Starchosen
                         Prologue
             2691, Age of Song, Early Autumn
    Anadrel glanced carefully behind her. She could see 
nothing except blanket-wrapped shapes motionless in the 
starlight, and the occasional, no less still, though more 
watchful, outline of a sentry. There was no one interested 
in what she was doing tonight.
    For once.
    She turned away with a soft sigh, and settled herself 
on the grass. Though the trees around the clearing were 
cluttered with dead leaves, red and yellow and brown, they 
should provide a more than adequate cover. The grass 
crackled beneath her, but just for a moment; then it, too, 
was quiet.
    The Starchosen closed her eyes and sought within 
herself for the calm that would permit her to release her 
shadow-magic. It was still such a new thing to her, still 
something that could occasionally escape her control and 
do what she did not want it to do-
    Anadrel's eyes flew open, and she snorted, a sound not 
so different from those her mare, Glelrhee, made when 
startled by a rabbit or a bird.
    "I know perfectly well why I have so much trouble," 
she muttered aloud, her voice soft, kept carefully under 
the whisper of the wind and the crackle of the leaves. "I 
know what's on my mind when it shouldn't be, when he 
shouldn't be."
    Despite herself, she turned to look back over her 
shoulder at the camp. At ground level, she could only see 
the occasional, muted spark of a dying fire, and now and 
then a sentry relieving another or a horse shifting in its 
sleep. But she imagined she could see the one bedroll that 
mattered, the exact fire he lay by.
    Carefully apart from the fire that she sat by. Of 
course. That was part of the problem.
    Anadrel's hands tightened in her lap for a moment, and 
she willed herself back to calm with an effort that hurt. 
Why did Elian Alian have to be so stars-damned stubborn? 
She had thought there was a chance he might actually know, 
now, what she expected of him. They had spoken so much in 
the early part of the ride that he could not have failed 
to know.
    So it had seemed.
    But then, just because of one careless comment, one 
fully justified belief, he was unwilling to speak to her, 
and had been treating her coldly and distantly for half a 
dance now.
    She had to put him out of her mind, no matter how much 
she loved him, no matter how much she feared that her love 
was not really returned. She closed her eyes again and 
fell into the depths of her mind, reaching for the 
tirshoon, the future-shadow that had so puzzled her, 
trying to remember how it had looked. 
    Granted, it had been a writhing mass of dark shapes 
and emotions, not easy to get a grip on, even less easy to 
guess at. But there should be something in it that would 
tell her about the aching sense of loss and uneasiness 
that filled her.
    Why should it be so important, what one vision she 
could not even understand said?
    But it was, somehow, and she reached after it even as 
she grumbled.
    The world seemed to change. Anadrel's head filled with 
a warm sweetness, as if she had drunk fine wine. She 
opened her eyes and focused on one particular patch of 
ground, not blinking, hardly breathing, waiting.
    Shadows were appearing, gray and silvery threads 
slowly tangling into a complex skein. They moved 
reluctantly, fighting her, trying to pull away and melt 
back into nothingness again. But Anadrel kept a firm hold 
on them, refusing to allow it, and slowly they seemed to 
acquiesce and melt into the shape she wanted. Once again, 
she was staring at a moving net of chaotic, formless 
shapes.
    She reached out a hand towards it, willing, reaching 
with this new power, an extension of her Starseeker gifts 
that she did not even really understand...
    The shadows sighed, and emotion flooded her mind. 
Despair and rapture, love and hatred, rage and terror... 
they flooded her until she could hardly keep from 
trembling. But Anadrel clung to her sanity, and sternly 
commanded them to reveal their source.
    They did not. All at once, they broke from her control 
and were gone, flooding back into the forest and the 
moonlight.
    Anadrel let out a deep breath, forcing down both 
exhaustion and rage. There would be time later. The event 
the shadows predicted would not come to pass for some 
months yet, she felt, without being able to say why. 
    She said anything at all that she could to herself to 
keep from giving in to fear.
    At last, though, her trembling eased, and she realized 
that she was steadier than she had been in some time. At 
least she had tried. Now she was free to concentrate on 
winning Elian back again. 
    She rose to her feet, swatting brown blades of grass 
from her leggings and cloak, and turned back to the camp. 
Something tickled her mind before she had gone more than 
three steps. She paused and looked around curiously. 
    Nothing. The tickling seemed to come more from within 
herself than anywhere else.
    A telepathic link, Anadrel finally told herself, 
feeling stupid for not recognizing it in the first place. 
She opened her mind and leaned comfortably against a tree 
trunk. From the sense of outrage and anticipation, both, 
riding the link, it might be some time before she could 
return to the camp.
    The link firmed at last, in a sudden wild rush of 
courage, and Anadrel spat incredulously as she recognized 
the voice in her mind.
    ^You? You dare to come here?^
    ^I had to.^ Rian's voice was calm, but trembling badly 
underneath that. His mental words were filled with a murky 
mix of emotional colors, changing so quickly that she 
could not make them out. ^There is something you must 
know, and tonight was the first time I had the courage to 
contact you.^
    Anadrel summoned the silver blast of her fury and let 
him cower beneath it. When she was finished venting the 
smallest part of her rage at the man who had destroyed her 
trust in the Starseekers, all but exiled her from the 
city, declared war on the elves early, and tried to kill 
the man she loved- and had the nerve to call himself 
Councilmaster of Palm and the Deriad while he was at it- 
she said, ^Yes?^
    ^Anadrel- I did not- I don't-^ Thankfully, he regained 
some backbone after a little of that babble. ^How can you 
not trust in me?^ he asked indignantly. ^I am what I am, 
and I never lied to you about that. I love you. I am the 
warleader of Palm-^
    ^Who tried to rape me.^
    There was a little silence, and no colors from him. 
Anadrel could not even begin to guess what he was 
thinking. She was battling her own memories, the strange 
terror she had felt even though she was perfectly able to 
defend herself magically. If she hadn't been rescued...
    Not that she couldn't rescue herself, of course. But 
Elian had been ready with a blast of dreamflame when it 
was needed, dreamflame that had actually hurt Rian.
    ^I did not,^ he said at last. And then, quickly, 
before she could explode: ^There is something you must 
know.^
    ^You said that. Why in the name of the stars should I 
believe anything you tell me?^
    ^Because, Anadrel, if you will but listen to me, you 
will hear every word as truth.^ Rian's voice was earnest, 
and against her will she found herself listening to him. 
^Gelana told me what you are. Starchosen. She told me how 
much power you have.^
    Anadrel hoped her mind was not too badly colored by 
the white of chagrin. She had hoped that the panther Elwen 
Starchosen would not reveal that. ^Yes?^ she asked, in a 
determined effort to keep her voice casual. If Rian dared 
ask her if she would defend the city from the elves, as if 
she were not planning to do that... if he dared insult her 
so...
    ^And she told me that Elian is, too.^
    Something cold seemed to crawl up Anadrel's spine, 
even though she had known. She inclined her head a little, 
and said, again, ^Yes?^
    ^Don't you see?^ Rian asked. ^We have only three 
Starchosen, one of whom is not really on our side, but on 
the side of the stars, and the other one actively aligned 
against us. We have to have you, Anadrel, and working with 
us, not against us.^ His voice was more passionate, and 
purer, than she had heard in a long time.
    ^I will stand with Palm. But not against Elian. He is 
with me.^
    ^You are wrong.^
    Anadrel nearly fell over in shock. The voice in her 
mind, the contact, had abruptly been taken over by Gelana. 
She had never known anyone who could so effectively cut in 
on a link, but then, the panther Elwen was full of 
surprises.
    ^He does not stand with us,^ Gelana went on, without 
even giving Anadrel a chance to protest or ask how the 
starhell she had done that. ^I know him, now. I know the 
danger he represents.^ Her voice was grim, and her 
presence in Anadrel's mind seemed to cast a shadow, so 
that Anadrel could almost see the grim, tight-drawn dark 
face with the gleaming golden eyes of an animal. ^His is 
power uncontrolled-^
    ^That's ridiculous! I've never known anyone more 
controlled-^
    ^You grasp at straws, shadows of definitions, and you 
know it,^ Gelana told her sternly. ^I know this, Anadrel: 
he possess the power to change history. That is not a 
power that I take lightly.^
    Anadrel opened her mouth to protest, and then let it 
fall shut again. She was remembering that Elian came from 
another time, and that the fabric of time was either more 
or less flexible than was commonly believed, so that he 
could do many things without really affecting it at all. 
What if he did possess the power to alter that fabric? 
What would happen then?
    Other memories began to crowd in, as well. The killing 
rage that blazed in his eyes when he finally allowed his 
temper out of the cage that he generally kept it in. The 
time that she had actually fallen back in fear from him, 
when he had nearly destroyed an ornament she held dear. 
And the trial of riding next to him, day by day. She could 
sense the power of the Starchosen magic within him, and it 
was like having a fire on the skin. She sweated and 
trembled whenever she looked at him. She was beginning to 
be able to do things that ordinary Starseekers could not, 
but her power was not even a patch on Elian's. What if he 
really did mean to use that immense power for his own 
purposes?
    His sense of the right was exaggerated. He would not 
help even the woman he claimed to love out of emotion 
alone.
    Anadrel was barely aware that Gelana had left her 
mind. Breathing hard, she stared through the trees again, 
trying to convince herself that only campfires burned out 
there. As of yet.




                        Chapter 1
                     Jeweled Shadows
    "A sense of justice cripples a man only slightly less 
than the loss of both arms and legs."
    -Attributed to Ashina, Lady of Deathwield.

