                      Shadow's Gift
                         Prologue
            10,000, Age of Arcadia, Midsummer
    The dawn unfolded like a rose in the east, pink and 
blue petals spreading out with a slowness exquisite in its 
delicacy, grace, and beauty. Uunul the Lordstar brightened 
the sky to a sapphire shade, then to the deeper blue of 
cobalt. It would be a fine day; clouds would hardly mark 
it, and the wind would blow with just the right strength. 
It would be one of the days that the world rejoiced in.
    And it was the day that would look down on the 
decision he had made. 
    Selkendal Shadowgift leaned against a boulder on the 
top of a small hill, his green eyes streaming tears, his 
white hair whipping around him in the first promise of 
that perfect wind. His unwavering stare was locked on the 
sun, but the light was not what was making him weep.
    After a long moment, he bowed his head and whispered a 
prayer to the stars, who would not respond. They never 
interfered to save Elwens from dooms they had chosen 
themselves.
    "My lords, my ladies, I know you have little reason 
indeed to look with favor upon me, but give me an answer 
now! Must I truly do this thing?"
    He looked up in time to see a shooting star, a streak 
of golden light just visible against the majesty of its 
much larger cousin the sun, fall across the sky. He smiled 
wanly. It fled to the west, away from him, and it made a 
mark like the trail of a tear.
    Selkendal bowed his head again, for a moment, in 
sadness and in farewell. He understood the message all too 
well, and he would not prevail on the lords and ladies of 
heaven to change their minds, assuming he could.
    He stood, briefly looking to the northeast quadrant of 
the sky, where the blue comet that had been forerunner and 
harbinger of this situation hovered still. It was a highly 
unnatural comet; it had held the same position for six 
months at least.
    "You shall see this," he whispered to the weeping 
star. "And will your tears fall the faster then, I wonder, 
or will you speed away from Arcadia into the spirit-void, 
the event you have come to foretell finished?" He paused a 
moment, then added, "Will you even remember that there was 
once a world called Arcadia?"
    The comet did not answer, of course. After a moment, 
he turned and strode down the hill toward the camp at its 
foot. Here were gathered the most loyal and devoted of his 
followers. All, like him, were concerned with freeing the 
Forbge Forest of the insidious influence of the land 
Elwens.
    But they knew nothing of his choice.
    A ripple of greetings spread before him, a wake in 
reverse, people crying out his name or congratulations on 
his latest venture, retrieving an important document from 
the stronghold of the Council of Arcadia, now held by the 
enemy. He nodded to them, only occasionally pausing to 
exchange banter. At other times, however, he was forcibly 
detained. It seemed everyone had an idea for the next 
campaign, or what Grukkar Goatleap would do next. He 
listened to their suggestions, nodding to mark his 
interest or a particularly ingenious thinker, and then 
walked on. There were three in particular he needed to 
speak to.
    He found them together on the edge of the camp, 
awaiting him. Selkendal smiled at them all as he stepped 
among them, entering into their comradeship without a need 
for words.
    Corlin Durillo stood with his back to the hill 
Selkendal had climbed, his dusky face closed and quiet as 
always. He was only half-curalli, his mother being of the 
highly dangerous death Elwen folk. There were only three 
with churni blood left in all Arcadia now, and two of them 
were Corlin and his sister. The rest had sailed away to 
escape the coming disaster.
    Selkendal's eyes moved next to Perishoon. His 
bodyguard, once a mercenary who had believed in nothing 
and so had lacked all fear, leaned on the saber-like sword 
he was never without. Blue-black hair and silver eyes, 
both far more ordinary than Selkendal's reverse 
coloration, waited for a signal of any kind. Perishoon's 
faith in him frightened the battle-lord sometimes.
    The third figure stepped forward, as if to draw 
attention to herself, and Selkendal had to smile. No, 
Tiela was never one to remain in the background.
    She was beautiful enough, with black hair so long that 
even bound in battle-braids it nearly swept her ankles, 
and indigo eyes. But that was not the reason he had taken 
her as his lover. She had taught him the gentler emotions 
again, taught him to feel the heat of fire, after he had 
spent over seventeen hundred years locked in an icy shell. 
For that, he owed her more than he could ever name.
    "I have something to tell you." He spoke with quiet 
emphasis, a subtle warning. That in itself was enough to 
catch their interest. "You must not speak of this to 
anyone else."
    Cor nodded; neither he nor Peri looked surprised. Of 
course, the half-churni was no stranger to secrets. Only 
Ti looked skeptical, but she swiftly smoothed her face 
into genuine interest. She might disapprove of keeping 
things too private, but she would do nothing to exclude 
herself from this.
    "I believe a major turning point has been passed 
today." Selkendal spoke to himself more than any of them. 
He desperately needed reassurance that he was right, even 
though he would go ahead and do it if they did not give 
him that reassurance. It was the approbation of his soul 
he wanted more than anything else. "I have decided that I 
will not yield to the land Elwens, no matter what passes.
    "I have decided that they will have declared death on 
themselves if they enter the Forbge again. I have chosen 
to retreat no longer. The Forbge is our home, and if 
Grukkar enters it he shall pay the price."
    Ti shook her head slowly, hair dancing behind her. "I 
thought you had already decided that. What makes this so 
different?"
    "I would rather destroy the Forest than see Grukkar 
take it."
    There. It was said. His eyes wandered the tiny circle, 
waiting for judgments that he was insane.
    Perishoon looked startled, a bit discomfited. Tiela 
stared at him, but said nothing. Corlin, however, stepped 
forward and gripped Selkendal's shoulder.
    "It has happened." The simple words carried more 
emotion behind them than was expressed, that and the look 
in the dark eyes. "You have become the man the Prophecy 
needs. The man that all the world needs. You have chosen 
as was wise and needed, my Lord Selkendal."
    Selkendal closed his eyes. The stinging in them told 
him he would weep again if he did not.
    "Some would not argue that I am." His voice was very 
small and distant. He seemed to be floating in a void 
between indecision and the conviction that he must do 
this. "Some would say that I am the foe of the world, and 
Grukkar is right to desire my destruction."
    He opened his eyes in time to see Ti step to his side, 
taking Cor's place. Her voice was warm with passion, sweet 
with the music of birds that sing at night.
    "Grukkar is not right. Remember that always, karai." 
Along with the ancient name of beloved, she gave his arm a 
squeeze and his face a smile that, like Corlin's, conveyed 
far more feeling than anyone else could ever understand. 
Selkendal brushed his lips across her forehead, reminded 
again why and how much he loved her.
    "Is that all you wished to tell us?" Corlin asked, 
after waiting politely until the lovers seemed to be 
finished.
    Selkendal nodded. He could not lie through words, but 
actions were not subject to that rule.
    I wish I could tell you, he thought with a wistful 
yearning that made him want to blurt it all out despite 
the need to keep it quiet. Perhaps you would understand 
and perhaps you wouldn't, but at least someone else would 
know. I wouldn't have to carry this burden alone.
    "But there are some paths we all walk alone," he 
murmured, a line from an old Elwen poem.
    "What?"
    He looked up to see Tiela watching him with her head 
tilted to one side, again like a bird. She knew him too 
well to be fooled by anything but a completely different 
facade.
    He forced a smile and took her arm. "Nothing. I have 
to check on some things, some plans. Come with me?"




                        Chapter 1
                   Four Hands They Move
    "Will the ripples you make in the pond today endure 
tomorrow? And do you want them to?"
    -Faemar Deepen, Churni Historian, in the afterword to 
Kuso Ander.

    "For we will sing to our lord, that he may lead..."
    Grukkar Goatleap smiled as the war-chant of his 
soldiers rose into the air, a smile that mixed pride and 
indulgence. Really, he shouldn't allow them to honor him 
like this, shouldn't allow them to subordinate themselves 
to him. Every Elwen was supposed to have his or her own 
pride, his or her own soul.
    But it was just for a while, his mind said calmly to 
what had become an old argument from his conscience. Once 
he had established the world that was meant to be, under 
the guidance of the star-lord Laerfren, he could withdraw 
his guiding, guarding hand. He could be an observer- more, 
a participant in the most perfect society Arcadia had ever 
known..
    He drifted in a world somewhere between his dreams of 
glory and the chant for a long time, but he still took 
note of the words.

    "For we will sing to our lord, that he may lead
     Us into war, and count our foes as they bleed.
     The ground is fertile, sown with war's seed.
     It remains only the harvest to reap.

    "The curalli parents will run before us, and weep,
     When the war's harvest white we reap.
     Children dead, in revenge for the countless crimes
     Perpetrated in other places and times.

    "The air is soft with the sound of crystal chimes,
     Ringing in the silence, the peace between times
     When we must march to the war, and silver bleed.
     Now our song is the chant: let our lord lead!"

    Grukkar basked in it, and even more in the adulation 
at song's end. The cheers and wild whoops weren't for the 
singers, but rather for him. He stood at the pinnacle of 
every thought in this moment, filled every eye and every 
heart, reached out and wove everyone into his web.
    When the noise faded, a little, he raised his hands 
and began the modest speech he had prepared for the 
occasion.
    "My people, I am not the one has led you to this 
victory. It is yourselves, who have labored so long and so 
strongly against the evil curalli-"
    Screams of protest interrupted him. His people told 
him, in no uncertain terms, that they weren't taking that 
from him. He was the reason they were winning this war, no 
two ways about it.
    Again his hands arose like the moons, gesturing them 
to silence. "Please, let me finish," he objected mildly. 
"I was about to praise your courage, your noble hearts, 
your ability to come back again after a minor defeat. Do 
you not want to hear this?"
    No, they didn't, they informed him. They wanted to 
hear about him, if he was going to stop the war anytime 
soon or if he would continue.
    "Do you want the war to end, then? Do you feel too 
many lives are being lost?"
    Heads shook, clenched fists rose in the air, voices 
screamed as if someone were stabbing their owners. How 
dare he think such a thing? It was their honor and 
privilege to die for him, one they would guard jealously. 
