazing at him with 
steady admiration.
    That was the last thing that Herran wanted. He rewove 
the barriers on his emotion and smiled. "Thank you, Keesa. 
I thought..." He shook his head as if unwilling to share 
his thought, in case this did not work out as he was 
hoping it would.
    The Lady of Firehair rested a hand on his arm for a 
moment. "I know," she said softly. "I have found, as well, 
that what I thought to be true of those in power is not 
necessarily so."
    Herran nodded, and started to turn away, ostensibly to 
study the tree again but really to gloat, at least 
partially, at the success of his plan. But she kept her 
hand where it was.
    "There is something that we should discuss, my lord."
    "What is it?"
    "I have reports regarding human activity to the north 
and east of Rowan."
    Herran tensed at once and turned, shrugging to throw 
her hand from him, as he had earlier with Daemon. "You 
know what I will say to that, my lady," he said quietly 
and sincerely. This was no part of his plan, but had to do 
with personal ideals.
    "Better that we destroy them than that they destroy 
us, my lord. Surely you can admit that, if nothing else 
about them."
    "We are not in jeopardy. I have told you this before. 
If we are half as strong as you think we are, then why 
should we feel threatened by a race without magic, a race 
without our lifespan, a race that we generally consider 
far inferior to ourselves?"
    "They are inferior," said Keesa, another point they 
often argued. But she went on before he could leap into 
the old dance. "But they nearly destroyed us in the War of 
Acceptance. I do not want them to do it again. My lord, 
with your permission, I will form a patrol and go north to 
verify the truth of the rumors."
    "And so violent is your temper that you could start a 
war by killing the wrong leader."
    Keesa's eyes flashed, admitting her intentions. But 
she kept on the offensive. "The humans' leader is called 
Nelim, my lord. Have you never heard of him?"
    "No."
    Her eyes glowed with contempt, and he knew he had 
succeeded in planting another seed, one that would ripen 
into conviction that he did not really know what he was 
doing and was not a good leader for Rowan.
    "You should have heard of him." Her voice was steady, 
but it was obvious that she kept it that way with an 
effort. "My lord, he could cause more trouble for us than 
General Frashalt did during the War of Acceptance. He 
leads them well, and he has told them that Elwens are not 
destined to rule the world forever, nor is our magic so 
formidable. They are confident because of that, and they 
have begun to attack villages. In order to defeat him, w 
must show them that our magic leaves them as much to fear 
as ever."
    "Terrify them."
    "Yes."
    Herran shook his head very softly.
    "Why not?" Keesa asked, firming her fists and leaning 
forward with her eyes sparking, as she prepared for battle 
with all the love and passion she had ever shown for it.
    "Because it is immoral," said Herran quietly. "It is 
one thing to awe someone into leaving you alone. It is 
another thing to do what we did during the War, and tear 
the earth to pieces beneath the feet of your enemies."
    "We did it then. You did it then. I did not see you 
trying to stop it."
    "I was young, and they were the enemy," said Herran. 
"I did not argue with the orders of my elders. But this is 
different, Keesa. We are not the children we were then, 
and war is not the game it was. And these humans, this 
leaders, is not commanding his people to exterminate us."
    "Not yet."
    "Do you fear that he might?"
    "All of the human leaders did sooner or later, even 
the most fair-minded," said Keesa, crossing her arms over 
her chest.
    "But there is no evidence that he thinks like that or 
has made speeches urging genocide against our race?" 
Herran questioned gently.
    She looked away. "He will. There are fanatics in his 
army who will. He could not have assembled his people out 
of humans who feared us." She swung back to face him, her 
face set and her eyes bright and huge. "We must move on 
them, my lord, or they will move on us."
    "I am not convinced of that."
    "You are rarely convinced of anything where the other 
races are concerned," she said with a faint sneer. "You do 
not think they would kill us all if they could. I tell you 
they will."
    "I say not."
    Keesa shook her head slowly. "No, my lord, not this 
time," she said. "It will be put to a vote by the Council, 
and if we all agree, then Rowan will start preparing for 
war." Her smile widened as slowly as her head had moved. 
"With or without your guidance."
    He had to say it. He could feel the words vibrating in 
his throat. Even though it could jeopardize his plan, he 
stepped close and said them.
    "It will be without, my lady, most assuredly."
    She stared at him.
    Herran nodded. "Yes, my lady. I have made preparations 
to shed the mantle of the Councilmastery and pass it on to 
a more deserving candidate."
    "You..." Her voice trailed off, and she shook her 
head. "I did not think that you would ever give up power. 
You have too many visions, too many dreams to fulfill." 
She spoke in a neutral tone, not trying to persuade him 
otherwise, but simply expressing the thoughts that raced 
through her mind as she studied him closely.
    "That is why you are admitting Aereri's greatness," 
she continued after a moment. "You are planning to hand 
the mantle on to him."
    Herran inclined his head a little, and waited for her 
to continue.
    But she did not think that he had planted the aspen. 
Perhaps she did not think that even he would go that far, 
or that he would have the magic to do such a thing. She 
only said, after a long time of continued study, "I really 
did not think that you had it in you."
    Before he could reply, she added, "This has nothing to 
do with the war, of course."
    "What do you plan to do? What will you put to the 
vote? You know well enough that Rowan will go to war only 
if all our people agree that the war is necessary and 
needed."
    "I know. I will propose an alliance with the curalli, 
and if the Council agrees to it, then we could start 
sending scouts north and west to try and discover what 
Nelim plans."
    Herran's eyes widened. "You hate them more than you 
hate the humans," he said simply.
    "They are Elwen. Not round-eyed. Not short-lived. Not 
without magic to the extent that they hate and fear it as 
something that will corrupt their souls." Keesa's mouth 
turned downwards. "Personally, I am not at all sure that 
humans have souls," she said in a loud whisper.
    "Really."
    "Really."
    But Herran did not pursue the philosophical argument 
she was setting up. He held her gaze, and then nodded. "As 
long as you are not trying to force Rowan into war without 
the consent of her people, then I will not try to stop you 
from proposing your alliance."
    She studied him again, and then walked away muttering 
something about how she would have to take this change in 
him into account.
    Herran wished her the best of luck. He looked back to 
Aereri, who was coming to report what the guards had seen- 
Herran already knew it would be nothing- and then back to 
the aspen.
    Yes, the leaves of the tree really were just the color 
of Aereri's eyes.
    It was very easy and tempting to believe in the 
symbolism he had created.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Keesa climbed onto the dais and stood there, looking 
imperiously from face to face, waiting for the noise to 
subside as the Council members found their seats. Herran 
stood near the door instead of sitting in his own, central 
seat, and noted that Aereri and others looked discomfited.
    He had decided not to participate in this vote because 
he had his own, personal alliance with the curalli and did 
not want to be placed in charge of making contact with the 
curalli on the part of Rowan, which they would certainly 
reject. They would have to figure out for themselves what 
to do.
