Spring In Time
                         Prologue
           1,999,999, Age of Life, Late Winter
    A soft knock at the door made Maruss Freewind start 
from sleep. Before he was even fully awake, he had clapped 
one hand to the hilt of his sentient knife, Starsheen, and 
rolled to face the portal.
    ^If it had been an assassin,^ a dry telepathic voice 
remarked in his head, ^you would likely be dead by now.^
    ^Don't you ever let up?^ the shadowed Elwen asked the 
knife irritably as he stood, relaxed, and made his way 
toward the door.
    Starsheen didn't justify the question with an answer; 
it was a rather silly one, Maruss had to admit. He swung 
the door slowly open, half-braced despite himself for an 
attack, even though he recognized his visitor's scent.
    Filaria had been standing there with her face 
downcast, but now she lifted it. The curalli felt his 
violet eyes widen at the sight of her pale gaze. Once 
those eyes had been a fierce, bright green; once the red 
hair tumbling over her shoulders had flamed against 
flawless white skin. In fact, it had been a difference of 
only about a week.
    But now, the wind Elwen had lost the land Elwen she 
had been in love with, Jesartlu Durillo, and her whole 
appearance had dulled. Her hair, now a dull rust color, 
was greasy and tangled, uncombed, and beginning to smell 
slightly of dirt. Her skin was no longer smooth and 
perfectly white, but off-white, lined with premature 
wrinkles; even her rust-colored tunic and leggings, 
impeccable before now, were torn and stained. Worst of 
all- Maruss hissed slightly in concern and stood aside to 
let her enter the room. All the others might have been 
normal signs of a fit of grief, but the wind Elwen's great 
wings were covered with broken and tangled feathers, 
matted with dirt, and crawling with small red mites. When 
a rheeth paid no attention to that part of his or her 
appearance, he or she was on the verge of suicide.
    Filaria shuffled in with slow and dragging steps, and 
Maruss could only imagine how long it must have taken her 
to walk here. He took his seat, regarding her with a 
sympathetic eye, and gestured toward a small chair before 
a desk. The rheeth took it, wings shuddering, with a 
mumbled thanks. She had barely sat down before she 
exploded into a flurry of tears.
    Maruss, astonished, rose swiftly to his feet. "I'll go 
for a healer at once-"
    "No!" Filaria gasped, lifting her face. Her long, 
slender fingers swiftly rubbed away the moisture, though 
more kept coming, and the corners of her eyes were 
inexorably reddening. "I- I'm not hurt in any way those 
daywolves, with all their medicines and poultices, could 
heal." She bowed her head, hair hiding her face, voice 
very low. "You know how I am hurt; you are hurt the same 
way."
    Maruss nodded slowly, silently, the pain he had 
thought scabbed over aching afresh. Jesartlu had been 
among his dearest friends- in fact, his bodyguard. The 
curalli had at first thought the land Elwen's death would 
embitter him, but he had survived the blow, if a little 
wiser than before.
    What was happening to Filaria was worse than turning 
cynical. She was gradually withdrawing from the world into 
a shell of despair; soon she would be all but catatonic, 
no longer caring about life. And then, one morning, her 
spirit would travel to the stars, and no one would know it 
until her body burst into flames.
    Maruss would have liked to help, but he didn't see how 
he could. Filaria had made it abundantly clear that she 
didn't want a healer's help; she had not even attended the 
meeting at which he had told the other Annihilators Jes 
was dead. She had known when she saw Maruss return without 
him, and had fled to grieve in private. The curalli made 
his voice as gentle as he could. "Filaria, what do you 
want me to tell you? Do you want to die?" He hated being 
so callous, but pity would not save her life. Sarcasm 
might.
    "No!" The rheeth gasped denial, raising one slender 
hand decorated with broken nails and small bleeding 
scratches. "The healers have already tried all that 
kindness business, Maruss." Her voice altered from its 
broken sobbing, becoming inexpressibly bitter. "I know you 
are a spiritgiver. Give me some of the strength of your 
spirit." It was a demand, not a request. "I have to go on 
living. I know I have to. It was what Jesartlu would have 
wanted me to do." Despite herself, her voice shook 
uncontrollably, and she buried her head in her hands.
    Compassion softening his face, Maruss nodded. He stood 
and extended his hands, saying gently, "Grip these." She 
reached out and held desperately. Fighting to speak 
through the pain of the grasp, Maruss ground out, "Close 
your eyes and think of Jesartlu. Spiritgiving is easier if 
I know which wound to heal."