He should not try to take it from them.
    But they would follow him wherever he went, whatever 
he decided. They wanted him to know that. He should not 
feel trapped into a course of action because of them. He 
was the driving force behind everything they did, the 
reason they got out of bed each morning, the only reason 
for living many of them had, besides vengeance. 
    Grukkar told them he intended to continue the war, 
while inwardly exulting. He did not quite understand the 
power he exerted over their hearts and minds, whether it 
was simple charisma or the result of his destiny-magic. 
But it did beautiful things, that was certain.
    And though his people did not know it, he had no 
intention of abandoning this war. It was not just a war to 
reclaim Rowan's northern lands and stop a dangerous 
curalli battle-lord, though those were important secondary 
goals.
    No, this was a battle for the world.
    The Prophecy of Divirsa said he would win, or 
Selkendal Shadowgift would. He would save the world; 
Selkendal, a creature of pure evil, sought only to destroy 
it. Win the war, and he would remove the greatest threat 
Arcadia had ever known.
    Lose the war...
    Grukkar cast the thought from his mind as the cheering 
reached for him again and washed him along on warm waves 
of truth and love. He would not lose. How could he, when 
he had all the devotion of twenty million people, and 
Selkendal launched attacks on him with a few bands of 
ragtag followers?
    Of course, those attacks were sometimes successful...
    Grukkar closed his eyes and lifted his face to the 
sun, this time counting on its warmth to do the crowd's 
work. So he hadn't been able to prevent three-fourths of 
his escort from dying, or the thousands of humans he had 
captured simply walking away with Selkendal when he came 
for them. Those were minor points. He would capture 
Selkendal- their opposing destinies would not allow them 
to harm each other directly- and figure out a way to get 
rid of those shadowed Elwens who insisted on fighting.
    It would all work out. It was Laerfren's will.
    At last, everyone managed to agree: the war would go 
on, and his people would still have the honor of dying for 
him. Glad that was settled, Grukkar stepped off the small 
stage adoring hands had built for him to stand on and 
walked back toward the large tent that served as "private 
quarters" for himself and his wife.
    His bodyguards closed around him in an instant, to 
protect him from the mob accidentally trampling him under. 
Grukkar rolled his eyes. There were drawbacks to being 
"lord of the heart-multitudes," as another prophecy called 
him, as well.
    Still, the crowd seemed hardly deterred by their 
lord's fond exasperation or the raised swords of the 
guards. They kept trying to get near him, calling out 
requests for blessings or boons, asking when the army 
would move again, telling him they could be ready to move 
in a moment if he so desired it. He waved most of them 
off, only pausing to listen to those who seemed most 
insistent. This view of others' success, however, only 
encouraged the rest to go on trying.
    He let them. There was really nothing he could do 
about it anyway.
    They fell back at last when he entered the tent, 
partially because the guards took up their positions at 
the only available entrance and partially because they 
were in awe of Grukkar's wife, the Lady Sinniltra. But 
then, everyone was.
    Even her husband.
    He almost gasped in wonder, as usual, when he saw the 
silver light beaming from the woman who sat beside a 
firepit in the center of the tent, combing her hair. Her 
magic funneled the smoke through a small hole cut in the 
cloth, and so her radiance shone undimmed.
    Sinni looked up at him with a soft smile. Her face was 
a pond of silver water, serene but not, since their 
marriage, cold. Her pale blue eyes shone with contentment 
now; even the blue-white hair that shifted and coiled 
around her shoulders like restless flame had more of a 
luster to it. "My love," she acknowledged with a slight 
bow of her head.
    He came to her and knelt, wrapping his arms around her 
waist. He felt her bend to brush her lips across his hair, 
and the touch, light and distant as it was, left him quiet 
and at peace.
    He almost imagined, with his head resting against her 
side, that he could hear the beating of a tiny second 
heart. Of course, it was far too early for that. Sinni had 
conceived the night of their wedding, but it would be 
months and months before their daughter Della- named in 
memory of Grukkar's mother as she should have been- could 
be brought into the world.
    A good thing, Grukkar thought, the warmth and the 
nearness of the woman he loved lulling his thoughts into a 
trance-like state. The war would end before Della was 
born. He didn't want his daughter in danger from the first 
moments she drew breath.
    Sinniltra spoke at last, her voice the sound of 
crystal chimes or songs sung beyond the stars. "My love, I 
felt a powerful disturbance in the world this morning."
    Grukkar drew back, looking up at her curiously. "A 
disturbance? Could Selkendal be readying some new weapon?"
    The star Elwen hesitated, then made a negating little 
motion with her hand. "I am not sure. But I think a weapon 
would announce its intent to kill. This had something of 
the horrible about it, but it also possessed an overtone 
of regret." She paused, then added, "If that makes sense."
    "I don't think it could have been anything Selkendal 
has done," Grukkar said. "He's a madman, and madmen can't 
regret." He stood, finally, and took a stool across from 
his wife's. "I have a war decision to discuss with you."
    Sinni tilted her head, flushing a pretty, pale azure. 
"My love honors me," she murmured.
    Grukkar smiled faintly. Though he came to her for 
advice more and more often now, she still thought of it as 
a special privilege. "I doubt that Selkendal will ever see 
reason- largely because he can't- and surrender to us. We 
will have to defeat him completely. Destroy him."
    "Yes?" All traces of dreamy lassitude were gone from 
Sinni's eyes. She watched him with a tension that set her 
wings quivering, making it seem as if she were about to 
leap into the air.
    "There is only one way we can do that."
    He wanted her to speak the words aloud, and after a 
moment she obliged him. "You will summon the other armies 
you have scattered throughout this province and the 
others?"
    Grukkar nodded. "The murdering bastard has more forces 
than I originally thought. We still outnumber them, but 
not in any one place. We will all have to be gathered 
together for that.
    "I will send the messages tonight, and tell the armies 
to move toward the northwestern Tableland as fast as they 
possibly can. By the end of the month of Friefkeren, 
twenty million land Elwens should be gathered outside the 
Forest, ready to move in."
    He waited, but she said nothing at first. She gazed 
into the fire, her eyes abstracted, seeing things he did 
not. Grukkar patiently summoned one of the servants who 
always stood in the background with a subtle nod, and 
instructed him mentally to bring food and drink. He wasn't 
willing to disturb his wife's meditations, but he did have 
a dry throat.
    He was about halfway through the bread and cheese, 
plain but highly welcome food, when Sinni spoke again, in 
a half-chant that was almost singing.
    "Twenty million. Twenty. Four hands." Her hand 
twitched as if she were casting some sort of mystic sand 
into the fire, like a shaman at an ancient rite. "Four 
hands are moving, and they will gather here, outside the 
deepest darkness..."
    Grukkar blinked. That sounded like prophecy, but no 
part of the Prophecy of Divirsa that he knew. And 
Sinniltra's future-gift came to her only in dreams, not 
words. He watched intently, not breathing, a forgotten 
square of bread held a few inches from his mouth.
    Sinni paused as if trying to remember something she 
had forgotten. Then the glaze fled her eyes. Her hand 
twitched again, and dropped to her side.
    "I almost had it," she whispered in wistful 
frustration. "I almost heard a voice telling me what was 
going to happen next. But I lost control of it." She 
rubbed a weary hand across her brow.
    Grukkar was by her side at once, tenderly lifting her 
into his arms. He knew, rationally, that it was too early 
for her to feel the effects of her pregnancy, but his 
heart would permit him to take no chances.
    He summoned the servant again and told him to prepare 
warm sheets for the pallet, while he held and murmured to 
his dazed wife. She was still awake and lucid, responding 
to his endearments and reassurances with breathy words, 
but she drifted nearer a kind of feverish slumber every 
moment.
    Grukkar handed her into the pallet the moment the 
servant signaled all was ready, gently splaying her wings 
out to either side. Sinniltra sighed, and her hands 
drifted to her belly in that customary protective gesture. 
By the time she had drawn breath again, she was asleep.
    Grukkar slipped from the tent, instructing two of the 
guards who stood there to go inside and guard her, and 
shaking his head when the rest offered to come with him. 
What he needed to do now was best done in silence, and the 
guards would signal his presence to his adoring followers. 
He needed to be alone.
    It was already dusk, with the stars blinking drowsily 
into existence overhead. A slight breeze sprang up, an 
echo of the light, delicate wind that had been blowing all 
day. It was pleasantly warm, but Grukkar kept his cloak 
wrapped around himself. It would do well to conceal him.
    It was a long walk across a large camp, but at last he 
reached the place where the messenger birds were kept, 
really little more than a tent across the numerous 
perches. The panbirae started making a fuss when he ducked 
through the flap, and the elven keeper, who had been 
playing dice with another of his kind, came to his feet, 
waving a lighted torch.
    "You have no right to come in here like that," he 
declaimed, as loudly and grandly as if he had more of an 
audience than the terrified panbirae, the stranger, and 
his astonished companion. "Who do you think you are? You-"
    Grukkar pulled the muffling cloak away from himself 
just enough to reveal his well-known face and the slender 
Elwen physique made unusually muscular by the more 
physical duties of a master torturer's position.
    The elf blinked, and swallowed. "I'm sorry, my lord," 
he whispered, so softly Grukkar could barely hear him. 
"Please forgive me."
    Grukkar waved that away. So long as the man remembered 
his place, he could afford to let him get away with the 
impertinence.
    If he had been a human, now...
    But he wasn't, and Grukkar was largely neutral towards 
elves. They could love him, fear him, or hate him. Their 
obedience was all he required.
    The land Elwen therefore did not bother to reply to 
the apology beyond his negligent hand-motion, instead 
looking about the tent. The birds- if one could call him 
that- had calmed down now, and were beginning to peek out 
at him from under their wings. A few, more daring, even 
mantled and hissed at him.
    All of them looked to be fast and strong, with the 
traditional conformation of a panbira- a sleek panther's 
head with gleaming green eyes perched atop a golden 
eagle's body. This did not help, he thought wryly. He 
would have to have the handler pick them out for him.