    They would soon have to figure many things out for 
themselves, and Herran did not think that that was such a 
bad thing, or this such a bad test.
    "My lords, my ladies." Keesa's voice was crisp, 
commanding, and Herran smiled involuntarily to hear echoes 
of himself in it. His most frequent weapons were words, 
and he had taught others to use them well enough that they 
sounded like him half the time. "I would like to tell you 
what I have learned of human activities to the north and 
east of Rowan, and then ask you to make a decision that 
will affect how Rowan deals with these rebels and 
enemies."
    They nodded. Aereri looked uneasily in Herran's 
direction again, but the Councilmaster remained 
motionless. True, he favored humans' entrance to Rowan, 
and he protected a few villages of them. But he could do 
nothing about the way the city responded. And if the 
humans were rising against Rowan, with intent to destroy, 
then he could hardly interfere with the ability of his 
people to protect themselves. He would enter the 
discussion only if it seemed that they were favoring 
genocide, without the proof such considerations would 
need.
    Keesa began with a more detailed account than she had 
given him, though that was not much. Nelim had forged an 
army and told his people that Elwens were not gods, for 
all that they had magic and some of the greatest heroes 
and assassins who had faced them during the War of 
Acceptance were still alive today. He had begun to attack 
and burn Elwen villages along the Sea of Song. Though it 
was not yet a producer of great casualties- all the 
villagers had had wards, and had been awakened and warned 
in time to flee the humans- there were refugees now, and 
they had no place to live and no crops to tend. They would 
starve or fail in the heat of summer and then the cold of 
winter if Rowan did not do something. The refugees were 
mostly land Elwens- the humans remembered still what race 
had defeated them and cost them the most- and they were 
looking towards the Queen of the Tableland for assistance 
in finding homes and food.
    And taking revenge.
    "That is one of the main differences between our 
people and the humans," Keesa was saying, with what Herran 
had to concede was an effective rhetorical flourish. 
"Humans would be content with a little food or a rickety 
house if their homes were destroyed. But our people want 
revenge on their attackers. Only then can they rest easy, 
and the spilled blood be satisfied."
    Because there was spilled blood and dead hungering fir 
vengeance, she quickly revealed. Not many of them, but 
some; three children in one village, the second to be 
attacked, and several adult fighters in another who had 
stayed behind as rear guard in a desperate effort to save 
their homes had died.
    She made no mention, Herran noted, of the immense 
casualties that defeating even one angered land Elwen was 
sure to have cost the humans. Nor did she say anything 
about the cause of the war.
    She finished with a ringing, passionate declaration. 
"We must make sure the humans cannot threaten Rowan." 
Perhaps with him listening, she did not speak of 
destroying them completely. Not yet. "And we have allies 
who can help us make sure of that. Though they are enemies 
at the best of times, the curalli are Elwens. Better us 
joining them than the humans sweeping us aside and 
replacing everything that we have built with their 
cringing fear of magic."
    There was a response from Ariawen and several other 
Council members. Aereri frowned anxiously. Duanni, a 
Councilwoman who had been sympathetic to the cause of 
humans ever since Herran had known her, rose to her feet 
and spread her hands.
    "What glory would there be in killing defenseless 
children?" Her voice, soft though it was, cut through the 
bells of truth and passion that Keesa had left like a 
lightning strike. "That is all the children are compared 
to us. Far better to find out what caused this war and 
stop it, then go to the north and east and fight alongside 
dispossessed refugees, and create more bloodshed."
    Herran smiled. If a few other circumstances, he would 
have chosen Duanni to follow him to the Councilmaster's 
seat. He had not partially because she could sometimes 
neglect the safety of Rowan in her blind concern for 
general principles, and partially because her sympathy for 
humans was too well-known for most ever to trust her.
    "That is something that we could do if it were any 
other race," Keesa answered her, color high and eyes and 
cheeks sparkling. "If anything were different than what it 
is. But, unfortunately, these are humans who attacked 
Elwens for no reason. They cannot be reasoned with or 
stopped, unless we impress them so much with magic and 
bloodshed that we make them stop."
    There was another stir of interest from the rest of 
the Council, and now even Aereri was leaning forward, 
caught by the look in Keesa's eyes and the force and 
fervor of her words. Duanni slowly sank back into her 
seat, giving Herran a closed, disappointed look. She did 
not understand why he had not supported her.
    Because this is a test, Herran answered silently. I 
will not be here forever, and I cannot trust myself now. 
You must champion the cause of humans yourself, from 
clearer principles, if it is to be championed.
    She must.
    Herran ignored the nagging of his conscience that told 
him otherwise for a moment, then gave in and listened. He 
could use his power to stop all this talk, to send a few 
spies north and learn the cause, and then solve it by 
himself without anyone else's help.
    And, he answered the voice in the back of his head, 
though he might do that, he would also be exercising power 
he did not want to exercise, power he had come to hate and 
distrust of late. It was immoral for any Elwen to have so 
much power. He was going to give it up, so that it could 
not corrupt him or those around him, so that he would not 
hurt others, and his people could go forward without him 
and choose their own destiny.
    What good would be safety for the humans if he had to 
force his own people to compassion in order to purchase 
it? If the protection came not from the city but from him? 
It would be next to worthless, and someday his people 
would make it known.
    He closed his eyes and told himself he was doing the 
right thing as he listened to them vote on and accept an 
alliance with the curalli, and then they paused as they 
searched for one who could bear the message. He startled 
when a hand settled on his arm.
    He opened his eyes to see Keesa smiling into them. 
"You, my lord," she said. "You are the messenger that we 
choose."
    "I cannot-"
    "Yes, you can," she said. "You speak Melli well, and 
you know the curalli ways. I would go myself, but they 
know me too well as a killer and would never listen to my 
words before cutting me down. You, they respect and trust. 
Ask them." She paused for a long moment before adding, 
"Ask them as Councilmaster."
    The bitch, Herran thought as he narrowed his eyes at 
her. He had revealed his desire to step aside, and already 
she was using it against him. If he refused, she could so 
easily announce what he was really doing.
    But if he did not...
    His people did need this alliance, he knew, if the 
human threat was as potent as Keesa thought it was. If.
    But he was the Councilmaster, at least for now. He 
could not afford to play games with Rowan's safety. He had 
to make alliances to protect her no matter what might or 
might not happen.
    And he was the only one the curalli would listen to, 
that was true.
    He wished he could doubt their answer, though; not be 
so deep in their counsels as to know they would say him 
yes at once. He wished that he did not have as much power 
as he did over them.
    He nodded sharply, once.
    Keesa smiled, but it was not exactly a smile of 
triumph. She nodded a little, and then said, "It does not 
really make sense, you know. Whatever you plan, you will 
still try to control the outcome of this. You will still 
try to make Rowan dance to your tune."