    Elian kept his eyes fixed on his saddlehorn, trying to 
ignore the rapidly diminishing whirlwind of hooves that 
indicated Anadrel was riding to the front of the train 
again. No one else near him said a word; the loudest 
sounds were his mare Alusta's hoofbeats, and the soft 
swapping of her tail as she banged away flies brought back 
to feed on her soft flesh by the unseasonable heat.
    Only when he felt it was safe did he raise his head, 
letting his eyes range forward to make sure that she had 
reached the front without, say, falling from her saddle 
because she was too furious to guide Glelrhee. Seeing her 
safe, he sighed and glanced about.
    Everyone riding near him, from the honor guard of 
Rowanian soldiers to the priests of Oak who had agreed to 
accompany them and pray for the Goddess's blessing on 
their efforts, was carefully not paying attention. Except 
one person. Haasinon Turnlong met Elian's eyes with his 
own golden gaze for a long moment, then kneed his own 
gelding over to join the younger Elwen.
    Elian blinked. For a moment- just a moment- he had 
seen a shifting corona of jade and sapphire, amethyst and 
ruby, framing the head of the Lady Eleriad's adviser. He 
stared hard, and thought he saw a shadow of it reappear, 
before Haasinon reached his side and it became necessary 
to concentrate on his words.
    The older Elwen nodded a deferential greeting out of 
all proportion with their apparent positions in the eyes 
of the others, then shifted his position a little as if to 
ease saddle sores. His calm, mild eyes never left Elian's 
face, though.
    Elian nodded back, and waited. He had become used to 
the seeming ramblings of the old guard days ago. Eleriad 
had sent him to keep a watch on the main originators of 
the new alliance for her, and to make sure that Rowan's 
interests were promoted in Palm. He was doing an excellent 
job of that, even though it was incredibly easy to get 
angry with him.
    "There was a woman I knew once," Haasinon began 
reminiscently.
    On the other hand, Elian thought, sympathy with the 
difficult position he was in and the stories that he told 
only went so far. And he had had a very trying day.
    "My lord?" he said quietly. Haasinon blinked, as he 
did every single time Elian addressed him by a title. At 
least he did not hiss or shout like Anadrel, Elian thought 
with a certain amount of sadness.
    "Yes?" Haasinon had recovered from his surprise, and 
his voice was cordial enough. But he could not stop 
himself from staring a little, mostly out of the corner of 
his eye.
    "No stories today, please." Elian ignored the silent 
gapes he was sure were on the faces of those who had 
thought they knew him- indirect and obsessed with 
formality. Indeed, he felt a faint amusement. Had they not 
thought him able to speak this bluntly and firmly? "If you 
disapprove of what the Lady Anadrel and I were talking 
about, then please tell me," he said, his eyes not 
releasing the other man's face either. "I would like to 
know where you stand on this."
    Haasinon settled back in his saddle for a moment, his 
eyes going to the Lady Anadrel in question. Then they 
turned back to Elian, and there was passion in them that 
he had showed no one else during the dance and a half they 
had been on the road.
    "My lord, I think that the Lord Rian Denfroi must be 
removed. If not by one means, then by another." He paused, 
then repeated, "He must be."
    Elian said nothing, struggling to control his fear. He 
had thought that Haasinon, older and wiser and more 
politically experienced than Anadrel, might at least agree 
with him. If he did not, then it was a good bet that the 
Lady Eleriad of Rowan would not either, or even the High 
Priest Gerath. That boded ill for a peaceful solution to 
the problem.
    "Would the Lady Eleriad support that?" he asked at 
last. Perhaps he was reaching after a ship that had 
already drifted away. The coup, if such it was going to 
be, would be finished before the Lady Eleriad ever reached 
Palm. But it had to be asked. "It could set a dangerous 
precedent."
    "Not so," said the land Elwen, only his golden eyes 
revealing that the question disturbed him. "She is the 
true Councilmaster of Rowan, fairly Ascended and Chosen. 
It seems that there was doubt in Rian's testing, and most 
of all in his methods. What he is doing will endanger not 
only his city, but also the alliance. Rowan will follow 
Eleriad. Palm will not." He glanced at Elian. "Or do you 
doubt the reports of the spies that the Lady Eleriad keeps 
in Palm?"
    Elian shook his head. The spies said that the city was 
on the brink of rebellion, though Rian and his Council did 
not seem to realize that. "I still cannot countenance the 
use of Starseeker power against the Deriad himself," he 
said softly.
    "You are Starchosen now. That should make a 
difference."
    It was Elian's turn to be disturbed, as he turned his 
head to glare at the older man. "You know it does not."
    There was a moment- it took that- but then Haasinon 
nodded. "I do know that, my lord. Forgive me my unjust 
words. But I think that it will happen whether you want it 
to or not, and that the Lady Anadrel will again become 
Councilmaster of Palm."
    "That's not what I worry about."
    "That she will insist on you taking up the Mantle?" 
Haasinon shrugged. "With all due respect, my lord, you 
have the magic to cow anyone who dreams of opposing you." 
His voice was matter-of-fact.
    "I do not want it!"
    "We must all do things that we do not want to, at 
times," said Haasinon softly, "for the good of those 
ideals greater than we are, and of the people we serve."
    Elian ground his teeth and did not answer. Lately, the 
black flower of hatred for necessity growing in his heart 
seemed to get him in more and more trouble. All land 
Elwens hated to sacrifice an individual to a cause, as he 
had once been willing to do- except in times of war. Then 
they drove themselves relentlessly, and expected no less 
of those willing to follow them, simply because of 
necessity. He was sick to death of hearing about 
necessity- from Anadrel's lips, from Haasinon's, from the 
lips of anyone else.
    Even himself.
    "If you don't mind, my lord," he told Haasinon, "I 
will ride by myself for a while." He was already twitching 
Alusta's reins and heading for the forest that had 
bordered their path for the past few days now, the dead 
leaves rustling gently in the wind.
    Haasinon made a sound as if to call him back, and then 
fell silent. Elian knew that outriders would track his 
progress, both to make sure that he came to no harm and to 
be sure that he made no attempt to escape. Palm, Oak, and 
Rowan were all supposedly allied against the elves, but 
the ones who had made the agreement were not in control of 
Palm yet. They would be watched carefully until they were; 
the support of an entire city, which they had promised, 
was too valuable to risk losing to chance.
    He did not care. At this moment, even the feeling of 
being alone was enough.
    For a moment, Alusta's hooves continued to hit hard- 
packed dirt, and then they fell again on softer dirt and 
leaves, only now and then bouncing off stones. Elian 
guided his mare carefully but firmly deeper into the 
woods, finding game trails that were clear enough for them 
to pass along. He was still new to riding, new enough to 
be unsure, but he needed solitude so badly that the need 
burned like bile in the back of his throat.
    Stars, and gods, and moon-lords!
    Alone at last- he might even have another few moments 
of true solitude before the watchers arrived- Elian tilted 
his head back and closed his eyes. Alusta, bereft of any 
direction, regained her confidence for some reason and 
drifted along the trail, bowing her head now and then in 
an attempt to crop and snorting in surprise when her bit 
prevented her from doing so.
    It was a beautiful day, really, the sun standing high 
in the golden autumn sky and raining down his light to 
burnish the world. The leaves glowed a thousand colors, 
and even the cornfields seemed, at times, to be made of 
gold and pyrite.
    Jewels...
    As Elian opened his eyes, he again saw a flash of 
jeweled shadow, this time around a tree branch. He rode 
close and stared at it, remembering the remarkable 
shapeshifting abilities of his enemies, the Children of 
Lureth.
    No. It was only a tree branch, no more a Child than 
Haasinon had been. But why that flash of sapphire and 
emerald, jade and cephir, around it, then?
    Shaking his head in confusion, Elian again guided 
Alusta away, deeper and deeper into the forest. His guards 
rode silent horses. There was no sound save the soft steps 
of the mare.
    Which was just the way Elian wanted it. He sometimes 
felt that he could not think for the pressure of other 
minds around him. Here, he had a chance to take a deep 
breath and catch it, to savor the feeling of his thoughts 
and really understand them.
    Of course, the moment he relaxed, anger burned through 
him like starfire. He had to work from gripping the reins 
or Alusta's sides and startling her into a gallop either 
way.
    Why couldn't Anadrel understand? Why couldn't she see 
that ousting Rian from his position with Starseeker magic 
would make the people of Palm only less inclined, not 
more, to trust them? If it was thought that Starseekers 
would rebel against their revered Deriad, then anything 
could be expected of them. No one would trust them, or 
listen to them, once they had removed the immediate threat 
of Rian.
    But all his attempts to get her to listen to reason 
had failed. She dismissed reason as his tool, only one 
more of the reasons why he would not let himself go and 
love her.
    "I'm trying," he whispered, wishing she was there to 
hear him. "I'm trying. Please be patient, Anadrel."
    If only he had not begun to fear that his honor and 
his memory of his former betrothed were too strong for him 
to ever surrender.... if only he did not feel that it was 
wrong, still, somehow...
    He had promised to try, though.
    His blue gaze fixed broodingly on nothing, his ears 
full of the sound of small birds practicing for their 
winter migrations and the sound of falling leaves, he did 
not at first notice the significance of the diamond and 
ruby wisps that had begun to gather about him. By the time 
he did, it was too late; he ran right into them.
    He rode Alusta out of the thick trees into a clearing 
created long ago by some great fire, and almost over a 
group of talking elves. They turned at once and stared at 
him, gripping their weapons and letting their speech drop 
into hostile silence.