    "Which ones can fly farthest?" he asked the elf, who 
was hovering in the background like a bird himself.
    The handler at once sprang into the duties of his 
position. He went to several perches, snapping something 
sharp in hissing squawks at the messengers who resided 
there. They regarded him with disdain for a moment or two 
before spreading their wings and gliding, ghost-like, from 
the tent into the darkness outside.
    "They will await you there, my lord." The elf somehow 
managed to bow three times in the course of those words, 
and to gave an elaborate trill on the title that was not 
far from the Elwen song-speech other races cannot learn.
    Grukkar nodded indulgently and went outside, touching 
the already-written notes in his pocket. Asking Sinniltra 
had been a mere formality, really, one he perhaps 
shouldn't have taken time for. The sooner he sent these, 
the better.
    The notes were all carefully worded, requesting the 
presence of his battle-leaders without making it seem as 
if he needed them desperately, or could not win the war 
without them. Of all his subordinates, Elwens were the 
most dangerous, and all his battle-leaders were Elwens.
    Ah, well. He had done what seemed best to him. He 
could only wait and hope.
    The panbirae took flight when he came among them, but 
only for a moment. Then they settled on trees or the 
ground again, regarding him intently. Their tail feathers 
quivered like the noses of hounds on a scent, and their 
whiskers twitched. They did not really think of Elwens as 
their masters, but this was what they had been born to do.
    Grukkar held up his arm and whistled softly. The 
biggest launched himself from his branch, almost daintily 
clenching his claws on flesh and muscle. Grukkar winced, 
told himself to be glad the hold wasn't stronger, and 
withdrew a note from his pocket, tying it to the panbira's 
leg with grass string. When he was sure it would stay 
secure, he looked up into the green eyes.
    "Take this to the battle-leader Ksin Falmira," he 
said, slowly and distinctly. Panbirae could find a person 
somehow, magically, through name alone, but one had to be 
utterly certain they understood. "Make sure she knows to 
comes from me and is authentic, but otherwise only give it 
to her, and return immediately."
    The panbira moved for the sky the moment he finished 
speaking, as if it found his voice or his very presence 
offensive. Grukkar shook his head in a resigned way as he 
called another. Panbirae had all the independence and 
pride of the great cats whose blood flowed in their veins 
along with a bird's.
    When the nineteen notes had been dispatched to his 
forces, he stood for a moment inhaling the clean air 
brushed by starlight and then headed back to see if Sinni 
were all right.
    He didn't make it that far, however.
    A figure moved in the shadows to the right, and 
Grukkar started badly before he caught himself. He turned 
at once to face the visitor, inclining his head in the 
greeting used between equals and smoothing the surprise 
from his expression.
    "I am glad you have come."
    Golden eyes studied him as he might have a bug, and 
teeth shone clearly in the starlight. "No, you are not," 
the other, a land Elwen with a bow on his back, said 
softly. "But niceties are not needed between traitors. 
Shall we get down to business?"
    Grukkar just barely kept from wrinkling his nose. He 
did not like being called a traitor. It was the one before 
him who had betrayed the entire land Elwen race, not the 
Councilmaster of Rowan.
    But, as he had said, there was no need for niceties. 
The one before him had been lured back to the fold to 
perform a last, vital service, and after that there would 
be no need for his continued existence. Grukkar had to 
admit he was looking forward to that moment.
    "What news do you have for me?" he asked, arranging 
himself comfortably against the stump of a long-dead tree. 
These conversations took a while.
    Soflam Lafoxbane tilted his head, considering. Grukkar 
studied him covertly while he thought, once again 
wondering how the stealth-walker had gained the ability to 
move so silently and invisibly in the shadows.
    But no answers presented themselves. In the end, 
Grukkar's created traitor was a puzzle, and it would just 
have to stay that way.
    "I must speak quickly," Soflam said at last, when he 
had decided what he wanted to say. "I cannot slip away 
from the others very often, and they will notice if I am 
gone much longer."
    Grukkar concealed his irritation. It had been the 
hunter who had caused the delay, not him. But he needed 
Soflam, and so he replied with exaggerated patience. "I 
understand. Go on."
    The land Elwen glanced over his shoulder, as if he 
thought someone might be sneaking up on them from behind. 
Even when he had made sure there was no one near, he 
leaned close and lowered his voice until it almost mingled 
with the soft, contented song of insects. "I do not know 
for certain what Lord Selkendal is planning, because he 
has shared those plans with no one. But it seems as if he 
will soon be doing something significant."
    Grukkar's blood tingled with excitement. Selkendal was 
backed into a corner, and knew it. Desperate Elwens were 
dangerous, yes, but a large part of that danger came from 
their recklessness, and recklessness could result in 
mistakes. "Yes?" he breathed. "What are the signs?"
    "He is summoning every soldier who has sworn 
allegiance to him to his side, my lord-"
    Grukkar swore a vicious oath, cutting Soflam off 
momentarily. The land Elwen waited patiently while his 
employer went through a brief, dark, brooding moment.
    Everyone had told him Selkendal was a battle-lord, 
possessing an instinctive knowledge of war, but he hadn't 
listened to them. And now, this. It seemed the battle-lord 
had spies of his own in Grukkar's camp, or perhaps simply 
knew and countered every move beforehand.
    Children of opposing destinies, they thought too much 
alike for comfort.
    Ah, well. It was time for a thorough winnowing of his 
own ranks anyway, a purge to determine who would still 
follow him. He would have more soldiers arriving soon, and 
nothing he did now could lessen his people's faith. They 
were only too ready to turn like vicious dogs on any 
traitors.
    He came back from his disgruntled trance, and gave 
Soflam an encouraging nod. But the spy was already 
speaking again; it seemed he really did want to return 
before anyone found out he was gone.
    "He has also ordered the cities of Blackness and 
Deepdark fortified against siege. He seems to think you 
will carry the battle to their walls next."
    "Where did he get this knowledge?" Grukkar demanded.
    Soflam looked at him with a birdlike tilt of his head, 
golden eyes very bright. That gaze shone like unclouded 
sunlight, so much so that it was hard to remember he was 
standing in the presence of a traitor. "Ah. So you are 
tired of fighting in the Forest, as Selkendal surmised?"
    Grukkar ignored the question. He doubted Soflam would 
betray him- the stealth-walker's heart and mind were still 
too firmly with the people of his birth- but one never 
knew. "Why is he doing that?"
    Soflam's hands spread in what looked like a gesture of 
true regret. "My lord, that is one thing he has discussed 
with none of us, unless he whispers it to his lover in the 
privacy of their bed. I have heard nothing, save that he 
has called the soldiers to his side and may be preparing 
to withdraw into the cities..."
    "And?" Grukkar prompted, hearing the rising inflection 
of a hesitation at the end of Soflam's recitation.
    "It is very strange, lord." The land Elwen's face wore 
a troubled, almost reflective look that Grukkar had never 
seen there. "He went up on a hill at dawn this morning, 
and I would swear by the stars that he did nothing more 
than watch the sunrise. But since he came down, he has 
been a changed man, a changed Elwen. It was after that 
that he gave those strange orders, and he seems to be 
preparing himself for a confrontation with you."
    Grukkar shook his head slowly. He and Selkendal had 
faced each other a scant five days before, and as usual, 
nothing had come of the encounter. The magic that would 
not permit him to drive a sword into that one's heart was 
tiresome at times, Grukkar thought.
    He thought, then, of Sinniltra's report of a 
disturbance, and wondered if that could be it.
    But the thought vanished as soon as it had come, 
vaporized in a puff of logic. No choice changed the world 
simply by being made. One had to act on that decision. And 
no decision a doomed Elwen made was worth anything.
    "I will watch for any stirrings in that tangled batch 
of undergrowth they call a Forest," he assured Soflam. "I 
thank you for your help."
    But for the first time, the spy made no bow and 
instant melt into the shadows at his lord's dismissal. 
Indeed, he stood regarding Grukkar with a look that might 
best be described as arrogant. 
    "I would like my payment in a different coin than 
gratitude, if you don't mind," he said at last.
    Grukkar raked him with a scornful gaze from head to 
toe, taking in things both visible and invisible, from the 
tattered state of his clothing to the fact that he now 
spoke the High Tongue with a dark curalli accent. "Where 
has the honor you so prized gone now, Soflam? Will you 
sell it for a few pieces of silver?"
    Soflam smiled- bleakly. There was no other way to 
describe that mild baring of teeth, or the flame that 
sprang up in his eyes from embers Grukkar hadn't known 
were there. "It was never honor that mattered to me, 
Councilmaster of Rowan. It is pride. True pride, something 
you will never know the meaning of."
    "I have given our people back their pride!" Grukkar 
snapped, forgetting himself enough to take a threatening 
step toward this Elwen who was supposed to be tame and 
servile. "I broke them from the choking chains of feigned 
humility, I taught them to go to war again, I told them 
what it meant to be land Elwen, I-"
    Soflam gave his head a short little shake and held up 
a hand. "We wander among unknown stars. I do not want 
money. I want you to answer a question for me."
    Grukkar hesitated. That didn't sound so bad. In fact, 
it sounded like a small price to pay for keeping Soflam on 
his side. Selkendal's bands were so small and fast-moving, 
the Forest so thick, and his one other contact so 
unreliable that he needed and treasured the news Soflam 
brought to him.
    On the other hand, that depended on the question.
    "Ask," he said, folding his arms over his chest and 
assuming the arrogant posture of a great lord thinking 
about granting a boon. "If I do not like the question, I 
will not answer it."
    Soflam ignored that. He folded his own arms and took a 
few paces toward the Forest, and Grukkar began to hope he 
was rethinking this after all.
    But he whirled toward his lord, launching the question 
like a stone from a sling.
    "It is this: When and how do you want the war to end?"