    Herran did not bother to answer her. She was right, in 
one way, and completely wrong in another. And whatever he 
said, she would not understand. He looked into her eyes, 
measuring the impact of her gaze, and said, "I assume that 
the Council would like me to make contact with the curalli 
as soon as possible?"
    "Yes."
    Herran nodded again and turned his back. "I will leave 
the city as soon as I speak with Tandra, and tell her that 
I am going," he said over his shoulder.
    "My lord?"
    Herran turned, surprised, to see Daemon standing in 
front of him. He grimaced and brushed a hand through his 
golden hair. This was the start of another argument, one 
they had with ever-increasing frequency as his alliance 
with the curalli deepened. Kerlinde, the Lord of Shadows, 
insisted that Herran come unarmed into his presence, as 
well as that of the guards who would kill him if he made a 
false move. Daemon insisted on accompanying him. The last 
time, it had nearly caused him to die when he was 
discovered, and the guards had assumed that he was a spy 
for the Council who would take news back of the meeting 
and use it to harm Kerlinde.
    "Daemon..."
    "Not this time, my lord," he interrupted coolly. "I 
will go with you this time, whether you like it or not." 
He folded his arms and stared back.
    "Why?"
    "I have the feeling that you are not telling me 
everything of late." He smiled coldly at Herran's innocent 
expression. "I would prefer that you did, of course," he 
added in a meditative tone, "but second best to that is 
following you and protecting you no matter what 
foolishness you may be up to."
    "And if I order you to stay behind?"
    Daemon tilted his head. "You have never done that, my 
lord."
    "If I were?"
    All the blood drained from the guard's face, but he 
kept his composure in his voice. "I suppose that I would 
consider myself bound to obey, my lord."
    "I see," said Herran. "Would you really prefer that I 
give the order, Daemon, or would you rather stay here and 
know that you were doing it of your own free will?"
    He could see the man struggling between his own desire 
not to hurt Herran and his desire to accompany him. After 
a moment, he let out a soft sigh and shook his head.
    "As it seems that I will not be accompanying you no 
matter what happens, I will stay here."
    "Thank you." Herran brushed past him and strode on 
down the hall, fighting an inner, desolate smile. That had 
gone well. He did not like the pain that rejecting 
Daemon's friendship brought him, but it was a necessary 
part of his plan. Daemon would make a good guard... for 
the next Councilmaster. His loyalty should be to the city, 
not to any one man.
    "My lord?"
    Herran turned at the last words, hearing something 
else in Daemon's voice. "Yes, what is it?"
    "You did not like doing that. I know it. I know you. I 
see it in your face, your voice."
    "Did you know that you sound as if you are trying to 
convince yourself, Daemon?"
    A flicker of uncertainty touched the diamond eyes, and 
then he shook his head. "No," he said. "I know you. You 
cannot convince me that I do not know you, or that I am 
mad. I know you."
    "Perhaps not as well as you thought."
----------------------------------------------------------
    Tandra sighed and stepped away from him, releasing him 
at last from the long and comforting embrace that she had 
given him the moment he stepped into the room and she 
sensed what he was feeling. "I'm sorry that I cannot do 
anything to help you," she said softly, reaching up and 
brushing a hand across his brow.
    Herran took her hand and kissed it. "I know that you 
would if you could, and you are the only one who would," 
he said simply. "I do love you for thinking of it, and I 
am glad that I have one person who understands. It would 
be starhell for me to go through this alone." He made the 
admission that he would not have made twenty-four years 
ago as easily as he said anything else now.
    "I know," said Tandra. "And you would do it anyway. 
You are convinced it is your duty."
    "It is."
    "It is," she echoed softly, and then smiled as she 
brushed the hair from his eyes. "But not for the reasons 
that you think."
    Herran nodded. She did not really care about the other 
reasons he had decided to leave the Councilmastery; she 
had wanted him safe and had assigned her Guards to protect 
him for almost as long as they had known each other. That 
he would soon be beyond the danger was a relief of 
proportions he could not know to her.
    "Father?"
    Herran turned to greet his youngest daughter, smiling, 
an echo of the same grave smile that she wore on her face. 
She stared at him as she reached out to clasp his hand, 
her pale blue eyes darting over his face.
    "What is the matter?" Teffulia had inherited his own 
sensitivity to emotions, though otherwise she was so like 
her mother in spirit and magic that it was hard to 
distinguish the two of them.
    "Nothing," he said, and it was true as he clasped her 
hand and then stepped back. Nothing was wrong, now. 
    "Yes, there is something wrong," said a different 
voice, pitched a little higher and more musically, from 
behind him.
    Herran turned again, and bowed a little to 
Sahsraiinar, whose dark blue eyes were the only thing to 
set her apart from her twin. That, and the emotions that 
flowed from her, of course, and made her, to another land 
Elwen, as different as the summer sky was from the winter.
    "What did you do?" she asked, reaching out and turning 
over his hand as if she thought she could read the future 
in the lines on his palm. Herran, who knew that she had 
passed that childish trick in her training long ago, took 
his hand back and shook his head with a smile.
    "Nothing, talag," he said, using the affectionate 
Primal name for daughter. "I have simply made a decision I 
am unhappy about."
    Sahsraiinar's face showed her incomprehension. Herran, 
watching her, felt his heart ache a little. She did not 
have the attitude towards power that either of her parents 
did; Herran loathed it, and Tandra considered it something 
to be used, a tool like any other. Sahsraiinar loved it 
for its own sake.
    Herran was never sure that that was a darkness in her. 
It might have been a different kind of light, hard though 
that was to accept for an Elwen such as he, who had lived 
all his life based on certain principles.
    "What was the decision?" his oldest daughter prompted, 
bringing his thoughts back to the present as Daemon had 
earlier.
    Herran again shook his head as though caught more 
deeply in reverie than he had actually been. "Council 
business," he said.
    "Father," said the twins at the same time, but 
Teffulia's speaking was a simple, playful reproof, while 
Sahsraiinar's voice spiraled upward into a whine that 
tried, and failed, to be ingratiating.
    "I might take your place on the Council someday," said 
Sahsraiinar, continuing alone. At least she was old enough 
now to question that she would do that, rather than 
thinking of it as an established reality, Herran thought 
in relief. "I should know all the Council business I can 
if I am to do that. Teach me while I'm still young." For a 
moment, the smile she showed so rarely flashed, as she 
repeated the saying that her mage-teacher, Irrlosta, had 
said time and time again.
    "No," Herran said.
    "Why not?" The smile was gone. She put her hand on her 
chin and leaned forward to stare at him. "I promise- I 
will swear on anything you like that any words you speak 
will never leave this room."
    "I won't," said Teffulia at once, "and that means he 
can't speak about it."
    Herran flashed his youngest daughter a grateful look, 
one that Sahsraiinar did not miss.
    "You said that on purpose!" she accused her twin in a 
shrill voice, suddenly sounding much younger than her 
twenty-four years.