    Elian, for his part, was blinking, dizzily trying to 
figure out how many there were. Every time he thought he 
had the right number, the shadows shifted again. They were 
not merely coronas now, but dancing veils of rich and 
luxurious color, overlaying everything that he looked at 
but blazing brightest, just as the light of nightsight 
would, around living beings.
    Then the shadows cleared, or he sorted them out; he 
was seeing normally again. But the elves had already 
spread out and surrounded him.
    Alusta snorted and danced backwards as one elf came 
forward to take her bridle. Elian held the reins firmly 
beyond reach and addressed himself to the man, making him 
stop and stare upwards. 
    "What are you doing?"
    The elf stared at him for a long moment, then sneered. 
His eyes were slanted, as were the eyes of most elves, and 
a bright, almost startling sea-green. His skin was the 
brown of tree bark, further browned by the sun, and he 
wore forest colors. "Why should I answer a land Elwen who 
is now our prisoner?" he asked, again reaching for the 
bridle- as if he actually expected Elian to come along 
quietly.
    That, Elian had no intention of doing. He tensed, and 
the magic sprang up inside him.
    Instantly, the shadows began shifting again, and he 
stood within a whirling maelstrom of sapphire that spread 
out to encompass ruby and garnet at the edges, and even 
hematite. They seemed to be related, these shadows, to the 
emotional states of his enemies, and he wished desperately 
that he could study them and find out how. But they gave 
him no time. Despite the shadows- or perhaps their 
increased light gave him extra warning of his imminent 
capture- he saw one of them raise a crossbow that even 
from this distance smelled strange, as though the bolt 
were coated with some kind of poison.
    He reacted at once. The shadows moved and sprang about 
him, rippling and distorting like waters in a pond where a 
stone has been tossed, reflecting the hurling of his 
dreamflame at the elf.
    The man screamed and dropped his crossbow as bright, 
shining threads of silvery fire, Elwen essence, coiled 
about him. Once, Elian had had to sing to use it, and 
using it offensively would have caused him to suffer pain 
close to a heart attack. Now, it struck at his will, and 
seemed especially made to be used against his enemies, 
seeking out everything that was not Elwen in them and 
trying to force them to match its definition of Elwenity.
    The elf in front of him finally succeeded in grabbing 
the bridle, but Alusta spoiled that by rearing and kicking 
out with her hooves. The leader barely dodged in time, his 
eyes still fixed on Elian.
    "Starseeker." He spat the word. And then: "Take him."
    Elian moved before they could, again. He created a 
hide-sphere, an iesadal, all around himself, and vanished 
to their sight. They could still see Alusta, and the mare 
was not frightened because she could still feel him in the 
saddle. But for all they knew, he might have leaped from 
her saddle and run into the trees. The hide-sphere 
destroyed their sense of his existence.
    "Get the hounds!" the leader cried, proof that they 
thought he had left, and turned as if he meant to fetch 
them himself.
    Elian waited until none of them seemed to be watching 
Alusta, and then touched the mare behind her ear in a pre- 
arranged signal. Eleriad, who had given the mare to him, 
had told him of it, and warned him to use it only in an 
emergency.
    At once, the sorrel mare sprang forward, running 
heedless of her path, heading deeper into the forest. She 
trampled one unfortunate elf, and only neighed as his 
blood splashed her hooves, without flinching or shying at 
the smell of it. Elian clung grimly on, trying to ignore 
the pinwheeling of the shadows and the rapid darkening and 
brightening that seemed to add an extra dimension to the 
world and had nothing to do with whether they were or were 
not in sunlight at the moment.
    He might get used to it in time.
    He did not want to.
    Alusta flashed along another trail, and the trees here 
still showed a few green leaves, probably from the 
presence of elves. That might explain that they had been 
camped here for a while, and was also a good sign that 
there were no Elwens nearby. Where Elwens had been or 
were, their magic influenced the land, and the trees and 
the soil would violently reject any elven presence, to the 
point of rising up and fighting them.
    Elian, bouncing and shifting with his mare's wild 
pounding, feared that those signs confirmed what he had 
most feared. This was no simple group of elves- although 
the sight of their weapons, not normal hunting weapons, 
would have dispelled that belief in any case. 
    They were a raiding party.
    The Elfworld War was moving north at last, and this 
might even be the forefront of the first major battle 
between Elwens and elves.
    He heard other sets of hooves now, and caught flashing 
glimpses between the trees of the guards who had trailed 
him, all of them wearing shocked looks. They could barely 
keep up. The signal had infused Alusta with unnatural 
vitality, and she would run until she dropped.
    He was not even sure he could change her direction, 
which left one thing to do.
    "Elves!" he shouted, his voice carrying clearly, 
caught by the shadows and magnified to a ringing thing, 
like crystal on glass. It carried beyond the boundaries of 
the hide-sphere. "Raiding party! They might ride right 
into them. Get back with the message!"
    They hesitated for a long moment, and then both pulled 
up to ride back to camp.
    There, Elian thought as he grabbed Alusta's mane to 
keep from sliding off. The reins were useless now, waving 
in the wind and cracking him across the face. He had done 
what he could to warn them.
    And it might not be enough.
    But, before he could really start worrying about that, 
he heard the barking from behind him. The hounds. They 
were coming as the elf had promised, and they could follow 
Alusta's scent even if they could not follow his.
    Not follow his...
    Elian hated the thought of abandoning even a horse to 
their vengeance, when there was no saying what they might 
be angry enough to do, but this was perhaps the only 
chance he would have to escape. He tensed, fixing his eyes 
on the nearest branch, and leapt.
    Alusta rushed on in a moment, and the barking of the 
hounds grew louder as he clung there for a long moment, 
swaying and gasping. The branch had hit him more squarely 
in the stomach than he had thought it would; it took him a 
long while to get his breath back.
    In that time, the hounds came closer and closer. He 
could smell them now, their scent thick and dusty and 
eager, and the elves just behind them. And he could feel, 
through his land Elwen senses, how eager the elves were 
for blood. That rage did not feel quite like anything 
else.
    He hauled himself higher into the tree, praying they 
would not notice how it was swaying. He could prevent 
footprints from forming while he wore the hide-sphere, but 
he could not hold a tree still. They might go right on by, 
if he was lucky.
    He did not think he would be.
    So he kept moving, leaping from tree to tree, putting 
worries about Anadrel and the others from his mind, 
refusing to consider anything other than how to make the 
next dangerously thin branch. Still, some part of him must 
have been listening, because he knew when the dogs swept 
by, and he let out a hoarse breath of relief and closed 
his eyes for a moment.
    The elves might not be so easily fooled, though, for 
all the poverty of their senses compared to a hound's or 
an Elwen's, and the next moment he was leaping and 
sighting again.
    The tree in which he at last dared to pause and rest 
for a few minutes was a hylea, and he let its sweet smell 
and the brightness of the golden flowers comfort him. It 
would shield him and make the difference if anything 
would. Hyleas grew only where Elwens had dwelled at some 
point in the past, and if he stayed long enough, it might 
even fight for him.
    He closed his eyes and panted, clinging hard, trying 
to ignore the aches from the exercise, the sweat, the 
scratches that he had received without noticing and which 
were only now beginning to sting. When he felt it was 
safe, he at last opened his eyes and turned to slip to the 
ground.
    Only to find elves passing below.
    Elian stared silently for a long moment, unable to 
believe that the same party had led their hounds so far 
without him seeing them, or scenting them. But, no. These 
looked slightly different, taller and with skin less dark, 
and their commander was a woman. She harried them along, 
keeping an eye on the forest, and every now and then 
snapping at the lesser elves.
    Another raiding party.
    Elian eyed them carefully, counting numbers. Three 
hundred, it appeared, not counting the huge dogs that 
walked beside them. Those dogs were armored in spiked 
collars and greaves, had fangs as long as the spikes, and 
were the color of stormclouds. Warhounds, most likely 
trained by Elwens, of all things. They were heading 
unerringly towards the road, and the train of soldiers and 
priests.
    Elian might not have felt all that worried, save for 
two things. He could not be sure how many parties there 
were like this in the forest.
    And, riding at the back of this one came ten elves, 
male and female both, who had to duck their heads to pass 
beneath the branch on which he crouched. They rode great 
silvery wolves, fenrirs, who stood close to eight feet at 
the shoulder. They rode in utter silence, preparing 
themselves for the descent into the killing rage for which 
they were feared and famed, their hands caressing the 
hilts of long knives made from the fangs of their mounts. 
They were a terror. Horses would not abide the wolves, and 
the fenrirs hated Elwens. Elwens often broke before one of 
their charges.
    He had no choice, it seemed, despite his dislike of 
killing. He had listened, and those who were not fenrir- 
riders had spoken in low and heat-laden voices of killing 
the upstart land Elwens who dared to use a road the 
Elfmother had given into their hands. They had to be 
stopped, and he had to do it.
    He did not hesitate once he had decided. He wove the 
magic, and the shadows glittered and spun all around him, 
almost obscuring the illusion that sprang up from the 
ground to confront the elves.
    But not quite.
    The illusion was one of the best he had ever done- as 
were most of those he had woven in the past months, of 
course. He was becoming more and more adept at them as his 
power increased. Ghostly images of the fenrir-riders, 
reversed, great white wolves with Elwen riders on their 
backs. They lurched forward, snarling and stinking quite 
realistically.
    The fenrirs were taken in, and where they went, their 
riders went, also. They surged forward, and their jaws met 
in throats that did not really exist. Elian watched the 
battle for a moment, adjusting the illusions to collapse 
as if in death when they sustained wounds that nothing 
mortal would survive, and making sure that their 
insubstantial claws and fangs were really wreaking damage 
on the fenrirs. Then he dropped out of the tree, releasing 
his hide-sphere as he did so.