    Grukkar was so surprised at the simplicity and 
harmlessness of the question that he answered without 
deceptive adornment. "I want it to end in a few months at 
the most. And I want it to end with Selkendal either in 
chains or dead, preferably by my hands. My destiny will 
have overpowered his at that point, so it should be easy 
enough to kill him."
    He could see Soflam worrying at the reply like a dog 
nosing at the last strip of meat on a bone. There seemed 
to be some great significance to it that Grukkar had not 
guessed at, and he watched his traitor with growing 
interest.
    Then Soflam's eyes widened, and he burst out laughing. 
He sagged against the trunk of a tree next to him, 
clutching his sides and obviously doing his best not to 
giggle hysterically. After a moment, he straightened and 
looked at Grukkar, face spread into a broad smile.
    "Thank you, my lord," he murmured, with a flawless 
bow. "You have given me what I desired. I shall continue 
to serve you faithfully." 
    He turned, and bounded into the shadows with as much 
grace as a curalli or a deer. They closed behind him like 
the waves over the head of a mermaid.
    Grukkar closed his eyes and listened hard, but could 
detect no trace of the stealth-walker's passage. That 
wasn't what he was listening for, anyway.
    He could almost hear the unspoken words following on 
the heels of Soflam's promise.
    Until the moment I turn on you.
    Grukkar opened his eyes and shook his head. Now he was 
letting the intrigues of war and his distance from Sinni's 
calming presence trick him into delusions. He turned back 
toward his own tent, confident that those words had just 
been the product of his imagination. Soflam would never 
turn on him.
    He didn't have the wit, or the time to live.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Sinni was fully recovered by the time Grukkar came in, 
and sitting up in the heated pallet drinking a cup of 
similarly warmed tea. She did not set the cup down when 
she saw him, but gave him a smile that warmed him as fully 
as a sip of it would.
    "Beloved." She waited for a moment, until the guards 
caught the idea and discreetly withdrew. It was a widely 
known, though little-spoken, fact in the camp that the 
Lady Sinniltra never used the more intimate title of 
"beloved" unless she wished to be alone with her husband.
    Once they were alone, all the languid passion of a 
woman with certain things on her mind dropped from her 
tone, and she looked at him with eyes that were like hands 
reaching into his soul to drag the information forth. "How 
did the meeting go?"
    Grukkar sighed, seating himself on the floor beside 
her and taking the hand she wound up extending to him. The 
fire still blazing in its small, stone-lined hole felt 
better on his bones than he cared to admit. "He was late, 
as usual, and he gave me a lot of incoherent babble that 
may or may not make sense. Apparently, Selkendal is 
planning something major, but he is not letting anyone 
into it, not even the woman who shares his bed."
    Sinniltra's face twisted, her blue eyes widened, and a 
shudder traveled through her body, ending at the tips of 
her wings, where the feathers bobbed and rustled. "I know 
it is necessary," she said in a weak voice, "but could we 
talk about it later?"
    "Of course," Grukkar apologized, squeezing her hand 
and mentally cursing himself. He ought to know better than 
to have brought that subject up, especially since he was 
in full agreement with her. There was a world of 
difference between "lovers"- irresponsible children at 
best- and a husband and wife who worked together to raise 
a family. 
    "At any rate," he continued, "Selkendal has summoned 
his soldiers, is fortifying the curalli cities against 
attack, and seems to be preparing something to use against 
me."
    Sinniltra's eyes grew worried, and she patted his 
hand. "Attempts on your life can be taken care of, my 
dear, but you must be carefully watched, especially since 
I cannot use my magic to kill while I am carrying Della. 
Are you sure it was a good idea not to take your 
bodyguards with you? He could have accompanied Soflam and 
been lurking in the woods."
    "He can't harm me directly," Grukkar gently reminded 
her. She saw Selkendal as the true threat, and rightly so, 
but she sometimes let it blind her to other things. "He 
would have already killed me if he had wanted to, I think. 
No, this sounds more in the way of giving me a message of 
some sort."
    "Yes." Sinniltra withdrew her hand to wrap both arms 
around her legs and stare pensively into the fire. Her 
wings closed about her too. Grukkar envied her those wings 
sometimes, not so much for the gift of flight they gave 
her as for the picture of perfect warmth they presented. 
"He is concealing his plans, but he is showing off some 
aspects of them with great fanfare. I think he wants us to 
notice them, Gru."
    Grukkar snorted and made a rude gesture with one hand. 
"So he can scare us into running off? I wonder if he 
realizes how unlikely that is."
    "I think he realizes it is extremely unlikely," 
Sinniltra said, her voice still soft, her brow still 
furrowed with something that might have been either worry 
for him or simply puzzlement over the fact that she had no 
answers. "There must be some other purpose for it, one I 
don't see... but if I can't see it-"
    She lapsed into silence again, her eyes tracing the 
silken contours of the flames. Grukkar let her do it, 
instead busying himself with cleaning up the mess his food 
crumbs had made earlier and taking one blanket from the 
edge of the pallet to be warmed by gentle emotional magic.
    The silence stretched long, and at last Grukkar turned 
to face his beloved, wanting to break her out of any 
trance like the one that had so weakened her earlier. He 
was just in time to see her smack her knee with the flat 
of her hand, her features wild with indignation and 
frustration.
    "I have to know!" she hissed, and flung back the 
blankets enough to stand.
    Grukkar rushed over to restrain her. "You can't, love. 
You're weak, and if they see you-"
    "I can't stand sitting here like this, helpless!"
    "And the baby?" Grukkar asked quietly. That was the 
only way to bring her back to rationality at times, to 
remind her that her daughter might also be in danger if 
she ventured into it. "Is not the best thing for her to 
sit quietly here?"
    Sinniltra's face contorted for a moment. Then she 
flung her wings and her hair over her shoulders with 
dramatic gestures.
    "It is the night, my time. My star-magic will hide me, 
and it should conceal and content the baby." Again her 
hands wandered to her belly, stroking it with that odd 
mixture of protectiveness and possessiveness. "It's about 
time that she learned what it's like, anyway."
    Grukkar sighed. "Very well. Give me a few moments to 
get ready."
    "What?" She looked at him in something just a little 
short of sheer astonishment.
    "I should go with you, too," he pointed out. "Your 
magic is powerful, but it can't defend you in this 
condition if someone sees you by mischance. My emotional 
magic works anywhere, anytime; all I need to kill is rage. 
And I would certainly have that in plenty if I saw my wife 
and daughter in danger." He smiled, seeing her still look 
doubtful. "Besides, soon it will be dangerous for you to 
fly at all, and before that, risky for you to carry any 
passenger save the one in your womb. I rather enjoy the 
sensation of flying, and would like to experience it one 
last time."
    Sinniltra smiled at him, an expression that warmed the 
whole of her face. "All right," she agreed, and then 
looked impatiently toward the tent flap, her wings 
twitching. "How long will it take you to get ready?"
    In answer, Grukkar stripped off his thin clothes and 
pulled on thicker ones, more suited to the cold air of the 
heights, in a few moments. That done, he stood immobile in 
the center of the tent while his wife jumped upward, her 
wings sweeping powerfully.
    She caught him just under the arms before he knew it, 
and they swooped out into the night, past the stunned 
guards. Grukkar smiled as their shouts faded behind and 
below; he rather suspected Sinni of having done that on 
purpose. She liked to show off, sometimes. It was one of 
the few things that seemed to pierce her mask of 
perfection and make her Elwen.
    It was a good night for flying: cloudless, so that 
neither stars nor more mundane landmarks were hidden, and 
with no very strong wind. Nonetheless, they occasionally 
encountered a gust that felt as if it had come from the 
spirit-void, and Grukkar was glad then of layered, dark 
tunic and leggings.
    He watched the ground fearlessly as they circled, the 
red lights of the camp disappearing into the dark silence 
of the Forest. They were so high that even the soft light 
shed by the auras of existence that every Elwen could see 
did not work correctly, and the Forbge looked more black 
than green. Grukkar smiled contentedly. For once, it 
resembled the hearts of those who lived there.
    They soared for a while, Sinniltra avoiding the bright 
circles of the moons and doing her best to keep her shadow 
from blotting out too many stars. Grukkar used his eyes as 
best he could, trying to locate any trace of many curalli 
somewhere in the tangle of deep undergrowth.
    He succeeded better than he had expected.
    Fire blossomed below him again, but this was no 
natural fire caused by a lightning strike or some such. He 
sniffed delicately, and caught the scent of roasting meat. 
A moment later, his keen eyes managed to pick the thin 
spiral of smoke out from the rest of the darkness.
    "There," he told Sinniltra softly, and pointed 
downwards. She needed only a glance to confirm what he had 
seen, and began a tight, descending spiral, already 
speaking softly in an incomprehensible tongue. Grukkar 
felt the silver blood that ran in his veins tingle. It was 
an intriguing, irritating sensation, but he did not move 
or speak. Sinniltra needed both his blood and the 
starlight to work the spell of concealment.
    Grukkar abruptly felt as if he were looking at the 
world through a filmy curtain, and nodded in relief. He 
had learned to recognize the signs of magical 
invisibility.
    Of course, it wasn't really invisibility, as Sinniltra 
had tried to explain to him. It was a separating of one 
part of the world from another, the part that held them 
from the part that held everyone else...
    But he had gotten a headache when she said that, as he 
did when she tried to explain everything magical, and 
eventually she gave up. So long as it worked, that was all 
he cared about.
    He massaged his temples as she set him down behind a 
tree near the curalli camp, just in case another migraine 
decided to take the opportunity, and then looked 
cautiously out into the light. So long as his wife kept 
one hand resting on his shoulder, he couldn't be seen 
either, but the nearness of those with white blood could 
rupture the spell on occasion.
    He was surprised to discover a scene not much 
different from that taking place in the land Elwen camp, 
though this one was much smaller and had a much smaller 
sampling of different races. Curalli moved about, cooking, 
feeding the fires, spreading bedrolls. They spoke softly 
in their uncouth speech, usually too fast for Grukkar, who 
knew little of the Melli tongue, to follow, and now and 
then laughed at a joke. Those not occupied with domestic 
chores or conversations were eating, or sleeping, or 
examining weapons. They looked like anything but the 
embodiments of pure evil Grukkar knew them to be.