    "Of course," said Teffulia, and warded off the tiny 
lightning bolt that her sister sent at her with a laugh. 
She bowed to her mother and father and ran from the room, 
Sahsraiinar just behind her and still flinging magic. They 
were laughing before they cleared the room, but they did 
not stop the fight.
    "I suppose we can be grateful that Irrlosta taught 
them how to use violent magic without using it to kill," 
Tandra murmured, leaning against his arm and staring in 
the direction their children had gone.
    Herran stroked the brilliant orange hair that always 
reminded him of sunset and nodded, and then made a 
conscious effort to put the problem from his mind. It was 
enough that he was here, with his wife, and that he would 
have to leave her presence to ride beyond the walls 
tonight. He would not think of his problems or the 
potential problem of his daughters for the time being, but 
would ask about hers.
    "And how are the new recruits?"
    Her blinding smile told him that she knew what he was 
doing, and was grateful for it. She drew him over to a 
chair and backed up until she sat down and he took the 
seat opposite from her. She rubbed her hands over his, her 
own comforting gesture, while she considered how to begin.
    "They are less than impressive," she said at last, and 
Herran almost laughed out loud. He knew her well enough to 
guess at the less diplomatic phrases that had run through 
her head before she chose that one.
    "Oh, really? Only that?"
    She sighed. "I was hoping for better," she said in 
distraction, curling her hands around his to make a solid 
platform and leaning forward until her brow rested on it. 
He would have freed one hand to stroke her hair and neck, 
but she was gripping too tightly to be troubled, so he let 
it go and concentrated on listening to her words, giving 
her his full attention. "Two of them are from the north, 
and have fought curalli in the borders of the Forbge 
Forest for most of their lives. I thought they came to 
Rowan to make a name for themselves, and perhaps to show 
off their fighting skills. But they came to Rowan to come 
to Rowan, I think now. They want to go back home and 
dazzle all the 'provincials,' as they call them, with 
their stories."
    Herran nodded, knowing how difficult it was for her to 
understand that. She had dreamed all her life of coming to 
Rowan, had nearly not been able to do it, and did not 
understand anyone who had the courage and money to come, 
and then would not labor to make the dream real.
    "Not all of them have your strength, my lady," he 
said, the title when he used it an epitome of his love for 
her. "Why do you think that Vindia chose you as Captain, 
and not simply the first recruit she saw when she began to 
decide to give up the post?"
    "I am not looking for a successor," Tandra murmured 
into his hands, taking his words and weaving them with 
hers to create a subject both new and not. "At least, not 
yet. But I thought I would not have to spend long years 
finding and training one. I thought I would find possible 
candidates all around me, and I would simply choose the 
best when the time was right. Instead, I find those who 
worship me and would stand forever in my shadow if they 
themselves became Captains, and those who look on the 
Guards as a means to an end, not an end in itself." She 
let out a breathy sigh, and then a chuckle. "No wonder 
that Vindia looked so careworn most of the time I knew 
her," she murmured. "Most of those who were in the Guards 
with me are gone now. I was the only one who had the 
strength to stay, to survive..."
    "I know," Herran said in a whisper, and let her feel 
his hand gently stroking hers for a moment- she allowed 
him that much movement- before he went on. "But you are a 
better judge of character than she was. I think that you 
will find your Captain when you are ready. The one you 
want will come to you."
    She nodded, the movement both pleasant and strange on 
his skin as her forehead brushed his fingers. "I know. I 
hope so. I certainly do not plan to give up for long years 
yet." Her laughter, wry and with a certain scornful edge 
to it, flashed forth in her next words. "Not until I can 
move recruits like Nyenna out of the Guards."
    "Nyenna?"
    "One of the two from the north." Tandra rolled her 
head upwards again, her face distorted in a grimace. "She 
is even more set on gathering stories for herself than 
Torella- the other one- is. She wants to hold the post of 
Captain for a time, I think, just so she can tell everyone 
back home that she did it. She acts as if her fighting 
skills were superior to even Perela's, when most of what 
she knows would be defeated in ordinary, open battle. She 
is there for no reason but to get noticed and admired. She 
reacts with shock when I do not praise her. I want her 
out," Tandra added, concluding the denunciation with a 
heat he had rarely heard from her.
    "Could you not simply order her to leave the Guards?" 
Herran asked. "You are in charge of accepting all the 
recruits, of making sure that they are fit for training. 
Could you not dismiss her just as easily?"
    Tandra shook her head mournfully, and lifted her head 
to let him see that she was smiling, that she was more 
irritated than she was wrathful. "We are a little like the 
Council, in a way," she said. "I can bring anyone I like 
in, just as you can Choose anyone you like to become a 
Council member. But as the people of Rowan can cast you 
out any time they choose, so the Guards- and only the 
Guards- can cast a fellow Guard out."
    "Then they will," said Herran. "Perela, at least, will 
not stand to see you so unhappy."
    "Perela is more likely to kill her than to lead a vote 
to throw her out," Tandra murmured, but she was relaxing, 
sinking into the flow of his words and returning the 
warmth that lay behind them. "Still, you are right. Nyenna 
will leave eventually, and then the world will be the way 
it once way." She paused, and then went on in a changed 
voice, "Or even better."
    "Thank you." Herran leaned down to share a kiss with 
her, and drew back to find her smiling at him with a 
tenderness he could not explain, something that had 
compassion as well as love in it. "What?" he asked, 
wondering what thoughts were racing through her head as 
she stared at him.
    "Simply thinking," she said softly, lifting her hand 
and running it through his hair. "I am so glad that you 
have taken this step. I do not know that I could bear 
another century, or even another year, of constant worry. 
But are you sure it is the best thing for Rowan? I do not 
think she is yet the shining city of your vision, the one 
thing you dedicated your life to serving." Her eyes were 
wide and guileless, and she looked at him as though 
expecting an answer.
    She had asked the one question he did not have an 
answer for, Herran thought in reluctant admission. Through 
all the nights he had lain awake and come up with reason 
after reason why this was the right thing, only one thing 
haunted him, only one question that would not be denied 
and could not be abandoned: what would happen to Rowan? 
What of the city in the vision he had seen?
    He bowed his head to kiss her hand again. "I have 
decided, my lady," he said, and knew it was true, was 
becoming true even as he spoke the words, "that Rowan is 
her people, and if her people do not want me as 
Councilmaster, the best thing I can do for her is to step 
aside."
    "Rowan is her dreams, too," said Tandra softly. "And 
much more, my lord?"
    Herran closed his eyes and took a deep breath, 
fighting to retain control. The one thing he could not 
stand was the woman he loved, the woman who had promised 
unconditional support and provided it from the moment he 
announced his decision, doubting him now.
    He felt her hand on his arm, and her voice slid softly 
into his ears. "I am sorry. It is not fair, my lord. But I 
think that you must consider this- yet again. Will it 
truly be the best thing for the city if you step aside? 