    The elves who had turned in confusion at the illusory 
attack and were still gapping saw him at once. The elven 
commander barked, and at once arrows and crossbow bolts 
flew towards him.
    Elian reacted without thought. The shadows writhed and 
danced, and became silvery flames that enwrapped him 
without a break, burning up all the bolts that anyone 
cared to shoot.
    Wailing broke out among the elves. Whether they 
recognized a Starseeker, or simply land Elwen magic, they 
knew they would not win this battle.
    Elian looked out from within his cocoon of fire, which 
was as transparent as fine silk to him. He could see that 
all but one of the fenrir-riders was badly wounded, if not 
dead yet. And a few elves were down and dead, trampled by 
the illusions in which they believed too strongly.
    Too few.
    He used the thought of one of them hurting Anadrel to 
ignite his rage. Killing with dreamflame still touched 
something wrong inside him, and he did not want to chance 
one of them recognizing him as a Starseeker. Ordinary 
emotional magic would do.
    Lightning fell from a clear sky, his fury taking form 
and entering the world, precise strikes of silver and blue 
and gold guided by his will, slanting down between the 
trunks and igniting the leaves. Even as several trees 
toppled over, burning, and pinned the frightened elven 
soldiers beneath them, others of them died simply from the 
strikes, or from sheer fear.
    Elian felt a force gathering to oppose him, though he 
could not smell it. That meant divine magic. And that 
meant the Elfmother.
    He called an especially potent bolt of lightning and 
flung it at a small group of women surrounding the 
commander, all of them likely priestesses and calling upon 
their Mother to save them. The lightning sheered off an 
instant before reaching them, burying itself in the 
ground. The air filled with the feeling of lightning 
released, that sharp cracking of the air, and the hair 
rose on the backs of Elian's arm. But none of the 
priestesses fell dead, or ceased in their low and steady 
chanting. The force continued to build.
    He did not want to know what the Elfmother would do to 
him, not only a Starseeker but the one who had killed one 
of Her avatars. He decided that it would be best not to 
find out.
    They were defending against attacks from above, but 
there was one direction in which they would not be 
looking. Elian clasped his hands together and glared at 
the ground beneath them, willing his rage to come, willing 
himself to think of how stupid and senseless this war was, 
and all started by elves willing to dream of ruling the 
world...
    The ground exploded from beneath them. The praying 
stopped at once, and his sense of the Elfmother's growing 
place in the world died away. Scattered female bodies flew 
in every direction.
    Elian turned. There were more soldiers behind him, 
perhaps lured by the sound of battle from their chosen 
course, perhaps the ones who had chased him before. It did 
not really matter.
    He concentrated, and once again lightning began to 
shower down all about them.
    But at that moment, one of the warhounds leaped 
through the barrier of silvery dreamflame all around him, 
knocking him to the ground beneath its stinking weight and 
worrying at his throat.
    In shock, he let the barrier go, and then they were 
all there, pawing aside their badly burned brother to 
snarl at him, the spikes on their armor flashing in the 
reflected light of sun and storm.
    "We have him!" he heard one of the elves shout. "The 
hounds have him!"
    Elian's shock was calling the illusions that he had 
created back into him, as well. He could hear the 
disgusted shouts of the fenrir-riders as the foes they had 
been fighting simply vanished, with a noise a little like 
a soap bubble popping. They were not all dead, then. Damn 
it!
    Elian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He would 
have to kill with dreamflame, and with rage, however much 
he did not like it.
    The elves screamed, as one, and the hounds above him 
made sounds like the dying priestesses. Something hit the 
dog crouching just above him, so hard that it went flying, 
and he heard the sharp, clean snap of bone somewhere near. 
Sitting up, he stared around in amazement.
    Lureth's Children filled the clearing, powerful wolves 
with gleaming golden eyes and paws like hands, tugging 
swords out of the elves' hands and knocking them down with 
a few heavy slaps or one collision from their agile but 
heavy bodies. A few fell, speared by blades or caught by a 
pack of war-dogs, but most of them twisted out of the way 
in time and returned to the attack. Short, sharp howls ran 
among them, like signals directing the attack, and Elian 
thought he heard more howling in the distance, running to 
join the battle.
    Almost frozen with astonishment, he turned his head, 
and saw the Children leaping on the fenrirs more quickly 
than anything else, clinging like biting flies if they had 
to, two or three to each one of the great, silvery-pelted 
wolves. The fenrirs snapped and reared, and their riders 
laid all about them with their fang knives, eyes wide and 
stars with the madness of battle. They growled furiously, 
but they were no match for the smaller and quicker 
Children. In moments, all six survivors of Elian's 
illusory attack were down.
    Elian stood, unable to understand what was happening. 
The elves were his enemies, but then, so were the Children 
of Lureth. Should he help them, or go back to his own 
people and try to help them in whatever battle was taking 
place there?
    One of the Lureth's Children looked up at him over the 
remains of an elven corpse. There was blood on his teeth 
and madness in his eyes, and he snarled deeply and 
steadily in his throat. "Go!" he barked, in the hacking 
voice that all his kind used. "We can deal with them. But 
raiding parties are making ready to fall upon your 
people." He looked away then, and began to tear once more 
at the body.
    Elian sprinted away into the trees, without pausing to 
look back. He was half-afraid that if he stayed, they 
would realize it had been a mistake and attack him with as 
much vigor as anyone else.
    He crashed desperately through trees for a moment, 
trying to get far enough from the scents of blood and 
despair and fear to smell the direction in which the land 
Elwen battle would lie. Silvery blood, rage, and even more 
fear...
    He thought he located it at last, and set off at a 
dead run.
    Shock played all through him as he ran, like an 
unexperienced hand playing a harp. Why had they helped 
him? He knew by now that the Goddess of the Children, the 
Autumn Moon, Lureth, had bound them to the Starseekers in 
some way. They needed Starseeker magic to grow into 
whatever it was that she wanted them to be. He was the 
most powerful Starseeker alive now, and he had done 
numerous things to thwart their Goddess's plans for him. 
Why would they help him now, mere days after the death of 
the Lureth's Child who had fallen in love with him and 
planned to take him from the world forever, as per 
Lureth's plans?
    He could not guess. That bothered him, but right now 
it was only one more unpleasant factor in a mess of bad- 
tasting stew.
    He swung to the north, or what he guessed was the 
north; the leaves had barely begun to turn in this grove, 
and the sky was blocked off, so that he could not see the 
sun. Aside from that, clouds or shadows were gathering, 
shadows different from the jeweled ones. Where they aided 
his sight, he could not see through these.
    He bowed his head and ran on, trying his best not to 
worry about them, or anything of it.
    That was like telling the Elfmother not to worry about 
Her children, he thought wryly as he came out of the grove 
at last and raced along a trail that should led him back 
to the road. The shadows raced along with him, still 
darkening the sun and mightily confusing his sense of 
direction.
    If only....
    It was then that he first became aware of the thing 
pacing him, and turned his head to look back.
    Loping at his heels was one of the war-dogs. Insane 
determination must have kept it on its feet this long. Its 
gray coat, almost silvery in the spin of the shadows and 
their play with light, stuck to it in matted clumps, and 
its armor was hardly hanging onto it. But, for all that, 
and the scratches that covered like the long diggings of 
claws, it never took its blue eyes from him.
    Blue eyes. They seemed strangely familiar, somehow, a 
bright and ice-blue shade.
    They should. They were the eyes he saw in a mirror or 
polished pool every time he thought to look.
    Suddenly cold, Elian lifted a hand and flung power at 
the dog. It took an enormous effort to call it up. He must 
be more exhausted than he had thought, to already be 
having trouble.
    Nothing happened. A single silvery tendril of 
dreamflame uncurled, and then retracted back into his 
hand. Elian hissed in astonishment and leaped from the 
path, though he still headed towards the battle whose 
scents and emotions claimed it to be raging between Elwens 
and elves. Once he was among the others, he should be able 
to shake this strange creature.
    Perhaps the dog knew that, as well. It suddenly 
accelerated, and Elian knew in that moment, watching it 
come towards him like wind made visible, paws never 
actually touching the ground, that he could never outrun 
it.
    He chose the best ground available for a defensive 
stand and set his back to a tree. Hand uplifted, eyes grim 
and face grim, he waited.
    The dog tensed, and leaped gracefully for his throat, 
every muscle unfolding and contracting and rippling in a 
balance of harmony that would have made the creature a 
delight to watch at any other time. But right now, Elian 
was concerned about defending his life.
    Fire encircled the hound, and it crashed to the 
ground. Shaking its head very slightly, it backed away a 
few steps and met his eyes with its blue ones again, cold 
and hard as ice.
    Then the eyes changed. Color and life flowed into 
them, changing them to slit-pupiled, antique gold ones 
that he knew.
    "Gelana."
    The hound bobbed its head very slowly. Its gaze- her 
gaze- was one of ancient, matchless serenity. "Greetings, 
my lord Elian." There was a toner of regret in her words, 
which were perfectly articulated, flowing from her mouth 
with no need to change to fit the shape of the dog's 
throat. "You have to die. To that end, I have sent a 
starhound to take care of the problem."
    Elian started, a little. Legends said that only those 
with destiny-magic could create or control starhounds. 
Legend had been wrong, apparently.
    "Why do I have to die?" he muttered, his eyes still 
fastened on the starhound's as they turned blue once more. 
Stars, did his eyes really look like that- cold and 
glassy, a serpent's gaze, save for a little of life and 
warmth?
    "You know as well as I do. You have accepted the gift 
of the stars, the highest gift they can give to one of 
their servants, and you have refused to pay the price, to 
do what is demanded of you."