    After a long moment, he silently signaled Sinniltra 
they should move on, and she nodded. From now on, he 
reflected grimly as they stepped through the brush, always 
staying on the right side of the wind, they would have to 
communicate entirely be gesture. Curalli had keener ears 
than his own people; a whisper inaudible to a land Elwen 
might well echo clearly. And they were better at detecting 
the psychic emanations of a telepathic conversation, as 
well.
    Nevertheless, there was one way Grukkar could search 
for his enemy without letting any but that one know. He 
cautiously relaxed his grip on his destiny-magic. It beat 
from him, filling the camp, seeking its dark counterpoint.
    And found nothing.
    Grukkar halted for a moment, blinking, and heard 
Sinniltra hastily stifle the beginnings of a curse when 
she bumped into him. Two curalli looked up briefly at the 
sound, then went back to teasing their companion over how 
badly the rabbit he was cooking was going to taste.
    Grukkar shook his head and swallowed dryly, holding up 
a shaky hand and nodding when Sinni glanced at him in 
concern. That had been close.
    They continued their patrol of the camp, and Grukkar 
was impressed with its size and how well-hidden it was. In 
fact, he was slowly becoming convinced that this was the 
main gathering place of the shadowed ones, at least in 
this part of the Forest.
    So why wasn't Selkendal here?
    He began speaking to Sinniltra, mentally but in swift 
bursts that could be mistaken for ordinary thoughts. ^I 
don't know why, but he's not here. Should we try to find 
him, or should we return to the camp?^
    Sinniltra considered a moment, leaning against him as 
if weary, then responded in the same manner. ^Let's at 
least listen to the conversations of the soldiers. We 
might be able to pick up something important.^
    Grukkar nodded, and they dropped to their heels in a 
patch of brush where they had a fairly good view of three 
soldiers, all female, holding a heated argument.
    "And I say we'll win!" The speaker was a tall, dark- 
haired woman, who spoke as if she were not used to being 
contradicted and was finding this experience frustrating. 
Her hand rested menacingly on the hilt of a heavy belt 
knife already. "I say that Lord Selkendal is gathering 
everyone because he plans to sweep down on that spider's 
foul troops and crush them once and for all!"
    "You're mad, Torren," said the second in a short, 
sharp voice that much echoed her figure. "He means to 
retreat to the cities, which are strong enough to 
withstand any siege-"
    "They aren't!"
    "They will be, by the time we've finished." The third 
soldier joined in for the first time, her gray eyes chill 
as she smiled. "He's been fortifying them, as good as if 
he'd been there himself. They'll stand up to any engines 
the land Elwens can throw at them."
    For a moment, Torren glared at the allied pair; then 
the gray-eyed one switched sides. "But I must say I agree 
with Torren, Ilbiala. Lord Selkendal has had enough of 
running and hiding. He was chased by the spider's 
starhounds all the way to Deathwater, after all. This 
time, we'll face them down."
    Torren gave her an approving glance, and now they 
stood shoulder-to-should against Ilbiala, awaiting her 
reply. Grukkar did as well, hoping to find out something 
more about what had happened at Deathwater. He would 
dearly love to know.
    Ilbiala gave the both of them a deep pitying look. 
"You're both too emotional, Torren, Zabria. You think the 
Lord Selkendal is like the spider, a simple lunatic who is 
dangerous but easy to understand?"
    Carefully, Grukkar restrained himself, telling himself 
they hadn't come here to commit murder. What the idiot was 
saying could be of importance.
    "You are wrong, if you do," Ilbiala continued, seeing 
that neither of her abashed opponents was prepared to 
answer. "He is a battle-lord, the like of which Arcadia 
has not seen in a thousand centuries. His plans are subtle 
beyond our ability to understand." Her eyes shone when she 
said that, but not with the almost religious fervor 
Grukkar was able to inspire in his people- with a softer, 
gentler love, a wondering awe. "He keeps them to himself 
for a very good reason. The spider has ears in his camp. 
If they hear his plans, all will be lost."
    "What does this have to do with whether or not we will 
fight in a siege?" Torren challenged at last, recalling 
her original argument.
    "Just this: Never assume you know what he is doing, 
lest he do something completely different and make you 
look like a fool." Ilbiala turned on her heel and made a 
dignified exit before the hot-headed Torren could get in 
another last word.
    Her words could have been a warning to Grukkar rather 
than a means of quelling hotheads. He considered them 
soberly, not paying any attention to Torren's and Zabria'a 
desultory further ponderings on the matter. Was it 
possible that Selkendal was playing him for a fool, doing 
something completely different from what Grukkar thought 
he was doing?
    But that was so unlikely. He had given the orders to 
ready the cities and call back the armies, orders too 
great and far-reaching for this to be all an elaborate 
game.
    Sinniltra interrupted his thoughts with a quick, soft 
hiss of excited breath. "My love! I think I hear the 
murdering bastard's voice! Over there!"
    She was pointing into the Forest, away from the camp. 
Grukkar could hear nothing, but he slipped after her 
without hesitation. Her senses were heightened while she 
was using magic, and it was quite possible that she would 
detect something he had missed.
    Besides, Torren and Zabria were shooting curious looks 
at those bushes, and it might be best to leave the area as 
soon as possible.
    The darkness deepened around them as they moved into 
the Forest, the clear beams of starlight fading to little 
more than sparks in the rare clear glimpses of ebony sky. 
Grukkar listened, still, and finally heard the murmuring 
rise and fall of voices perhaps five feet away. He froze 
and listened harder.
    "I can't tell you." That was Selkendal's voice, 
carrying a harsh, desperate edge. Grukkar would have 
recognized it anywhere, though he could not understand why 
there was no corresponding sense of destiny-magic. Had he 
used it all up rescuing the humans and retrieving that 
damn scroll from the Council of Arcadia's stronghold?
    "I have to know." That was a voice he also knew- Ti, 
Selkendal's lover, who had had the gall to sneak into 
Rowan on a spy mission and join the Council guard. "I have 
the feeling that this means something for the whole world, 
Selkendal, not just us." A pause, and her voice softened. 
"Tell me now."
    "I can't."
    In the silence that followed, Grukkar shifted his 
head, and two aura-outlined figures sprang suddenly into 
view. Tiela stood with her arms folded, glaring at the 
second curalli, who had his back turned to her. She was a 
lovely woman, or would have been, but she had been 
corrupted beyond redemption by her innate evil.
    The other made Grukkar want to go for his knife, even 
though he knew it wouldn't do any good. White hair spilled 
over his shoulders, shimmering in the starshine that was 
slightly stronger here. Deep green eyes were narrowed in 
an expression between consternation and remorse.
    At last, Selkendal Shadowgift turned back to face 
Tiela. "I would tell you if I could, Ti," he said, and his 
voice held a mockery of tenderness that puzzled Grukkar 
because it seemed so real. How could he fake strong 
emotions like love? "But telling you would compel you to 
inform others, and from there-" He shook his head. "I 
cannot say what the end result would be."
    Ti's arms dropped to her sides, and she raked one hand 
through her braids, setting them dancing. "If I cannot 
appeal to you that way, I will appeal to you through our 
love. I love you, and that means I worry about you. You 
haven't been right since you came down from that hill. 
What happened up there?"
    Yes, what? Grukkar thought eagerly. What foul weapon 
did you create?
    "Nothing 'happened,'" Selkendal said, with a trace of 
the temper that people feared him for. "I told you: I made 
a decision. You can see the reflection of that decision in 
the orders I gave."
    Grukkar let out a disappointed breath. The curalli's 
stubborn determination to not share what he had decided 
even with his beloved appeared to be firm.
    Ti seemed less inclined to accept it philosophically. 
She took a step forward, put her hands on his shoulders, 
and stared into his eyes. He looked back, his own eyes 
wide and mild, but walls of green ice for all that, not 
yielding to the intense indigo lightning she trained on 
him.
    "What was that decision?"
    Selkendal's hands went to her wrists, but he did not 
try to step away from her touch. Instead, he maintained 
the stare, and repeated firmly, "I will not tell you."
    Tiela laughed suddenly, and stepped away from him. He 
watched her, a bit warily.
    "Yes, you will," she purred at him, as confident of 
her victory as if she held a signed confession in her 
hands. "There are certain moments when you will forget to 
guard yourself, and then I will know. I can afford to be 
patient, Selkendal, because you cannot hold out forever."
    Selkendal flushed, much as Grukkar was doing. But the 
curalli found speech, where the land Elwen was struck 
speechless. Apparently he was accustomed to speaking about 
these outrageous matters openly.
    "How likely that is remains to be seen, my lady."
    "So formal, my lord?" She dipped her head and 
fluttered her lashes in a grotesque parody of maidenhood 
that almost made Grukkar want to retch. "When was there 
last formality between us?"
    Selkendal chuckled, a deep, rich sound, and stepped 
forward to take her in his arms. She tilted her head up in 
anticipation of his kiss.
    Grukkar saw his chance. He tested the area one more 
time for traces of destiny-magic, found none, and stood up 
with a knife from his boot in his hands.
    Now, while they were distracted.
    The blade flew toward Selkendal with a whistling 
sound. Grukkar fully expected to see it clang off the 
invisible shield around him and deflect into Tiela.
    Instead, it sank hilt-deep into his right shoulder, 
although only the thump and his stagger were immediate 
responses. The surprise on his face swiftly translated 
into a grimace of agony, and he bent over, clutching at 
the embedded weapon, not making a sound aloud.
    Tiela, on the other hand, cried out. It was a sound of 
rage and startlement more than pain. Her eyes traced the 
blade's path back, alighted on Grukkar's face, and flamed 
into pure murder.
    Sinniltra soared out of the brush then, twirling. 
Starfire spread out from her in shining streamers, turning 
the night into a blue-white lightning show. The fire 
formed a solid wall between Grukkar and Ti, preventing her 
from attacking him.