You have weathered the storms of changing opinion before. 
You have broken the rules, and always they have come back 
to you, loved you, adored you."
    "Not for twenty-four years," said Herran softly, 
opening his eyes to gaze into his love's. "It has been 
charged I care more for my daughters than for the city, 
that when a decision should be made I am dawdling with 
them, playing with them-"
    "Any ordinary Elwen would do as much."
    "But they expect more of me, and well they should." 
Herran lifted his hand to brush the hair out of her eyes, 
returning the gesture that she had given him earlier. 
"Aereri is the better choice. He is more diplomatic than I 
ever was- or, at least, than I have been for a long time," 
he corrected himself, seeing that she was opening her 
mouth to protest. "His daughter is grown, and he balances 
loving and living with her mother well with his Council 
business."
    "He Ascended by deception."
    "I know," said Herran. He could never forget that 
Aereri had cheated to pass the tests that were required to 
become a Council member, because they had once been 
enemies and he had held the information over the other 
lord's head to force his agreement to one of Herran's 
plans. "But since then, he has proven a more than capable 
Councilman. And the fact that he did not pass those tests 
means nothing. No one knows, no one has said anything, and 
no one-"
    "Will say anything," Tandra finished in resignation. 
"I know. And there is no one in the Council as objective 
as he is. I am not really questioning that he will make 
you a good heir, Herran. I am merely wondering if this 
whole thing is as wonderful as I thought it was. It is 
making you so unhappy-"
    "No." Herran caught and kissed her hand. "It is not 
the giving up of power that makes me unhappy. Indeed, that 
is one of the two things that keeps me sane, the 
anticipation of living without it." His smile told her 
what the other one was, and she smiled back, holding his 
eyes. "It is the necessary pain that I must cause to 
others in order to give up this power."
    "Herran... You really do mean it?"
    "Yes." He kissed her again, but drew back when she 
would have deepened the kiss. "A moment," he said, feeling 
a faint flutter of amusement and desire mixed at the 
impatient look in her eyes. "There is something I must 
tell you. I must ride beyond the walls tonight to speak 
with Kerlinde."
    "Why?" She liked him going there no more than did 
Daemon, but he could hardly use the same tactics to 
dissuade her from coming with him as he had the guard. 
Luckily, he though she trusted his knowledge of curalli 
customs more.
    "A formal offer of alliance from the Council."
    She went still, the hunger in the backs of her eyes 
calming a moment. "Why?" she said again, in the intent 
tone of one who considers the answer important business.
    As, indeed, it was, Herran thought as he answered 
quietly. "Keesa thinks- and has convinced the others- that 
the humans are rising against us. They have a leader, 
Nelim, and they have destroyed several villages. The 
curalli would make us good allies against him, 
particularly because of their spy networks and the fact 
that the humans would be less likely to suspect them, if 
they caught them, than land Elwens."
    "You think this a good idea?"
    "Not as much as they do," Herran admitted. "But I must 
have a care for the city, lady. I chose this road, and I 
will walk it through to the end. Until I reach it, I still 
must rule."
    She smiled at the tone in his voice and wrapped her 
arms around him. "Not for much longer," she said gently, 
head resting against his cheek.
    "I know."
    "Thank the stars," she added as she reached up and 
curved a hand behind his neck.
    "That, too," he agreed, and bent his head to kiss her.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The sorrel whickered and stretched her neck out to 
him. Herran smiled and caressed the soft mane, feeling it 
whisper by his hands like silk and reflecting on how much 
this mare was like the one who had borne her, the one who 
had been his mount for long years before she had died and 
her daughter took that position.
    Elwen-bred horses lived two centuries, but even that 
was only a fragment- a fiftieth- of the time their masters 
lived.
    Herran swung himself quietly into the saddle and 
cantered from the stable into the moonlight. Neither of 
the girls was awake, nor Irrlosta, and no one else was 
currently staying with them. Only Tandra was awake, 
standing in the moonlight to see him off.
    Herran did pause a moment before he left the stable, 
struck by the sense that something was not right. He 
stared at the stall nearest the sorrel's, where 
Sahsraiinar's gray gelding stood, his head bowed and his 
nose moving in dreams. For a moment, it seemed as though a 
heat shimmer moved about the horse, distorting his form. 
Herran's spine stiffened as one of his unique gifts fired, 
and he could see the colored, curving threads of magic 
that raced around the horse.
    But then they were gone, and he was left blinking and 
trying to decide if he had seen anything at all.
    In the end, he decided that he had not, and urged the 
horse outside once again, where Tandra rose on her toes to 
kiss him. The sound of the sword at her side shifting 
against the leather of the scabbard and her clothes was 
only slightly louder than the beat of her heart as she 
curved her hand around his cheek and stared at him with 
grave dark eyes.
    "I love you," she said. "Remember that, and do not get 
any ideas of dying nobly for the good of Rowan." There was 
a note that was both teasing and not in the last words.
    Herran nodded and touched her gently in return, 
sliding his hand through the hair as he had through the 
horse's mane. "I gave you my heart long ago, my lady," he 
said, "and that includes my life. And I have never been 
sorry or wished to die."
    "You did once." The golden moonlight caught and 
shimmered in her eyes.
    "That was a fluke."
    It worked; her eyes glowed, and she laughed. "If you 
say so," she said, stepping back and raising a hand. 
"Simply try not to run into any Councilmasters from Oak 
this time."
    Herran bowed his head, and then turned and kicked the 
sorrel lightly, making her lift her hooves and race from 
the stable as lightly and fleetly as if her feet bore 
wings.
    In moments, he was clattering down the quiet streets 
of Rowan, watching the play of the moonlight on the silver 
and deliberately guiding the sorrel through it when she 
would go. They said that to walk in the moonlight caused 
insanity, or at the least bad luck.
    They said many things. Herran grinned and nudged the 
sorrel forward, through a long spill of it. There were 
already enough forces fighting him in his denunciation of 
power, his own conscience among them. He was already mad, 
and had all the enemies and bad luck he could, according 
to some.
    Perhaps the same people who said such things about the 
radiance of the most brilliant of moons.
    He closed his eyes and let the sorrel have her head, 
thundering past the Guards' compound as little more than a 
golden shadow, hearing them stir and then fade back into 
complacency as the sound of the hooves died. The Gate 
opened for him, the Guards on duty recognizing him and 
saluting silently. They made no move to stop him, sure 
that whatever mission he rode out on was a legitimate one. 
Many of them valued his life as that of the husband of the 
Captain, if nothing else. But then, many of them were 
ordinary Elwens, dedicated to fighting for the good of 
Rowan, neutral politically.
    He wished he could be like them. He longed for the day 
when he could be like them.