    "I have no idea what is demanded of me." Elian was 
unable to keep the heat from his voice. "No one will tell 
me."
    "Then I will."
    Gelana moved a few steps closer, or the starhound did; 
Elian was unsure how much separated them. His eyes bored 
into him- her eyes. Stars damn it, those were not his 
eyes!
    "You have failed," she said. "Proved yourself 
unworthy. It was thought that we could trust you, and that 
was proved wrong."
    "Whose fault was that? Mine, for not being what you 
wanted me to be, a tool for you to use? Or yours, for 
trusting me?" Elian's voice was quiet, and full of ice 
again, not fire. So long as he did not meet those blue 
eyes...
    Gelana stared openly at him for a long moment before 
she seemed to realize what she was doing. Then she growled 
softly. "This is too important for games, Elian. Too 
important. You were meant to stop the Elfworld War, and it 
has started. That means you have failed, and so 
disastrously-" She paused, and shook her head. "Even I 
cannot tell you what the scope of this disaster will be. I 
hope it will not be what I fear, but it has already been 
greater than I expected."
    Elian did not move. His voice sounded like frozen 
fire, which was burned through his face and his soul. "I 
ask you again, Gelana. How was I supposed to serve a 
purpose that I knew nothing about, in which I had no 
guidance? What was I supposed to do, other than what I 
did? I helped to settle the alliance between the cities, 
and I know from the history books that that did happen."
    Gelana jerked as if struck, and then stared at him 
again. This time, she did not stop; those glassy blue eyes 
only grew wider and wider. "You cannot know," she 
breathed. "You cannot possibly know."
    Another black flower bloomed in Elian's heart. And 
something woke up in him, a longing to kill that only 
waited, quivering, on a word from him. Let her say that 
once more. Just once more.
    "You will not tell me, then?"
    "Die ignorant!" And she sprang at him.
    The power ripped away from him, a formless silver 
blast such as he had once used to prevent the Mantle from 
choosing Anadrel Deriad. It hit the starhound, not like 
fire, but like a hammer, and with all the force of the 
black flower of hatred and denial behind it. He would not 
be told again that he had failed, and yet kept ignorant, 
like a child. Not again.
    He might die for it, but he would not listen to that. 
His own conscience was scour enough, keeping him from 
making any movement without judging it first. He would not 
listen to those who claimed the right to take his life 
away for a mistake they had not told him to avoid. It was 
not just.
    The starhound howled with mad fear and pain as its 
body slammed into the earth. For a moment, Elian thought 
he saw the blue eyes turn gold again, and the mouth moved 
as if Gelana was trying to tell him something.
    Then its rib cage bent inward with a sickening crack. 
The hound writhed, and screamed again, a moment before the 
other, inner organs burst, and the body stopped moving. 
Elian walked over to it and gazed down at it with unseeing 
eyes.
    "No more," he whispered at last. "No more." He ignored 
the sounds of battle in the distance for the moment. This 
was more important. Besides, if they had continued for 
this long, the Elwens could not be losing too badly to the 
elves' superior numbers. "I will stand by no longer and 
accept whatever blows you choose to give me, trusting that 
your reasons are right simply because I do not understand 
them. Never again will I think that someone knows best 
simply because that person is not me. No more.
    "This I swear by the stars."
    There was a brief flash of starlight, even though it 
was daylight, and a brief, sonorous sound, like a crack of 
musical thunder, rolled from horizon to horizon. The 
jeweled shadows danced wildly, for a moment all hematite 
or silver or onyx, gray or black, responding to the words 
he had had the courage, or the temerity, to say.
    He would have moved away, then, but he had heard 
something darkly malignant about the process of creating a 
starhound, something that he had to see for himself. He 
stood still, his eyes fastened to the corpse.
    And saw it begin to move.
    The shattered mess of bones and organs slowly 
reorganized itself, the skin peeling and flowing around 
them. In moments, it was clear that a hound no longer lay 
there. It was an elf, his head bent back on his neck, his 
blue eyes staring at the sky.
    She had sacrificed an elf, perhaps even one who had 
willingly served her, simply to track him down and kill 
him. Because she believed he had done wrong.
    Elian stared for a long moment. Then he told the elf, 
in a calm, clear voice, "I cannot give you back your life, 
and I know that revenge for death means little or nothing 
to you. But I swear to you that my hatred will burn for 
you. I have never hated people in my life, only ideals. 
That changes now."
    There was no thunder this time, no flash of impossible 
starlight, but he thought the leaves trembled and the 
world swayed a little more.
    That done and said, he turned away, in the direction 
of the battle.
----------------------------------------------------------
    He stepped from the trees onto the edge of the road 
and surveyed the destruction.
    There were horses down everywhere, many with broken 
legs or crossbow bolts protruding from chests or eyes. 
They had been panicked and stampeded by fear of the 
fenrirs, first of all, and then shot by the elves in the 
madness of the confusion. It seemed that the elves had 
tried to stand off and shoot rather than actually engage 
with the Elwens. It would have been a wise choice had 
these not been land Elwens, able to hurl magic for a 
distance of several thousand feet, and mad as death itself 
where elves were concerned. The ground was littered with 
smoking elven corpses.
    And Elwen bodies, as well, many of them already 
burning. An angry Elwen's rage could work against him as 
well as for him, not causing him to pay enough attention, 
and the arrows had gotten through.
    He knew Anadrel was still alive, though. Even though 
the link between them was not what it had once been, he 
was utterly convinced that he would have felt it if she 
had died.
    His eyes moved to the survivors, trying to determine 
where he would be most needed. The elves were gathered on 
one side of the road, near the forest, waiting. The Elwens 
were drawn up in a formation, pacing or riding their 
horses in circles, very close to charging again or simply 
hurling their magic. They were waiting only because they 
did not know how many reinforcements these elves might 
have, and did not want to exhaust their fury and their 
power on one small group.
    Wisps of diamond and ruby rising above the trees to 
the southwest assured Elian that many more elves were 
hastening to aid this group. He accepted that with a nod 
and turned to study the Elwens.
    Yes. There was Anadrel, still on Glelrhee, her head 
lifted and her eyes wild with rage, with the lightning 
that she had no doubt helped to call. And Haasinon was 
alive, too, sitting his horse and staring calmly into the 
distance as if trying to figure out what would do the most 
damage to the enemy. Almost alone among the Elwens, his 
sword was bloodied.
    Calculating distances and details, remembering what he 
had done in the forest and testing the strength that 
remained to him, studying the fenrir-riders that remained 
with the group...
    Elian smiled bleakly. The hatred burning in his heart 
was as deep and as cold as his anger had always been, but 
unlike other feelings that he had had in the past, it 
needed an outlet now. And he knew well enough that he 
still had the strength to matter, the power to act in this 
battle. He knew it.
    He was Starchosen now. There could really be little 
question of it.
    He raised his arms and called on the jeweled shadows 
that surrounded him, asking them without words to do 
something that he had never done before and did not really 
understand even as he asked it. But that did not matter. 
The shadows knew what he wanted, and they would obey him.
    They writhed and danced upwards, and then came 
shimmering down. 
    The elves cried out as they were taken prisoner by 
something they could not see. Their arms pinned to their 
sides, their chests confined, their mouths sealed shut 
after a moment, they struggled helplessly. The jeweled 
shadows were all around them, a part of the very world 
that they inhabited. They could no more fight against the 
shadows than they could stop breathing and live.
    The Elwens stared at the elves in puzzlement. Only 
Anadrel seemed to understand what was happening. She 
turned her head slowly, blinking and squinting as if she 
too could see the jewels that filled the air, to where he 
stood.
    A complex mixture of emotions flashed across her face 
when she saw him safe, Elian thought. She was relieved and 
happy, of course, but she was also determined to take him 
aside and explain to him at some point in the near future 
about why it was not a good idea to run off.
    And she was afraid.
    As frightened of his power as the elves. The hematite 
and garnet that surrounded her, an odd combination but an 
effective one, showed that quite clearly.
    Elian met her eyes for a moment, and then turned away. 
For the moment, she did not matter. Only the elves, and 
questioning those elves, did.
    He walked towards them, not hurrying, giving them time 
to realize that it was indeed he who held them prisoner. 
Slanted eyes narrowed, and growls of rage throbbed behind 
their sealed mouths. Their shadows were lapis lazuli with 
determination. But, unable to see those shadows and use 
them to force an escape, they remained under his control.
    "What were you doing here?" he asked when he reached 
them, releasing his hold on the female who looked to be 
their commander. She wore her hair down, in the fashion of 
a priestess of the Elfmother, but she also wore a sword. 
She glared at him with hatred, and he repeated himself, 
though he did not make his voice any louder the second 
time, only more insistent. She spat at him, but Elian 
turned it aside with a cobalt shadow and watched her 
calmly, coolly, waiting for her answer.
    "We were sent," she spat at last, and grudgingly. A 
few more moments of furious testing had evidently told her 
her bonds were not about to give any time soon. "For the 
greater glory of the Elfmother, and to win back these 
lands, we were told to attack all Elwens passing through." 
She lifted her chin, trying unsuccessfully to stare him 
down. Even though she sat on the back of a fenrir and so 
towered over him, she could not move save at his pleasure, 
and that mattered. "No more shall I tell you- not who sent 
us, or who is coming to help us."
    There were more. That was enough. Elian touched one 
shadow beside him, and changed it to emerald. Then he sent 
the shadow flowing like a stream over the forest trail 
down which the other elves were creeping.