    And preventing Selkendal as well.
    And Selkendal's protection was gone.
    Exulting, Grukkar drew on his hated for his foe and 
called fire to hand. He stepped out of the brush, lifting 
his hand, holding it poised to throw...
    And saw Selkendal's eyes fixed on him. Something in 
those eyes was compelling, and he hesitated.
    The curalli shook his head. There was nothing of pain 
in his face any more, only urgency. He shook his head yet 
again when he was sure he had Grukkar's attention, and 
mouthed, "Not yet."
    The land Elwen sighed, and dropped his arm. Much as he 
disliked it, something in the privacy of his heart told 
him Selkendal was right. Now was not the time for either 
of them to die- not now, not in a meaningless skirmish for 
from any battlefield.
    Tiela, however, still rushed the Councilmaster of 
Rowan with manic determination- at least until Selkendal 
reached out with his good arm and held her close. Grukkar 
did not know if the male curalli were really so much 
stronger than his beloved, but she subsided, alternating 
between looking at Selkendal with concern in her eyes and 
glaring at Grukkar with hatred.
    And then Sinni's hands caught him up suddenly, and 
they were flying for the stars. Grukkar saw the starfire 
wall flicker and fade, saw Selkendal and Tiela melt away 
from those who came to look.
    No one thought to look up, and even if they had, it 
would only be to cast curses at the fleeing star Elwen.  
They were all intent on finding their lord, as intent as 
he was on not wanting to be found.
    Grukkar flung his head back to look up at the distant 
gleam of silver, brighter here and there where the moons 
or Shadeemira's companion planets shone. The wind moving 
through his hair, though they were going at a fast pace, 
was no wilder than his exultation.
    Selkendal could be hurt! And by his own hand!
----------------------------------------------------------
    Grukkar had barely awakened when he heard someone 
bellowing his name. Considering that this might have been 
what had awakened him in the first place, he went outside 
to see what all the fuss was about.
    It was one of his guards, now unable to shout anything 
because he was standing there with his mouth hanging open. 
Grukkar followed his gaze to the northwest, frowning.
    The next moment, his mouth was hanging open as well. 
Along with every other person in the camp who was out of 
his tent and at least marginally awake, he could hear and 
see the figure who stood on a small rise above the trees. 
It would be hard not to; the rising sun seemed to reflect 
from him with a light brilliant, almost blinding, in its 
intensity.
    Grukkar knew who it was. His destiny-magic roused 
about him, snarling in hatred. He fought it down. Their 
confrontation would simply have to wait.
    Selkendal waited, wrapped in light and implacable 
silence. Then he began to speak, magic carrying a voice 
that was not thunderous and yet somehow making it audible 
throughout the camp.
    "I have come to give to you, and to your lord and 
leader, a message." Though by no means could he see it, 
Grukkar felt the killer's green eyes move to him, and was 
more than a little shaken by the waves of emotion he 
sensed coming from the owner of those eyes. A sorrow, deep 
and terrible. And, overlaying it, a determination heavy as 
a dozen lead weights.
    "You have burned and destroyed the Forest." It had the 
sound of a ritual, one of the old sets of words used to 
invoke the goddess Suulta or challenge someone to a duel. 
"You have sent my people fleeing from their homes. You 
have sought to tighten your grasp on lands that were never 
yours.
    "I have come to tell you that my people are tired of 
running. We were never meant for that. We will now stand 
and fight."
    If Selkendal meant this pronouncement to frighten his 
enemies, it did not work out as he had expected. Cheers 
burst from the gathered mass of land Elwens, and some even 
gathered into rings and began dancing merrily.
    "Thank you for giving us this chance!" one brave woman 
called to Selkendal. "We will fight and die for our lord, 
and make him proud of us! You foul ones will not win."
    Grukkar caught her eye and smiled at her, already so 
proud he could feel his heart straining at the limits of 
its pounding. The woman almost swooned, and at last joined 
one of the dancing groups, her face caught in a smile of 
purest bliss.
    Sinniltra had appeared beside him, eyes ready and 
alert. He nodded to her, holding out his hand, and she 
made a small cut in his wrist with a silver knife she 
carried with her always. His blood pooled into her hands, 
and she bowed her head in concentration. A moment later, 
she nodded back. The spell that would amplify his voice 
and enable him to shout back his reply was complete.
    "She is right, Selkendal." All the singing and dancing 
lapsed into reverent silence as the Rowanians paused to 
listen to the voice of their lord. "We will never 
surrender, and you will never win."
    That massed cheer rose again. It seemed to be greater 
than the sum of its parts, many though those were.
    Grukkar let the relentless love in that cheer pour 
over him. He could not be wrong, not when so many here 
believed in him. He basked in that realization, that 
buoying conviction, for a moment, and went on with his 
speech.
    "Do you think that evil's shadow can overcome the 
good's light? Do you think that evil can ever possess the 
world and offer it the serenity and peace that good does? 
Do you think that we will ever bow our necks to you?
    "Not as long as Rowan stands, Selkendal. The mother of 
the Tableland will not be a tame ox for your plow. She 
leads the dance, now, and by the end you will wish you had 
listened to her tune."
    Everyone about him was nodding, and their comfortable 
solidarity reached for him, made him a part of it. Grukkar 
ended his speech and nodded to Sinni, letting her release 
the magic. He need say no more. He had said all he could, 
all that needed to be said, refuting Selkendal's evil with 
arguments so timeless that the curalli could only gnash 
his teeth and creep back to his dark lair.
    But when the land Elwen opened his eyes from his 
pleasant daydream, it was to see the distant figure still 
standing there. He sniffed in scorn. Didn't the curalli 
know when he was beaten?
    Then Selkendal spoke, his voice soft still, and yet 
heard. Now grief and iron will had become so much 
intermingled that Grukkar could not tell where one began 
and another ended.
    "You do not understand, Grukkar. You do not 
understand, and never will. My people were never meant to 
run, and that means here we will make our stand."
    He lifted a face that Grukkar was somehow sure was 
ravaged by tears, though he still could not see through 
the damnable light. "It means that you will bleed rivers 
for every inch of ground gained. It means that for every 
tree burned, you will see a hundred wounds fester. It 
means that your soldiers will burn in pyres so bright they 
will rival the very stars above.
    "Come into the Forest, Grukkar, and you come to death. 
He need not hunt you. He need only sit here and await you.
    "You have never known what the full fury of the 
curalli means, Grukkar, because you have never thought of 
us as a united people, but rather a collection of 
squabbling power-brokers. But they are loyal to me, now. 
And as I will fight to the death, so will they.
    "Do you want total war, Grukkar?" There was no 
hardness in the voice now, only a strange gentleness. "If 
you do not, take this chance I offer you. Go home. As you 
say, Rowan awaits your coming."
    His voice turned cold again, holding the jagged edges 
of diamonds, of sharp stone. "She will stand empty all the 
rest of her days if you come any further into the Forest."
    His people looked from that distant, glowing figure to 
him, stunned, silent. Grukkar desperately, futilely, tried 
to work his mouth around a protest. There had to be words 
to counter that pronouncement of doom, he screamed to the 
silent stars. There had to.
    But they did not answer him, and the Army of Rowan's 
doubt grew with every passing moment. Selkendal merely 
waited, poised above the camp like some distant god.
    Then the clear, shrill note of a trumpet shattered the 
air. It came from the battle-horns of Rowan, a sound 
filled with as much joy as sternness, with the 
incomparable burning of battle-light.
    Grukkar turned with a shout, already knowing what he 
would see. One of the other armies must have completed 
their duties early and were already on the move toward him 
when they received his message. They had marched quickly, 
and were now arriving at exactly the right moment.
    The snapping banners stretched out to their full 
length, almost as if his yell had been a command of some 
kind. They showed the simple, spreading blue rowan tree 
that Ksin Falmira of the Fourth had taken as her insignia. 
With her came some of the best fighters and mages in 
Rowan. Grukkar couldn't have asked for a better omen.
    Now his people were speaking again, and now the words 
on their lips were ones of hope. Now they clasped hands 
and laughed again, and a few braver ones began the victory 
dances. In moments, it was as if none of Selkendal's 
ominous words had ever been spoken. The people of Rowan 
had recovered their courage.
    Grukkar turned back toward the hill with a sneer he 
was somehow certain Selkendal would see. But that wasn't 
the best thing he could do to mock him.
    "Four hands they move, across the green land," he 
shouted, Sinni having restored the spell at a gesture from 
him. Not all the blood had yet dripped to the ground. "My 
armies come, Selkendal, in all their glory. The twenty, 
the four hands. They will mean your doom."
    "The land will not be green when you are done with 
it." But Selkendal spoke as does one who knows his 
audience is lost. "You will rip and trample the grass into 
mud, and stain the mud with the blood of innocents."
    Grukkar slowly shook his head. "I will make this world 
a paradise," he said, shouting to be heard over his 
people's ecstatic sounds of celebration. "And the only 
ones who will have no place in that paradise are those 
like you. I will eliminate you, so that the rest of 
Arcadia will live in peace and safety."
    Selkendal sounded sad. "There will be neither so long 
as you exist, Grukkar."
    The taunt stung the land Elwen more than he had 
expected. Gritting his teeth, he threw back, "And you 
think you are the epitome of love and perfection? You, who 
would destroy the world if you could?"
    For a moment, all movement on the hill stopped, and 
Grukkar dared to hope he had similarly touched his enemy 
to the quick. But Selkendal shook his head, the crown of 
(magical) light he wore swaying.
    "You do not understand, Grukkar," he said softly. 
"Better to destroy the world than to see it fall into the 
hands of a monster like you."
    By now the Rowanians were paying attention to the 
conversation again, and they began throwing hisses and 
taunts of their own Selkendal's way. He endured it all, as 
Grukkar had once endured slung garbage and stones in Rowan 
when he was loathed as master torturer, his eyes not once 
moving from his enemy's face.