    Beyond the walls, he turned the mare a little but 
continued to let her run as she desired, up the path and 
towards the crest of the bluffs. Only when she began 
puffing and blowing from the combined strain of his weight 
and the steep climb did he clamber down and walk with her, 
lending his effort to hers. She snorted a little when they 
reached the top, and pulled him towards the road that 
would lead to his grove.
    Herran smiled and pulled her back. She had been with 
him the day he had created it, and she assumed they were 
going there every time they left the city. Of course, more 
practically, she liked to eat the lush aqua grass that 
filled the clearing.
    "No. This way."
    She snorted her disappointment and dread as he led her 
gently along the path. All animals bred for long enough by 
land Elwens picked up something of their dread for 
curalli, and the path to the north and east, towards 
Shadows, almost stank of black roses.
    Almost stank of it...
    Herran dropped sharply to his knees just as the arrow 
stabbed overhead, striking the trunk of a tree instead of 
the sorrel's flank, luckily. He came to his feet at once, 
hand on the hilt of his sword.
    "Who is there?" he called, in the accentless, flawless 
Melli that he had long ago perfected.
    No answer but another arrow, this one better-aimed 
than the first and almost succeeding in killing him. 
Herran ducked and rolled with a curse, hearing it whuffle 
against his hair as it went by.
    No, he would not let himself die like this. He had 
promised Tandra.
    He scrambled up and put a hand to his head, groaning 
loudly. The one who hung in the tree across from the path- 
as he had seen by tracking the path of the arrows 
backwards with his eyes- chuckled lightly at the sound, 
and fired again.
    He knew the voice.
    "Corandra," he said, dropping and rolling from another 
arrow, knowing well the terrible death it would cause if 
it struck him, "I thought you would be back in Shadows 
with your father. You were away for more than a century."
    "Shadows is smaller than I remember," said the curalli 
woman he spoke to, dropping from the tree and walking 
towards him with lithe, fluid grace. "Besides, it is much 
more fun trying to kill silly land Elwens who come riding 
by without the least precaution. I did not know it was 
you." Her voice was sweet with dark laughter and false 
apology.
    Herran grunted. The young woman who stood facing him, 
dark eyes sparkling as wildly as the stars in her dark 
silver face, and raven hair falling almost to her ankles, 
had once been a fey and feral creature, her mind and heart 
broken by her rape in childhood. Quirrin had healed her of 
that, and the woman who had replaced her was almost 
infinitely curalli. She could laugh while trying to kill 
you, consider being called a murderer a compliment, and-
    "You are not really wounded." Her voice held more than 
a tinge of disappointment.
    Be upset that he had fooled her about being hurt by 
one of her arrows.
    "Of course not." Herran dropped a hand and grinned at 
her. "It would take more than a child like you to kill or 
hurt me."
    It was dangerous to bait her. It was more dangerous 
not to. Curalli attacked at the first sign of weakness. 
    And Corandra had a particular fondness for this form 
of banter. Her eyes lit, and she leaned forward. "Do you 
really think so, my lord? Shall we test it?" Her hand made 
a motion too fast to follow, and produced a dagger.
    Herran raked her with a cold, graceful gaze, then 
shook his head. "When you are a little stronger and it 
would be a hint of an even contest, then perhaps we can 
fight," he said.
    She laughed and retracted the blade into its sheath. 
"Just like a land Elwen," she said. "Honor and fairness 
and all the other weaknesses before you fight at all. 
There are times when I wonder how you managed to survive 
at all, let alone win and hold the respect of my father." 
Her eyes held his a moment.
    Herran had learned to discount no word said among the 
curalli, no matter how lightly it was said. He leaned 
forward. "What do you mean?"
    "Mean? Why should I mean anything?" Corandra held his 
gaze still, and then looked over his shoulder. "Merely 
because you have brought someone else along with you, 
where you have brought no one else ever before... why 
should I wonder what it means?"
    Herran turned swiftly. Yes, there was something behind 
him, a slender figure leading a horse onto the path. The 
sorrel lifted her head and whickered a greeting, proving 
it was a horse she knew.
    He lifted a hand, and lightning flashed and danced on 
his palm.
    The gray gelding snorted a little at the sudden light, 
pawing the grass, and the one who led him blinked and put 
a hand over her eyes. "Is that really necessary, Father?" 
she asked. "I have not come to harm you. I will help you 
if I can."
    "Father?" asked Corandra in wonder. Of course, the 
last time she was in Rowan, his daughters had not yet been 
born, Herran thought.
    "Yes. This is Sahsraiinar, the elder of my two 
children." Herran switched back to Aril as he turned to 
face her, because she did not know Melli. "Why are you 
here?"
    Sahsraiinar blinked, as if she had not expected her 
father's cold tone. "I told you," she said. "I came to 
help you."
    "How can you help?"
    "You did not sense me following you, did you?" Her 
smile was a proud thing. "I have increased in my magical 
strength to the point where I can be as invisible as an 
avenger, Father. That should serve you well when you need 
to use me as a spy."
    "I will not need to," said Herran, and then checked 
himself. Sahsraiinar was blithely confident that she would 
follow him to the heights of power in Rowan, and if she 
got any hint of what he was doing, she would do her best 
to undo it. As she had just reminded him, she was more 
powerful than he had given her credit for, and he did not 
want another enemy.
    It shamed him to think of his own daughter so, but at 
the same time he knew his judgment was accurate, no matter 
how wounding it was.
    "It seems that the young one overreaches herself," 
said Corandra, in Aril nearly as flawless as his own Melli 
and just loud enough to be heard.
    Sahsraiinar jumped as she saw the curalli woman for 
the first time. Of course, Corandra had been in shadow 
until that point, and it was possible that she had not 
seen her. "Who is that, Father?" she said at last, with a 
shaky effort to recover her dignity.
    "The daughter of an ally," said Herran. "You need know 
no more. You should return to Rowan at once." He could not 
force her, but he could express his disapproval, and that 
would help to persuade her.
    "Why?" she countered. "You do need me, Father. You 
need something you can share the Council business with. 
You do not have enough allies among the other Council 
members; I know this. And Mother has enough worries of her 
own. Who will you tell, who will you rely on, if not me? I 
have ambitions of my own, but they will wait a few years." 
Her dark blue gaze was strong, direct.
    "You do overreach yourself," said Corandra, much 
louder this time.
    "Who is this, Father?" said Sahsraiinar, with a 
haughty glare. "I think that she overreaches herself, as 
she continues to say."
    Corandra chuckled. "And how well do you know the art 
of fighting?" she asked, as she produced the dagger again.
    "Not at all," said Sahsraiinar. "I do not need to. I 
have my magic." She raised a hand, and glowing traceries 
of color began to glow around it.
    "Magic. Of course." Corandra smiled. "Fling it at me."
    "What?"
    "Corandra-" 
    "It is all right, my Lord Herran," said the curalli 
woman. She never took her gaze from his daughter's face. 