    Shocked cries erupted for a moment, so close that the 
Elwens started and Anadrel whipped her head around, and 
then went silent. The silence was the more ominous, 
somehow- of course. Elian had intended it to be. But he 
had not killed them, only made the forest grow around and 
entangle them, trees sprouting new roots and vines in the 
space of a few breaths.
    "There are no more coming to help you," he told the 
elven woman.
    She stared at him, and said nothing. She was a 
forestland elf, though paler than most of them, with skin 
the color of an unripened chestnut rather than a ripe one. 
Her hair was almost as green as her eyes, and at the 
moment rippled and stirred as they did with the rising 
wind. Elian waited.
    "I will still tell you nothing," she said at last. 
"Torture me as you like."
    "You are a prisoner now," Elian said quietly. "I will 
not force you to tell me anything, but others will. 
Torture is still legal among our kind, and especially 
during wartime. here will be others eager to talk to you, 
and I can assure you that they will not be gentle."
    The woman swallowed, slowly. "Barbarians," she said 
softly, stiffly, her eyes fastened to Elian's face with 
the undying hatred that most elves seemed to carry for 
Elwens.
    Elian shrugged. "Perhaps so. Yet your own approach 
could hardly be called civilized," he added, remembering 
his own stint in the torture chambers of the Elfmother. If 
the Goddess was like that, with Her relatively limited 
influence in the physical world and Her strange 
limitations on spiritual torture, what were Her most 
devoted followers like? He shuddered to think of it- not 
that he let any of that show in his face. "One final time. 
You have a choice- to answer me, or not answer, and be 
treated as if you had murdered an Elwen child."
    "I would rather have my own answers pulled unwillingly 
from my lips with hot irons than say them to the likes of 
you," she said. 
    Elian nodded. "A very noble attitude. Very well, then. 
I will leave you to the torturers."
    He turned to his spellbound Elwen audience, and said 
calmly, "My lady Anadrel, might rope be found somewhere to 
bind them?"
    Anadrel's head jerked as if she had awakened from a 
dream, and then she began shouting orders. Those Rowanian 
guards who had survived rode forward with ropes and chains 
that they seemed to produce from nowhere. At least some of 
the "ropes" were leather, however- probably the reins from 
the dead horses.
    They bound the elves hand and foot and mouth, wrist 
and ankle and neck, and only then did Elian dare to 
release them. They still sputtered protests and curses 
behind their gags, or glared with haughty contempt at 
their captors. He suspected that would change soon enough, 
once the tortures began-
    There was a sudden rush of physical strength leaving 
him, so fast and so hard that he almost sank onto the 
ground. He did manage to brace himself against a tree 
first, however. That would be most inconvenient, to have 
the great mage fall down as if he hadn't a bone in his 
body. The elves would lose their fear of him, and they 
might go to torture the sooner. He would prefer to spare 
them that if possible.
    The hatred was quiet again, the black flower closing 
its petals. He had not really expected the quickness of 
its quenching, but then, he did not really know very much 
about hating. And he was what he was, even now. It would 
take time to learn a different way.
    "My lord?"
    He looked up, and into Anadrel's cold silver eyes. He 
nodded, and followed her over to the side before she could 
even nod. There were some explanations that she deserved, 
and she would want to have them.
    Anadrel slipped off Glelrhee at last, and knelt to 
look at the mare's feet. Elian waited patiently. He had 
learned to recognize the signs of mingled anger and fear 
in Anadrel, and knew she was waiting to see how the 
subject might best be addressed. He was content to stand 
there until she figured it out.
    When she did figure it out, she did not waste time. 
She stood, and glared at him over Glelrhee's back, folding 
her arms on the mare's withers.
    "You lost your horse?"
    Elian blinked despite himself, and then suspected, 
from the small, sly smile on Anadrel's face, that she had 
said that deliberately to throw him off balance. But he 
chose to take the question at face value as he answered; 
after all, Anadrel did like horses. It would not do to let 
her know that he knew the game.
    "Yes. She was a gift from Eleriad, and she ran herself 
to death under the influence of a magical signal."
    Anadrel's face smoothed and blanked at once. "I see. 
She died as well."
    Elian met her gaze. "And a great many Elwens, and a 
great many elves."
    Anadrel nodded, brushing pale hair out of her eyes. 
For a moment, her eyes were clear, and filled with 
weariness. "I know, Elian. But one death added to the 
others-" She shook her head. "The others I did not really 
know, and it is difficult to care about them except 
abstractly, as any healer would. But a horse- all of 
them-" She looked out at the battlefield, her face bleak.
    Elian might have offered her support had he thought 
that she would accept it. He watched silently instead, and 
was not surprised when she suddenly spun and slammed a 
fist into the side of a tree standing nearby.
    "Stars damn it," she muttered. And then her words were 
spilling out in a rush.
    "Stars damn you! I love you, you know that. But when 
you do something like that- walk out of the trees like 
that, and without saying anything take a few hundred elves 
prisoner- don't you understand that I was worried? I worry 
about you. You're mine to worry about, in a certain 
cynical way." She glared over her shoulder at him. "No one 
else cares enough about you to worry like that. They see 
you as a tool, or something even worse."
    Elian did not move, save to nod.
    "Don't you understand me?" Anadrel stalked over to him 
and gripped his shoulders, staring into his eyes. "I love 
you."
    The grip of her hands was painful. Elian reached up to 
them and squeezed very slightly, nodding as he did so. "I 
know that."
    "Then why didn't you start showing that you know it, 
instead of making me do this?" Tears were streaming down 
Anadrel's cheeks, although, strangely, that did not affect 
her voice. "Why do you make me worry, instead of staying 
with me?"
    Elian sighed and let her go. An embrace was not what 
he could give her right now, much as his healing magic 
told him she yearned for it. It would only smooth over the 
problems for the moment, when they had to be talked out 
now. "Anadrel, I am sorry. But I know that my presence 
distresses as well as comforts you. And I find it hard to 
think with so many people around me- all of them, as you 
said, regarding me as a tool or something worse. I'm 
sorry, but I have always needed solitude. I think I always 
will."
    "You know very well that that isn't what I was talking 
about."
    Elian let out a soft breath, annoyed with himself. He 
was trying to talk about this instead of avoid it and make 
up the lies that Anadrel wanted to hear, and here he was 
avoiding it.
    "I'm sorry," he repeated, forcing himself to meet her 
gaze. "But, if you really want to know what I think- no, 
Anadrel, it isn't working. To give up everything that I 
have believed in about love and change my soul this fast 
is not right."
    She stared at him, her eyes gleaming like pools of 
blood in a bloodless face. Then she sighed and glanced 
away from him.
    "So. You don't really love me."
    "I don't know if I do or not," said Elian to her back. 
"But even that is not the real issue. I may love you, but 
I will not be able to do anything about it, even without 
Virita or Telandre standing in my way. My own soul bars 
the path."
    "I wish I could believe you."
    Elian spread his hands, even though she had turned 
completely away from him by now and was not looking. "Who 
else will you believe?" he asked quietly. "No one else, I 
should think, knows the state of my soul as well as I do."
    She looked back at him at last, her eyes still raw and 
uncomfortable as torn wounds. "Of course not," she said 
softly. "Forgive me. But I want us to have some kind of 
chance together, Elian, some hope. If we cannot... the 
kindest thing would be to tell me, so that I can let the 
wound heal and turn to the future with no regrets behind 
me."
    There would be regrets no matter what he did. Her eyes 
and the shadows, which danced about her in swirling, 
commingled patterns of jade and cobalt, told him that. 
Stars, why could she not see? And how had he gotten 
himself into this?
    "When would you want an answer?"
    She stared at him, her astonishment that he would 
offer to subject himself to her will this way quickly 
fading into the conviction that she deserved it. She drew 
herself up and answered haughtily. "As soon as you come up 
with it, of course. But, if not before then, a month from 
now. Would that be fair?"
    Elian closed his eyes. Despite his new resolve to 
justice, it still seemed that justice applied only to 
himself. He could not ask her to be merciful and extend it 
a little longer, could not even tell her that no land 
Elwen ever tames his heart in a month. It would not be 
fair to her, and that was still his primary concern. He 
wanted her to be happy.
    Stars curse it, was that love? Or was true love 
wanting someone to be happy, and then insuring that that 
happiness included you?
    "That would be fair," he said quietly, opening his 
eyes. And it would be. It simply was not as he would have 
liked it.
    That was no one's fault but his own.
    Anadrel's face softened- with victory, of course- and 
she laid her hand on his arm. "It is much to ask, I know," 
she said softly, her voice vibrating like a star in the 
dance with love. "But, Elian, when you have made your 
decision and we have what that decision has given us- oh, 
then, you will understand how wisely you acted."
    All implying that she knew what his decision was going 
to be, of course.
    Elian bowed from the waist to her and gently 
disengaged his arm from her hold when it seemed she would 
have asked questions. There were others pressing near, 
waiting with barely concealed impatience for the lovers to 
finish their conversation so that they could ask him 
questions, too. Much less taxing and more efficient, in 
the end, if he simply answered everyone's questions at 
once.
    If he could. He could make the shadows that floated 
all about them work, but that was not the same thing as 
explaining them. Still, he would have to chance it, or get 
used to traveling surrounded by fear.
    "Elian?" Anadrel asked softly, her eyes fastened to 
his face. "You will tell me?"
    He nodded again, and walked towards Haasinon, who 
should be the first to know what he would say. The golden- 
eyed man sat there, his gaze narrowed on Elian, shadows 
that were not jewels moving in it.
    And with him hung the future of the alliance.