    Grukkar sneered openly. This was his hour of triumph. 
His armies marched into view, his people gathered around 
him, and a doomed enemy wanted to do battle. What more 
could he possibly ask for?
    "That is because you are destiny's slave, Selkendal. 
She doesn't even protect you anymore."
    The curalli laughed.
    The sound was fierce, feral, ringing out over the camp 
and stilling the merriment a second time. Apprehensive 
faces lifted toward the hill.
    "You have chosen the war?" Selkendal asked.
    "I have," Grukkar answered- a bit tremulously.
    Selkendal laughed again. "Welcome to my world, then!"
    And in a blaze of light, he vanished.




                        Chapter 2
                    The Gift Of Shadow
    "Telai nlira cinila nashora raumeu tan tapuess eja 
caon mar liana." (Think twice always when you meet an 
enemy on his own ground).
    -Curalli Proverb.

    Selkendal sighed as he slid at last down to the foot 
of his hill. Damn, but making that speech had drained him. 
And exerting his failing destiny-magic to cause the burst 
of light had been dazzling, but exhausting. He was not 
even sure if the effect on viewers had been as he planned.
    He rubbed his shoulder, as it began to pain him again, 
and grimaced. Though Grukkar's blade had not been poisoned 
or smeared with a disease concoction- the man simply did 
not have the instincts of a curalli- it had hurt enough to 
warrant a healer's attention.
    More than that, though, had been the shock. Selkendal 
had assumed without even realizing it that his destiny- 
magic would protect him. That it had not...
    He paused, and, once again, felt tentatively around 
the limits of what power remained to him. He shook his 
head grimly when the investigation was finished. He had 
some left, yes, but it fluctuated and foamed nervously, a 
horse stamping at the end of a frayed lead rope. He was no 
longer sure he could command it.
    "Trouble?" Ti asked, materializing out of a shadow and 
looking at his face. She almost never listened to his 
answers to such routine questions, instead thinking she 
could find all she needed to know in his eyes.
    She was probably right, Selkendal thought as he 
answered. "No, not really. I think I made an impression on 
them, but it was somewhat ruined by the arrival of another 
army. At the end, though-"
    He didn't even get to tell her about his light show. 
Her eyes darkened, and she stared at him in concern. 
"Another army? Is he gathering his forces together, just 
as you are?"
    Selkendal shrugged. "I suppose he must be."
    Tiela blinked, then nodded her thanks as he held a 
branch aside for her. Her eyes stayed where they had been, 
though. "You don't sound very concerned."
    Selkendal smiled. It was a weary grin, but the best 
one he could give. "I think I have anticipated him on this 
one. So long as I keep spies near the camp, and have jayi 
fly over it, I will know when his troops arrive. But mine 
will be moving through the Forest. He will never be sure 
how many have joined me."
    Tiela considered it, slowly, her mind running over it 
for flaws the way her fingers would test a diamond. "I 
see," she said at last. "That is clever." Then she cast 
him a sharp glance. "Not that I want you to get a swollen 
head about it, but it is."
    "Yes, dear," Selkendal said with mock meekness, and 
then grinned fiercely. "By the time this war's over, I'm 
going to make Grukkar wish he'd never even heard of the 
word battle-lord."
    Perishoon stepped out of the trees before Ti could 
frame a retort. As always, he bowed his head to Selkendal, 
a bare acknowledgment of his leader's existence but more 
than he gave anyone else. "Lord, Zejiandra says she must 
talk with you. She reports a- problem- with Duana. 
Something seems to be frightening her."
    "Stars curse it," Selkendal muttered, and sped up his 
steps. Ti and Perishoon both followed, the mercenary 
keeping a relaxed but ready grip on his sword, Ti making 
sure she could string her bow quickly. The proud, 
emotional leader of the mages had grown entirely 
unreasonable before.
    Selkendal supposed that, given the increased danger 
without the protection of his destiny-magic and his 
position as battle-lord, he should have let someone else 
go. But Duana was the best illusionist the army had, and 
Zejiandra was likely to take any substitute as an insult.
    They found the two female mages facing each other 
across a space less than two feet wide, but more than far 
enough to hurl small fireballs, lightning bolts, and other 
devastating attacks. Their faces were still and cool, and 
their postures mimicked each other exactly: hands on hips, 
legs half-folded in the closest a non-fighter ever came to 
the battle-crouch. A tight ring of curalli already 
enclosed them. The clinking of coin changing hands and the 
soft murmur of urgent bets could be heard. 
    Selkendal shook his head as he began to push through 
those on the outer skirts, who were craning their necks 
and loudly complaining that they couldn't see. His people 
lived so closely with death every day that they saw an 
individualized duel, where you actually had the chance to 
enjoy the death, as entertainment.
    Some turned on him with scowls of miraculous quickness 
that just as miraculously melted away when they recognized 
him. Hastily bowed heads and warning whispers followed 
him. The betting diminished, but did not stop. That would 
be too much to ask, Selkendal thought as he stepped into 
the center of the circle, now visible to both women.
    "Excuse me, ladies." He spoke the courteous title 
without a hint of ironic inflection. They mustn't know 
that he thought this whole thing as ridiculous as a 
child's game. Most struggles for power were. "I was 
informed that the Lady Zejiandra needed to see me."
    Zejiandra stood straight, as if embarrassed, shaking 
back her long silver hair and opening her mouth to speak. 
But Duana got there first. She had remained in the battle- 
position, her hazel eyes flashing hatred, and her words 
spurted out from between her tightly gritted teeth like 
blood from a wound.
    "She wants me to work with the assassin Lenollrosta, 
to cast an illusion over him that he might sneak into 
Grukkar's camp and kill some of his prominent cohorts, 
perhaps even the spider himself." The young woman clenched 
her fists, and Selkendal could practically hear her 
fragile self-control cracking and straining. "I will not 
do it."
    Selkendal hesitated for a moment. He could not very 
well rebuke Zejiandra for not telling him of this, as was 
his first impulse. The minor leaders in his army were free 
to make their own decisions. They had to be, or else the 
battle-lord's mind would be entirely taken up with 
planning the smaller strategies instead of the larger, or 
fighting.
    And yet, there was more involved in this situation 
than the mage-leader could understand. Duana had fallen 
sick during a battle of wizard's blight, a usually fatal 
magical disease, caused in this case by Grukkar's bitch, 
Sinniltra. Selkendal, to heal her, had given her a small 
part of his destiny. She had later told him that the 
destiny had warned her against going near Lenollrosta. He 
would do something to hurt her if she did.
    Selkendal's eyes narrowed as he saw the track to take. 
But he still would not prefer to take sides if he did not 
have to, so he turned and nodded courteously to Zejiandra.
    "And your side of this story, my lady?"
    A proud chin lifted; golden eyes flashed. "There is 
little more than this spoiled brat has already told you. 
The facts in this case are clear, Selkendal. I am the 
leader of the mages. I commanded her to do something that 
will benefit our cause enormously. She has no right to 
refuse, unless she wishes to be branded a traitor!"
    Selkendal shook his head. "She has her reasons for 
keeping away from him, Zejiandra." His dropping of her 
title was deliberate. "I would prefer not to get too 
deeply involved in this. Is there someone else you can 
assign to him, who-"
    "No! She's the best illusionist here- and she is under 
my command! She will do as I tell her!"
    Selkendal quietly contained the rising white heat of 
his rage and continued to try to persuade her. "There are 
other illusionists, Zejiandra. Not quite as good, but the 
disguise doesn't have to be perfect. Starhell, I've seen 
Len kill." He could not quite keep the uneasiness out of 
his voice at this point. "He could probably walk in there 
without a disguise, and-"
    "Selkendal," Zejiandra spat, "this is my domain, the 
domain of mages, and you couldn't possibly understand. 
Will you depart now, and let me handle this as I see fit?"
    That stilled the betting for a moment, as people 
simply stared at the magewoman. Selkendal smiled calmly, 
and the clinking of coins began again. All the soldiers 
who had sworn loyalty to him knew what it meant when their 
lord did that.
    "You seem to have forgotten that it was you who 
invited me here, mistress." He paused, both to allow her 
to realize her danger and to let the title he had used, 
highly sarcastic, sink in. Then he closed the final trap 
he had been waiting for her to maneuver herself into. "You 
have also forgotten that I command this army, and I have 
final say over all controversial decisions."
    Somebody behind him lost control at last and 
snickered, but it did nothing to break the spell. The 
mage-leader blinked, slowly returning to Arcadia from 
whatever impassioned realm she had transported herself to. 
Her face did not quite wash of color, but she stared up at 
him with eyes that were suddenly pleading.
    "Lord Selkendal, I did not mean to offend you."
    Selkendal watched her coolly, taking no enjoyment in 
this exercise of his power but not flinching from it 
either. If he did not use it, there were too many others 
willing to take it away from him, and they might use it 
for far worse purposes.
    His silence lured her into full public confession and 
repentance. It was a lesson Selkendal had learned, one he 
had become very good at. Let them damn themselves.
    "I admit that I did assign Duana to Lenollrosta for 
selfish reasons." She cast a guilty glance at the young 
mage, who stood now with arms folded and a bright, 
vindicated look in her eyes. "I thought it would be a good 
idea for the assassin to enter camp, and have a disguise 
so that those who might recognize him would-"
    Selkendal raised a brow. The mage hastily swallowed 
her digressing words and made a placating gesture.
    "Of course, of course. Those reasons don't matter. I 
would ordinarily have done it myself, but I-" Here she 
hesitated, giving Selkendal another pleading look. He 
could smell her shame and fear of saying the words.
    Tiela touched his arm gently, and words flowed into 
his mind. ^Let her go, love. To push her any further is 
cruel. You've made your point, and I doubt any will defy 
you this way again.^
    Selkendal did not answer, and felt her retreat an 
instant later from his mind in stunned horror. Well she 
should, he thought. It was not the mind of the man she 
knew, but the mind of a gang leader. He was consciously 
falling back on the lessons he had to learn, the streets 
he had to run, ever since the day he was seven, when his 
parents had died.