"I will not hurt her. My own father would be most 
displeased with me if I destroyed your child, when you 
have been so graceful with me." Her sidelong glance held 
humor. "However much you may have disliked me at times."
    "I do not think-"
    "Hush, Father," said Sahsraiinar. "You do not need to 
interfere for me. I can handle myself in a fight with 
anyone who insists on using steel." The contempt in her 
voice almost oozed.
    "Yes, hush, my lord," said Corandra, her face bright 
and mirthful. "She can handle herself, and she is 
desperate to prove herself to you. I think you should 
allow her the chance."
    Herran sighed, and stood back.
    Corandra glided a step forward, her head tilted and 
her gaze fixed on Sahsraiinar's face. His own daughter 
wore a confident smile as she called the light and wove it 
in shining, tangled nets around the older woman, binding 
her so tightly that she should not have been able to 
escape. Herran's magical senses told him that, even if 
they did not tell him how his daughter knew how to do what 
she was doing.
    She moved a hand, and magic and light and color spun 
wider from her hand, doing their best to envelop Corandra.
    The older woman laughed.
    The magic sprang and fell away from her as if it had 
never existed.
    Sahsraiinar's mouth dropped open.
    And Corandra's dagger flashed forward, marking her 
cheek and sending a line of silver blood flowing down the 
smooth skin.
    Sahsraiinar had never been wounded by steel before, 
and she made a small sound before she could stop it. But 
then her will and training took over, and she stifled it, 
holding a hand to the tiny wound as she glared at the 
shadowed Elwen.
    She said nothing, but studied Corandra as if 
considering how she would die.
    "That is enough," said Corandra, with a smile of 
appreciation. "I must say that your daughter does know how 
to accept a wound, Herran." Smiling and relaxed, she 
glanced at the male land Elwen and nodded. "I think that 
my father will be not that displeased that she followed 
you. I think he would like to meet her. I will tell him 
that you have come." She turned and vanished into the 
shadows as quickly as she had come from them.
    "Father-" Sahsraiinar began at once, not in the tone 
of one about to whine about her wound, but in a tone of 
shock that he would have stood back and permitted such a 
thing to happen.
    "You know nothing of the curalli and their ways." His 
tone stopped her from speaking at once, and she stared at 
him. He had never spoken to her that way. "You were 
foolish to follow me."
    "But I-"
    "Thought you could help, I know." He studied her as 
coldly as he had spoken, then shook his head and said, "I 
suppose it is not such a bad time, or such a bad way, for 
you to learn that you are not yet wise in the ways of the 
world."
    "She cut me-" Now she did seem as if she were going to 
whine.
    "Yes, and you are lucky that that is all she did. She 
carries a bow named Xan, Nightmare, which fires arrows 
that cause those who feel them to die of fear." Dark blue 
eyes fell before his searing glance. "She would have fired 
that, and that I could have done nothing to stop, either, 
because she would have been too quick." He stopped, 
measuring the extent of her shame, and then continued, 
"Besides, I did not step back because she thought that I 
should."
    "Why, then?"
    "Because you asked me to. You reassured me that you 
could handle yourself in a fight. I wanted to see how well 
you could do."
    At once, her gaze had risen and was fixed on his with 
a mingling of fierce pride and fear. "And how did I do? 
Did I pass?"
    "Yes."
    She smiled at once, and then stood straight in the 
moonlight, not smiling, but stroking the gelding's neck 
and gazing at him and being pleased all the same. "Thank 
you, Father."
    Herran nodded. "You must merely remember that magic 
cannot handle all the problems of the world, and that 
there are worse ways to die than by it- and more powerful 
weapons than it."
    "How did she fling back my magic like that?"
    "Curalli are very resistant to it. It makes them hard 
to kill." He said that with a wry exasperation that made 
her smile. "It would have held her had she been any other 
race, though."
    Sahsraiinar started to nod, then frowned as a thought 
struck her. "How do you know that it would have held her?" 
she asked, in the savage tone of one who thinks she is 
being humored.
    "I could see it."
    She gaped at him. It seemed that she had never even 
considered that possibility. Of course, Herran thought 
with some amusement, the only discussion they had held on 
the subject had been done before she was born.
    "And you are still proud of me, even though it failed 
to hold her."
    "Yes. You could not have known."
    Sahsraiinar bowed her head to that mild rebuke just as 
Corandra emerged from the trees. "He will see you," she 
said. "And he has been looking forward to meeting one of 
your daughters for some time, he says."
    Herran was gratified to see Sahsraiinar go pale and 
bow her head. His daughter was not a fool.




                        Chapter 2
                  Sea of Starlight Calm
    "The White Lady sails the sea of starlight calm,
     In the Gardens of the Gods, in Audgarlai,
     In Audgarlai.
     She pours on the world starlight as a balm,
     That calming influence on all we say,
     All we say."
    -From The Blessing of the White Lady, performed on the 
day of the Alrao Maru. First verse.

    "Dismount, my lord, if you would."
    Kerlinde's voice was solemn. Wondering what trick he 
was playing now, Herran did as he said, standing beside 
the sorrel and rubbing one hand down her neck as he waited 
for the Lord of Shadows to step into the moonlight.
    "He's trying to humble you, Father!" His daughter 
frowned at him, her silver hair shining as she moved her 
head restlessly from side to side. "When will you learn? 
You do not need to be made humbled. You are the 
Councilmaster of Rowan. You can-"
    The arrow that whizzed past her head closely enough to 
ruffle her hair and set her ear bleeding was also enough 
to close her mouth. She sat stiff and pale as Herran 
advanced to the center of the clearing to meet and clasp 
Kerlinde's left hand. There was a small blade hidden in 
that hand, one that Kerlinde had allowed him to see and 
Herran had chosen to brave in any case. The curalli's 
smile widened.
    "I know what you came to ask me, Herran," he said 
softly. "This was the final test before I said yes. I will 
say it, you know." The wide, innocent set of his eyes said 
he knew how much it would distress the land Elwen to hear 
him say that.
    Herran shook his head and struck the nearest tree with 
one hand. "You should not consider yourself bound to say 
such a thing. It would be an alliance with the Council of 
Rowan, not with me."
    Kerlinde stared sharply at him, eyes narrowing. "Why 
not?"
    "Because they were the ones who suggested and voted on 
it. I am merely the messenger. Think about it. Refuse it, 
if you like."
    "I will not. Not when you are the messenger. I think 
they knew that, counted on it." Kerlinde shook his head, 
his gaze thoughtful. "It seems that they are more clever 
than I thought."
    "Most of them, yes."
    Kerlinde smiled. "I have learned never to 
underestimate land Elwens, my lord. Not since I first met 
you." He looked towards Sahsraiinar. "It seems that your 
daughter is strong, as well. Not even a flinch from that 
arrow. And it was one of Corandra's."
    Sahsraiinar stared at him, her mouth closed but her 
blue eyes defiant.