    Elian did not know how he knew that. Of course, it was 
a logical enough conclusion, what with the man being the 
ranking representative there. Elian and Anadrel held no 
power in Palm yet, save what the other cities chose to 
believe they held, and Gerath had declined to send any but 
the lowest priests, whatever that might mean. Haasinon 
would make the decisions until Eleriad and Gerath joined 
them.
    And if he distrusted Elian...
    Elian stopped, and met his eyes for a long moment 
before jerking his head to the south and west. "My lord, 
there are some elves there, held prisoner by trees, who 
should be taken and put with the others," he said quietly.
    Haasinon barely started. He only stared for a moment, 
then nodded imperceptibly and detailed some riders to see 
to them.
    Elian breathed out. It had been a more dangerous 
moment than it had seemed. Up until then, no one had 
really controlled the party, with the soldiers and priests 
keeping to themselves. They had a common destination and a 
common purpose, and that was enough.
    Now Elian, by his increased power, held as a matter of 
course an increased voice in the way things would be done. 
Haasinon had chosen to acknowledge that voice instead of 
fighting it. A matter of survival, perhaps, nothing more. 
But Elian dared to hope that it might mean the others 
would accept his magic and its consequences rather than 
fearing him.
    "You will tell us what happened?" Haasinon asked, in 
an unconscious echo of Anadrel's words.
    Elian dared to push his newfound authority a bit 
further. "When the prisoners have been gathered, yes."
    Haasinon flashed a smile and wheeled his horse away to 
see to it, while detailing another man to find an extra 
mount for "the Lord Elian."
    Elian accepted the horse from the man who led it to 
him, and mounted so that he could easily be seen. Turning, 
he saw alert eyes fixed on him, most fearfully, but some 
with a faint glimmering of trust behind them. Haasinon 
alone looked calm and collected, considering what this 
would mean instead of simply reacting to it. Of course, he 
really understood that Elian had not used emotional magic 
to do most of what he had done. To the others, Elian had 
used the powers of his people, and he must have both a 
quick temper and a fine control to do so.
    It was enough to frighten anyone.
    Elian gazed at them for a long moment, and then began 
to speak. They listened, their eyes wide and on him. Their 
expressions changed as he spoke, from fear to incredulity, 
and finally thoughtfulness.
    "I did something I do not really understand," he said 
forthrightly. "Jeweled shadows fill my world now, and they 
do not seem to have any real relation to whether emotions 
are being expressed or not, or what is happening. They 
endangered me at first, clouding my vision and making me 
unsure of what was going on about me. Now I can see 
through them, and apparently use them." Indeed, even now 
he saw as if through two pairs of eyes, one seeing the 
normal world and the other the shimmering shadows of 
sapphire and silver that surrounded most of the Elwens.
    "I will do my best to control them." He let his eyes 
move from face to face, letting them see and feel the 
force of his resolve. "I will do my best to be no danger 
to you. I do know now that ruby and diamond warn of elves, 
and I will warn you if I see them. I will not ask that you 
do not fear me.
    "It must be unnerving, to know that I am among you. 
But I would ask you to reserve judgment until we reach 
Palm, at the least."
    There was a wave of subdued murmurs at that, and then 
Elian turned his horse away from them, back towards the 
dead horses and the spots where the dead Elwens had 
fallen. Even the most recently-fallen body had long since 
burned, but he raised his voice in the Starlight Song.
    "Stars that are black and stars that are silver..."




                        Chapter 2
                     Among The Palms
    "When an Elwen sees something that she does not want 
to admit exists, the most common reaction is not to admit 
that it does."
    -From Lustero Flem, or Knowledge of the Soul, author 
unknown, written in the early Age of Dawn.

    "Stars that are black and stars that are silver..."
    Anadrel listened to the words with a scowl on her 
face. Of all the explanations to give! Jeweled shadows? 
Elian was either going mad- a thought that made her shiver 
despite herself, as she remembered Gelana's warnings- or 
he was making stories up. He must be confident that no one 
would dare ever question him, that they were too afraid of 
him.
    He had reckoned without her.
    Anadrel did open her mouth and add her voice to the 
Starlight Song, though. The Elwens who had fought and died 
so bravely in this battle, small though it was, deserved 
that much.

    "Stars that are black and stars that are silver,
     Argent light that trembles and shivers,
     Lift now the souls of the ones who have died,
     As they did, whose spirits have sighed
     Many a time on this Arcadian earth.
     May they know the joy of mirth
     In the vault of the stars
     Where all things are
     Elwenish and full in beauty.
     Dance and sing away
     The endless nights and days.
     Soar and turn with the night,
     And maybe, in the illumination of starlight,
     You can find your way
     To the ancient days
     When such things as evil were never here,
     When the stars and the night flew without fear.

    "Elwensong carries the stars in their trackless path.
     Our spirits rejoice in the night.
     We keep the stars afloat in their bath.
     We survive on stardark and starlight.
     Lift now the ones who lived
     By the stars' life-giving gift.
     May the firmament hold their names,
     And their spirits dance in silver flames."

    The funeral song ended at last, and there was a long 
silence before Elian suddenly moved. Everyone started as 
he tapped his horse into motion, urging her briskly down 
the road that led towards Palm.
    The others followed, Haasinon and the other Rowanians 
who had been assigned to guard the Starchosen quickly, 
everyone else more slowly. Anadrel heard whispered 
conversations all around her, and felt more than one 
speculative pair of eyes fasten on her back. They knew 
that she was also a Starseeker- a Starchosen- and it was 
widely believed that she and Elian were lovers. She might 
be one who could intercede for them with him, if he became 
suddenly violent or seized control of the party as he now 
so clearly had the power to do.
    They did not understand that he would not seize power, 
Anadrel thought, her own brooding gaze on that single 
figure riding at the head of their train. Haasinon rode 
beside him again, but more like a friend or a companion 
than a guard this time. The other guards kept their swords 
loose in their scabbards, but did not look ready to draw 
them at a moment's notice, as they had before. Their 
glances were less direct, as well, and Anadrel did not 
hear a single amused chuckle out of them whenever they 
looked from him to her, as had been the case before. They 
believed he was a fool not to love her, but no one 
questioned the choices or the actions of such powerful 
mages on one's own side.
    And what he had done to the elves, how he had bound 
them, was powerful. Anadrel was not sure she could have 
duplicated it, for all that she probably understood the 
mechanics of the Starchosen gift better. Elian had fought 
against it at first, even tried to cast it from him, and 
now he used it as naturally as he breathed. He could not 
tell her what he was doing; he could only show it.
    Anadrel frowned that thought away. If Elian had wanted 
to, he really could have explained. All this nonsense 
about jeweled shadows was only that, the babblings of a 
poet's tongue combined with a reluctance to acknowledge 
what his gift really was. She would catch up with him soon 
enough, and let him know what she thought of his excuse 
that he did not really understand how it worked, and they 
must trust in him.
    At least now they had the power with which to confront 
Rian...
    The trees at the edge of the road swayed, and then 
three Elwens stepped out. The guards, they dragged elves 
bound with vines along behind them. They bowed to Haasinon 
and then to Elian. "Bound, as you said, my lord," one of 
them murmured, looking in wonder at a haughty priestess 
now furiously trying to pick leaves out of her hair and 
the vine-gag from her mouth.
    Elian nodded. Anadrel thought that no one else would 
have noticed the faint tremble in his cheek, as from a 
nervous tic. He had had no idea that the elves would 
remain bound this long. He really did not know how to deal 
with it, Anadrel thought, or how to control it, and she 
shivered again.
    "Put them with the others," he said, after a swift 
glance made it clear that Haasinon was not going to be the 
one to say the orders. He did not even look in her 
direction, not even a fleeting guilty glance.
    "Yes, my lord." The guards saluted and spoke as one, 
and herded the captive elves off to the side. This was a 
much smaller group than the ones who had attacked them, 
but seeing the hatred in their eyes, the fanaticism, 
Anadrel was just as glad that they were bound. Better by 
far if they all were!
    The day wore on, bright and cloudless, and at last 
Anadrel could stand it no longer. Glelrhee pranced forward 
at a light touch from her heels, and fell in beside Elian.
    Haasinon did not move away, as he had every other time 
before, and Anadrel had to work hard to control a flare of 
irritation. She regarded him with cool amusement, to make 
it clear that there was nothing vital or important for him 
to overhear, and then turned to Elian.
    "Tell me what really happened."
    He gave a little jerk and stared at her, and only then 
did she realize that he had been staring into space, 
noticing nothing. Anadrel followed what had been the line 
of his gaze, but there was nothing there.
    Certainly no damnable jeweled shadows.
    "Well?" she snapped, her eyes going back to him.
    "Well, what?" he countered. He could be snappish when 
he wanted to be.
    "Tell me what really happened," Anadrel repeated, 
hanging on to calm by a fingernail. Stars, it was always 
this way with him! He refused to answer some questions no 
matter how politely she asked, no matter how much she 
might need them answered.
    "As I told you," he said softly, and looked towards 
the forest. Anadrel wondered what he saw dancing here, 
beyond the flutter of leaves in the wind. Not jewels, 
certainly. "Shadows, Anadrel, masses of shadow, and all 
colors. Some, I think I can touch-" He lifted his hand and 
laid it against empty air. "Others will have to wait."
    "Why haven't I seen them?"
    Elian's head slowly turned, and his blue eyes bored 
into her for a long moment. They were cold and 
considering, that shade of blue she most hated, not so 
different from ice. Stars, that meant he wasn't going to 
tell her anything! Anadrel waited impatiently, trying not 
to let on that this was already a waste of time and she 
knew it. Haasinon and the others were watching her.