    And a gang leader let no defiance remain behind him.
    Zejiandra lowered her head at last and spoke the 
words. "I was afraid to go near the assassin."
    Hisses and boos broke from the audience that was by 
now uncomfortably large. The curalli trusted their 
leaders, but part of that trust was the implicit agreement 
that no leader would ever force his or her soldiers to do 
something he or she wouldn't do.
    The disapproval of her peers, the mistrust now flowing 
in the air, destroyed Zejiandra more thoroughly than any 
scolding by Selkendal could have done. She hung her head, 
biting her lip, cheeks now white with shame.
    Selkendal looked over at Duana, who was staring at him 
in a kind of fascinated terror. "Is this all you wanted, 
Lady Duana? To not have to work with the assassin 
Lenollrosta? Or were there more complaints you wished to 
lodge against Lady Zejiandra?"
    He felt, more than saw, the lady in question flinch. 
The courteous title was now sarcastic, even though he did 
not say it so.
    Duana clasped her hands behind her back and shook her 
head quickly, looking very much like a little girl. 
Selkendal studied her a moment, then dipped his head and 
turned away, calling instructions back over his shoulder.
    "The idea of an illusion-disguise is a good one, but 
ask Len first. And see if you can find anyone who is 
willing to work with him. It won't be easy."
    A few weak chuckles answered him, but most were still 
staring in awe at Zejiandra. Five minutes, and Selkendal 
had knocked her authority from her. One misstep, and she 
was no longer the hunter.
    She was prey.
    Perishoon faded away as soon as the duel was out of 
sight, going to attend to his own matters. Ti, however, 
increased the pace of her steps and caught up to the 
battle-lord, catching and holding his arm until he turned 
to face her.
    "Why?" she asked bluntly. "You had her defeated. You 
could have spared her and perhaps won respect for your 
mercy and increased your people's trust in you."
    "It is the perhaps that is the reason why I did not do 
it, Ti," Selkendal said gently. Yes, he could afford 
gentleness now, as the need for a streetrunner mindset and 
worldview faded. "It might not have worked. Most likely, 
it would not have. Our people have fought almost every day 
of their lives, most of them, simply to go on living. They 
respect strength. They despise weakness."
    "You might have made mercy and gentleness appear a 
strength. They trust you so much-"
    Selkendal reached out and caught her shoulder, staring 
hard into her eyes. He had to be sure she understood, not 
least because of her power to persuade him otherwise. He 
had never meant anyone else who wielded that kind of power 
over him.
    "They have placed trust in me," he told her softly, 
"and I have led them into total war. That is what I have 
promised Grukkar, Tiela. Total war. Did you not hear me? 
They will lose a hundred lives for every pace they gain 
into our Forest-"
    "Yes, you need not repeat it." But the anger was gone 
from her voice and eyes now, leaving only puzzlement. She 
shook her head slowly, her eyes locked on him.
    "Why?" she asked, again, but this time with a more 
insistent tone behind the word. "It has something to do 
with some decision you've made, some course of action 
you've decided upon. What is that course of action?"
    By the time she reached the end of that little speech, 
she had formed her hand into a loose fist and reached up 
to touch his cheek with the back of her knuckles. It was a 
forest curalli gesture of affection she often used. 
Selkendal closed his eyes, knowing he should move away, 
but unable to make himself do it.
    "I swear by the stars, if you wish, that it will go no 
further than me," Tiela whispered.
    "That is- not something I can give you." Selkendal 
struggled to step away and open his eyes, and at last 
managed to do so. "It is not that I don't trust you, Ti. 
But if I told you the truth, everything you believe would 
compel you to stop me."
    She stared at him very hard. "What you intend to do- 
is wrong?"
    Selkendal moved swiftly to counteract the incredulity 
and growing doubt in her expression. "Perhaps. It may be 
that every Elwen in the world thinks it is wrong except 
me. But that does not lessen the necessity of what I have 
to do."
    Tiela threw her hands in the air and stormed in a 
circle. "Of course not," she fumed. "Of course not. You 
need not do anything that is approved of by the mass of 
Elwenkind in general! Just be yourself! Just be Selkendal 
Shadowgift!" By the end of that, she was shouting.
    "Thank you for the invitation." He bowed to her. "I 
think I will."
    She stood there, staring at him, with her jaw hanging 
open.
    Selkendal nodded. "If you like, I will tell you the 
reasons behind it, though not the actual choice I made. My 
fatal weakness is my love for our people. Grukkar is 
trying to destroy us because we do not fit in his vision 
of the way the world should be. I will do anything that I 
can to save our people."
    Tiela shook her head again. "That doesn't sound 
evil..." she whispered, her brow furrowed as she tried to 
sort through it.
    "I do not think it is. But the course of actions I 
must follow if our people are to be safe will seem evil to 
everyone else. Grukkar is our major menace at the moment. 
I have to find a way to kill him."
    The words echoed in the silence that followed. Tiela 
spread her hands. "That sounds simple enough. You may not 
be able to strike again him directly, but you have 
assassins that could-"
    Selkendal shook his head. "Not while he has Sinniltra 
by his side. As long as she lives, as well, I could never 
be sure that he is dead. I have to be sure."
    "So kill her, too. If Len goes to the camp, he could 
kill both of them. He certainly has no reason to love 
Grukkar, or the star-bitch, and-"
    "Len will not hurt Grukkar."
    "And how do you know that?"
    Selkendal shrugged. "Another Elwen's secrets are not 
mine to tell."
    Ti stamped a foot, then put on a sweetly reasonable 
smile and shifted the direction of her attack. "All right, 
then. Send in another assassin. You have enough money, 
certainly, to hire one. You have been paying the 
mercenaries all this time-"
    "I have not. They stay with me now out of loyalty, or 
because of the thrill of vengeance, or because of 
Perishoon's example." He looked off into the trees where 
his bodyguard had gone. "If he can believe in me, anyone 
can."
    He looked back to see his beloved scowling, obviously 
trying to find another objection. Smiling softly, he 
commented, "Strange that you would fight something so 
ferociously when you don't even know what it is."
    "I see its reflection in your eyes, and that 
reflection is distorted," she said. "If it can be 
distorted in the mirrors of your eyes, it can be twisted 
even further. That's all I need to know, Selkendal."
    He recoiled backwards with a brief, shocked motion of 
his hands. "Don't tell me you're actually waxing poetic on 
me!"
    "Selk!" The use of his nickname, and the brief rise in 
her voice, showed how exasperated she was. A moment later, 
she was back to her usual method of scolding- voice calm 
and level, with only eyes showing any hint of her true 
emotions. "You are evading the subject. Why are you so 
determined to get rid of Grukkar in this horrible way, 
whatever it is?"
    "It is the only way to stop him. And he must be 
stopped."
    "You sound now as if you believe in destiny. Or fate. 
Is the Prophecy, broken though it is, still compelling you 
to confront and defeat Grukkar?"
    Selkendal shook his head briskly. "It's nothing like 
that. How many times must I explain it? He will hunt our 
people as long as he lives, and no one, not even the most 
sadistic streetrunner, should have to live in fear always. 
Therefore, I will kill him."
    "How?"
    He almost told her before he caught himself. His 
resolve still needed working on, he thought as he said, 
softly, "No."
    "You are impossible!"
    It was a harsh cry, and in the next instant she was 
gone, springing from his side as if he had whipped her. He 
raised a hand to her fleeing back, then dropped it. He was 
in the wrong this time. He had exasperated, and perhaps 
hurt, her beyond all reason.
    But then, he thought as he turned to seek out his 
battle-leaders, she had mostly had her way with him. He 
had fallen in love with her, he had done many things that 
he never would have done if not for her, he had gone into 
the realms of the mind to search for her. She had grown to 
take her ability to persuade him for granted. Perhaps it 
was a good thing for her to run into a solid sivleth wall.
    "My lord?" The voice was intensely respectful- an odd 
thing, for Selkendal recognized it, and the speaker did 
not trust him, much less respect him. "I have something I 
must tell you."
    Selkendal looked up sharply, his mind brought back 
from the mist of conflicting thoughts by the clear 
present. Soflam Lafoxbane stood there, patient as a 
statue, his golden eyes bright with some emotion akin to 
satisfaction.
    "Yes, Soflam, what is it?" Selkendal kept his voice 
impersonal. It was best. Theirs was a mutually profitable 
arrangement, but not at all a loyal one. Selkendal had 
long ago accepted the fact that Soflam might betray him if 
he saw a better chance for gaining revenge on the great 
traitor, Grukkar.
    "You are alone?" Soflam glanced about once, then 
returned his gaze to the curalli and spoke without even 
waiting for a reply. "Yes, I thought so. The matter I need 
to speak with you about is private."
    Selkendal snorted, seeing something pleading in the 
eyes of the land Elwen, as he had seen it in Tiela's. "Do 
not look to me for moral comfort. I am a bit confused 
myself right now."
    "No. I have already decided what I must do." Head 
uplifted, eyes extending an invitation that Selkendal 
could either take or leave, he looked prouder than the 
battle-lord had ever known him- and Soflam was notorious 
among his adopted people for his almost savage pride. "I 
merely wanted to talk to you about it."
    Intrigued, Selkendal motioned him closer.
----------------------------------------------------------
    By the time Soflam left, Selkendal's entire mood had 
improved. His face wore a small, smug smile, and he was 
whistling softly.
    Well, well. Who would have ever guessed that the 
desire for vengeance in an Elwen could be controlled and 
tamed, made to work through subterfuge instead of 
directly? Most Elwens were uncompromisingly direct about 
it; they harried the offender to the pyre, and watched him 
burn with the greatest of satisfactions.
    On the other hand, death was a fleeting pain compared 
to the original. Most avengers realized that a little too 
late, with their enemies now dancing among the stars, out 
of their reach.
    But Soflam's revenge was smooth, perfect, clever. The 
pain it would do to Grukkar was beyond calculation.