    "Rudeness?" Kerlinde raised his brows and looked at 
Herran. "I would never have thought that you would raise 
your daughter to be rude."
    "I did not," said Herran, just as dryly, and keeping 
his fear at bay, as had become so much his custom in the 
presence of curalli that he often came close to feeling no 
fear at all. "I also did not teach her Melli. That was her 
choice. She did not know that I had an alliance with the 
shadowed Elwens."
    "Then I suppose I must use Aril in speaking to her," 
said Kerlinde. "Which is your fault, in a way. It is such 
a dull language, and a ringing one. You cannot speak 
softly in it. Must your people always sound as if they are 
shouting?" He grimaced comically, rolling his eyes.
    "I think that I have paid for that," said Herran, 
lifting his hand and showing the blood still flowing from 
the small but deep cut.
    Kerlinde was serious again in one of those lightning- 
fast changes of mood that were so uncommon for a curalli 
Herran sometimes thought that the Master of Discipline had 
learned them from him. "True. And I would heal that if not 
for-" He tipped his head to the trees, to indicate the 
presence of the guards who were always watching for some 
sign of weakness, in their lord as well as in the land 
Elwen who came to speak with him.
    "Why?" Herran asked, startled. In all the years that 
they had worked together, during all the tests of courage 
and recklessness and darkness of soul that Kerlinde had 
made him pass, he had never once offered to heal a wound 
he had caused Herran.
    "You do not know, do you?" There was compassion in 
Kerlinde's eyes. He knew better than to let it seem pity, 
because his own people would kill for such a thing, and in 
some ways Herran was not very different from the curalli. 
"You do not know that you are respected by our people. 
They have not given you curalli-friendship before this 
only because they feel that you are more useful to us 
without it."
    Herran nodded, seeing the logic, despite the lump that 
had risen in his throat. His alliance with the curalli was 
more or less common knowledge among the Council, but 
ignored as long as he kept it discreet. To flaunt it by 
having the glowing black aura around his body- to claim 
not only alliance, but friendship- would win him and the 
curalli both unwelcome attention.
    "No, I did not know that you trust me," he said, aware 
of the import of the words as he spoke them. Friendship 
for curalli was more common than trust, and neither of 
them very common. To be told they both trusted him and 
claimed him as a friend...
    "We should trust you by now. You have never betrayed 
us." Kerlinde clasped him on the shoulder, his dark eyes 
alight with something that Herran had never seen there 
before. In the eyes of a land Elwen, perhaps, but never in 
the eyes of a shadowed Elwen... at least, not aimed at 
him. "You have sheltered hundreds of our people on your 
farms, and laughed when we killed those who deserved it. 
You have won enough of my trust that I am speaking in 
Melli now, instead of Aril, so that your daughter will not 
know what I am saying, and you would not think that I was 
testing her."
    His glance was so direct, so open, that Herran felt 
another uneasy stirring of his conscience.
    You have never betrayed us.
    No. He had done everything possible to help them, as 
long as they refrained from killing his people with 
unprovoked attacks. They had done so. And in time they had 
come to be important to him as more than allies.
    Never once had he thought they would feel the same 
thing. Land Elwens hated curalli; curalli merely despised 
his kind. That he should be important enough to warrant 
consideration as an enemy was surprising.
    As a friend...
    But he would betray them, would he not, if he gave up 
the Councilmastery of Rowan?
    No, he would not. He sheltered them on his farms, gave 
them work or passage to other parts of Arcadia as they 
wanted it, and did the other things that he did to help 
them as Lord of Turnlong. And that, he thought with a 
small pang, would never change.
    "Thank you," he said at last.
    "You surprise me at times, that you have survived with 
your blindness about yourself," Kerlinde said, walking 
towards Sahsraiinar and speaking over his shoulder. "You 
do many worthy things, and you know they are worthy, or 
you would not do them. And yet you never think of what 
that says about yourself."
    "That would defeat part of the purpose of being a 
leader," Herran replied automatically. "I would become 
arrogant."
    Kerlinde laughed. "It is a pity that you were not born 
curalli," he said. "We could have used you. As it is, we 
can still have you when there is need of one balanced 
between two worlds."
    And, Herran reflected, he had spoken those last words 
in Aril, which meant that he had begun the test with 
Sahsraiinar. She had known nothing of this part of her 
father's life.
    How would she respond?
    Like a typical land Elwen, it turned out.
    Her eyes caught fire and rose to meet his. "How could 
you, Father?" she cried out. "Balanced between two worlds? 
You must serve Rowan first and last and most of all. You 
cannot simply take on another charge, decide that you are 
half-curalli, without any warning at all!"
    Kerlinde was smiling, Herran noted dimly. Of course, 
he would be.
    The only problem was that his daughter's words were 
cutting into him, because he loved her and in spite of the 
fact that he had known what she would say.
    Many times, he had considered just the things she was 
saying. He had laughed when curalli had killed land 
Elwens, in the past. He had been so deep in dark amusement 
that day that he had not felt the deaths of his own 
people, which he could do the rest of the time. He had 
been, in the past...
    And then Kerlinde laughed, and his light, perfectly 
mocking words cut through Herran's guilt and made him see 
some things in perspective, things Sahsraiinar could not 
know or understand.
    "What do you know of the world, little girl?" asked 
the curalli in a tone of soft, false amazement. "You think 
that you can impose your notions of what is land Elwen on 
the rest of the world, and it will respect them? Your 
father is something you will never become-"
    Sahsraiinar smiled triumphantly.
    "Because he has faced what you call darkness, and 
admitted he has it, and used it to serve Rowan." Kerlinde 
leaned on the gray gelding's shoulder, his eyes cutting 
into Sahsraiinar. "If you cannot do that- if you cannot 
love something so much that you are willing to risk your 
own soul for the means to serve it- then I wonder about 
these ambitions of yours I have heard something of."
    Sahsraiinar's smile vanished. "I could do just as 
well," she said. "Better. I have heard-" She paused, 
giving her father a guilty look, and then continued on. "I 
have heard that he rules by deceit and manipulation." Her 
gaze as it returned to Kerlinde was scornful. "I never 
realized where he learned it, but now it seems strange 
that I never recognized the curalli in him."
    "Rules by means of it?" Kerlinde echoed. "My lady, he 
has a positive gift for it, and did long before we met 
him."
    Herran would have asked him to stop if they had been 
alone, if this had not been so important, and if he had 
not known that Kerlinde would not understand why he should 
stop. Conscience was not so common among the curalli, or 
at least not as land Elwens understood it; it had taken 
Herran centuries to grasp the precise meaning of the word 
in their language that corresponded to the Aril one. 
Kerlinde was paying him a compliment, just as he would 
have if he had said Herran fought without honor. "Without 
honor" meant to survive.
    That was the only thing that mattered to a curalli.
    But Sahsraiinar was very young.