    "Your gift must not be as strong," said Elian, in the 
empty voice that he used when he was trying very hard not 
to express a particular emotion. "We've seen that before, 
Anadrel, and i thought you had accepted it. I did not know 
that you still believed you should be as powerful as I 
am."
    "I don't." And now who could accuse you of being 
jealous and defensive? Anadrel worked to keep from 
grinding her teeth. "But I don't believe you. Gelana never 
spoke of these shadows. Could what you are seeing be no 
more than a product of your own imagin-"
    Her voice trailed off in a gasp. The moment she spoke 
the name Gelana, Elian's eyes glinted, and whatever 
flashed in them made her want to shrivel up. It was not 
anger; she thought she would have known that. And it was 
not fear.
    It might be hatred, save that Elian did not hate. He 
had told her once that he did not really know how.
    Her hands tight on the reins, the female Starchosen 
waited for him to say something. When he did not, she 
dared to persist. "And do you think that they could be 
something else?"
    "I told you, I don't know what they are." Elian's 
voice was mild, and the freezing fire had vanished from 
his eyes. "Make of them what you will, and try to find 
them if you can." He looked at her again, and this time 
his gaze reflected nothing more difficult to deal with 
than simple loneliness. "It is- lonely in here, Anadrel. 
The cage might be a little wider if I can find one who 
sees as I do."
    "Gelana does not."
    The flash was milder, this time, but still there. 
Anadrel frowned. Had Gelana spoken to Elian, and been less 
than cordial? Or had he simply decided that he hated the 
woman who held the power to destroy him if his gifts grew 
too dangerous?
    "She may," said Elian, still in that deceptively mild 
voice. "We have never asked her, after all. Or she might 
not see that way, but still somehow perceive the world 
differently. I would ask her if I thought that it would 
gain me anything."
    "Why do you think it won't?"
    "She means to kill me."
    Anadrel gaped at him. She had not really thought 
Gelana would go that far, but...
    No, Anadrel, she thought, catching hold of her 
surprise and fear. It doesn't matter what she means to do. 
What matters is how he learned of it.
    "For what?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as 
possible. If he had even the faintest idea, he might start 
to distrust her, and then the entire world would be in 
danger.
    "For not using my magic the way she wanted it to be 
used." Elian's hands tightened on the reins, making his 
mare toss her head and shy a few steps. He did not seem to 
notice, but continued speaking in a low and passionate 
voice. "She thinks I should use my magic to stop the 
elves, to somehow end the war, but I've failed in a way 
that she refused to reveal to me. She tried to kill me, 
Anadrel. She called a starhound against me. Me, an Elwen 
she called filled with the blessings of the stars!" He 
shifted, and raised bleak eyes to hers. Bleak as 
icefields, in fact, those eyes. "Now I wonder whether 
those assassins she sent weren't meant to succeed, rather 
than simply driving me back to Palm and her control."
    Anadrel hesitated. Put that way, it sounded as if the 
panther Elwen had done something wrong, but surely that 
could not be as true as Elian believed. Elian's magic 
really was very dangerous, and it did have to be 
controlled. Surely Gelana would not have lied about that?
    She had not. Even now Anadrel could feel it like a 
fire on her skin as she rode. She shivered a little, and 
tried a different track.
    "Perhaps she's afraid of you?"
    Elian nodded, and his eyes flared with terrible 
amusement. He knew! "Yes, she is. I still find her 
rendering of that fear unacceptable. She claims that she 
has no choice but to kill me. I refuse to see it that way. 
I want to live, now, Anadrel, not die."
    Anadrel studied him out of the corner of her eye, 
trying to find the man she had believed him to be, the 
hero who had saved her from Rian and the Mantle. That 
smiling, blazing man had to be somewhere within that 
brooding shell of worry and determination to take 
advantage of Gelana's fear.
    She could not see him, if he was there, any more than 
she could see the good qualities that Rian must possess.
    Worried, she turned her head away, and struggled to 
bring her anger under control. He still wasn't telling her 
the truth. He could not have been. He must know how to 
control these shadows, if he had used them to bind the 
elves. That was the flaw in his story, her reasoning 
assured her. Find it, and point it out to him. He will 
admit that you are right.
    Or kill you.
    Still uncertain of his temper, she waited for a long 
moment, gathering her courage to ask him. And then 
Haasinon spoiled the plan by asking Elian a question 
first.
    "How long until we arrive in Palm, my lord?"
    "I do not know this country well," said Elian, his 
eyes fixed on the road as if he could read the answers to 
his problems in the mud. "I wish I could tell you, but 
there is no real way of being sure until we start seeing 
more farmlands."
    Once, Anadrel felt sure, Haasinon would have found a 
map and looked for himself, or disputed the vague answer 
that Elian had given. Now he merely nodded and fell 
silent, looking pleased with himself, or as pleased as it 
was possible to be with the brooding Elian riding just at 
his side.
    It had been a test, Anadrel realized suddenly, looking 
at that small and satisfied smile. Haasinon had probably 
been asked by his Lady to make sure that the man would 
"do" as leader of Palm in this war, that he would be 
friendly with Rowan. Elian's answer had probably revealed 
things to the older man that Anadrel could not even guess 
at.
    Of course, Elian was not going to be leader of Palm, 
though Eleriad did not know that as yet.
    Anadrel was going to be.
    Her hands twitched on the reins again, and she 
returned to the argument they had been having since dawn 
this morning. The old ones were best, she thought with a 
ghost of a smile as she looked at Elian and asked 
directly, "Will you support me in my bid for the 
Councilmastery?"
    Once again, her words seemed to startle him awake, or 
from reverie. He blinked and stared at her. Haasinon's 
reaction was more gratifying; he lifted his head as if 
hearing a distant trumpet call, and then nodded calmly, as 
if he had been expecting the sound.
    Elian caught the sense of her words then, and whether 
or not those jeweled shadows of his were real, they could 
not have competed in hardness or brightness with the ones 
in his eyes. "You really mean to move after power, then?" 
he asked, not disguising the contempt in his voice. "To 
seize it as Cyrelinde meant to?"
    Anadrel felt her cheeks flush. It was one thing for 
him to hold to the Elwen notion that any power save the 
magical and the personal corrupted, and that power-seekers 
were criminals who needed to be placed in chains and 
confined away from all sharp objects. It was another thing 
for him to compare her to Cyrelinde, the power-mad 
Councilmaster of Palm who had sold him to the Elfmother, 
killed the old Deriad, and might have ruled both Palm and 
the Elicalara if Elian had not killed her.
    "I must take it from Rian," she said defiantly. 
"Someone must, and you have made it clear that you are not 
interested. That leaves me." She bent a level stare on 
him. "Unless you are interested?"
    "No," he muttered, and looked away from her. "But 
there should be a better way."
    "What better way?"
    He looked at her flatly, defiantly. "We should not 
merely replace one absolute ruler with another one."
    Anadrel snorted and shook her head. "There must be one 
leader to rule Palm unchallenged, and to lead in a time of 
war. Gerath and Eleriad lead their cities. Would you leave 
Palm on an unequal basis? Would you say that the people 
would be better off if we did that?"
    His eyes glinted at her. "There is a difference, and 
well you know it. Those leaders were fairly chosen by 
their people, and they are doing a fine job. They are 
ready to lead in a war. Rian cannot, of course, but if you 
simply seize the Councilmastery and join the others in a 
war you may not be able to lead, then you will have two 
marks against you to his one."
    "Save them first," Anadrel quoted, an Elwen maxim. 
"They can blame you later, when they're free." She looked 
at him defiantly.
    Elian looked away from her. "It all depends on what 
you mean by support, of course."
    Anadrel dared not show how relieved she was; she must 
act as if she had expected for this to happen. "Will you 
fight for me, if necessary?"
    Elian stiffened his spine, and looked at her. "You may 
not be the best ruler for Palm, but you would be better 
than Rian. But I am not trained with a sword, and I cannot 
fight for you."
    "Your magic." Now was the critical time, when it would 
be revealed if she had won this argument after all or not.
    "No."
    Anadrel grunted as if she had been punched, but 
Haasinon spoke before she could, in a voice as smooth as 
oil.
    "My dear Lord Elian, you cannot be considered in 
rebellion against the lawful Deriad any longer. You are 
Starchosen, and free. If the right to wear the Mantle 
depends on power, then I would say that you or the Lady 
Anadrel should have the position. You have gained 
confirmation that he is doing this to show off for the 
Lady and to destroy you- for no other reason. Where is the 
honor in treating him like a noble enemy when he is not 
one?"
    Elian's face was deeply frustrated, but Haasinon let 
him say only two words- "The law-" before he began again. 
Anadrel sat back, smiling, and let the words slide over 
her, watched them drown the resistance that roamed in 
Elian's eyes.
    "The law changes in a time of war. You cannot kill 
freely in a time of peace, save in defense of your life. 
In war, you may kill when challenged. In a time of peace, 
you can afford to have loyalties to abstractions which may 
never really enter your life. In war, you must be 
committed to the survival of whatever people or cause or 
idea you are fighting for."
    "Once the law has been broken, it will never return to 
normal, not even in a time of peace."
    Anadrel shook her head. He must be acting this 
stubborn on purpose. No one could miss the point that had 
been made so obvious otherwise. "Elian, we are not asking 
you to use your power to help me rule. Once I am in place 
and Palm has been brought safely into the alliance, you 
may vanish or save the world or do whatever it is you wish 
to. But I need you to help me gain back the Councilmastery 
that should be mine."
    Elian looked at her soberly. He did not like refusing 
her, she saw with a start, but he did it anyway. How 
strange! She gazed at him in wonder, almost missing his 
next words.
    "Why must I be with you or against you?"