    Filaria willingly slammed her eyes shut. Ignoring the 
scalding feel of her silver blood on his equally silver 
skin, Maruss half-closed his own and drew on the reserves 
of his spirit- a warm, golden, living strength. When he 
felt it tingling under his skin, his head almost spinning 
with that rush of life-force, he opened a channel between 
Filaria's spirit and his own, giving his strength to her, 
taking her pain into him.
    He bit his lip to keep from screaming aloud. The wind 
Elwen flung back her head, weeping soundlessly now, her 
face twisting in paroxysms of grief as the hurtful 
emotions flooded to the surface and passed into the 
shadowed Elwen, who was having a difficult time holding 
them.
    Grief, despair, terror of both death and remaining 
alive. Guilt that she hadn't noticed Jes was gone until 
too late. Panic, the frantic searching for Maruss in the 
mountains, sure that where she found him Jes would be 
also. The exhaustion of being at last forced to return to 
Coroncheer. A cold ball of dread growing in her stomach, 
exploding when she saw Maruss riding back on the silver 
unicorn Jierran, Starsheen at his side and his unconscious 
foster brother Phaedon cradled in his arms- but no 
Jesartlu.
    Maruss, if he hadn't learned to control such things, 
might have grabbed Starsheen and slit his wrists. But he 
did know how to control it, and he continued, healing the 
spiritual and mental wound, tugging Filaria back from 
increasingly darker contemplations of her own death. At 
last his hands fell, nerveless, from her grasp, and he 
sagged weakly backwards onto the floor. He managed to 
force his eyelids open only with the greatest of efforts.
    The deep greenness of Filaria's eyes had returned. Her 
red hair again had a special luster to it, and the look of 
soul-stricken shock and denying grief on her face had 
retreated. Sorrow remained, but a sorrow that had sculpted 
her face in poignant, gentle lines, making her look older 
and infinitely wiser. She extended a hand to help him up 
and he gratefully accepted it, noting with secret pride 
that she seemed much stronger than before. No matter how 
many times he healed, he still felt satisfaction each time 
it was accomplished.
    The satisfaction was overwhelmed almost at once by a 
tide of weariness. He would need a long rest before he was 
up to doing anything else. Filaria lifted him with only a 
little effort- he was slight- and slung him over his bed. 
She touched his hand respectfully, thankfully. "Sleep 
well, Lord Maruss," she said softly, and was gone from the 
room. The curalli never even heard the door click shut; he 
was already bundled deep into a coma-like sleep.
    When he awoke, he knew that at least several hours had 
passed; he had lain in the same position, and his muscles 
were cramped. He staggered to his feet and massaged his 
muscles, yawning, feeling enormous hunger overcome his 
objections to movement. He started for the door.
    Starsheen's taut voice stopped him. ^Think about it, 
Maruss. Your hair is tangled, you have dark circles under 
your eyes, you haven't bathed in two days, and-^
    Maruss snorted good-naturedly. "Starsheen, no one's 
going to care. They're used to seeing me like this. 
They're not going to think a silver unicorn has descended 
on them. Besides, they have enough to do with the 
preparations for Greensong-"
    ^Speaking of which, that's where you're going to 
announce your plans, isn't it?^ the knife asked in a tone 
of complete innocence. ^You have to have their confidence 
to do it, don't you? And if you think you'll win it by 
running around looking like you just woke up-^
    "I did just wake up," Maruss objected.
    There was an ominous pause; the knife had never had 
much use for truth in the middle of a lecture. He growled, 
then snapped out the next words one by one. ^Get- cleaned- 
you- fool.^
    The curalli sighed and good-naturedly went to find a 
comb. It was no little unnerving to hear Starsheen speak 
like that; his voice had sounded exactly like Maruss's on 
the rare occasions when the curalli lost his temper. Not 
surprising, since the blade's crafter, his foster sister 
Elenyi, had infused Starsheen with some of his essence. 
Still, it could be annoying at times, convincing Maruss to 
agree to things he might not have agreed to otherwise.
    Yet, he admitted morosely to himself with a guilty 
glance at the map on the table, this time he's right. I do 
need their confidence, especially after that escape I 
pulled, if they'll ever let me go to the Barren Desert.
    He swallowed the lump in his throat; he had refused to 
accept the guilt he sometimes felt for Jes's death. 
Granted, if he had not escaped the custody of his people, 
the bodyguard would not have come after him and died. But 
that would have meant leaving Phaedon and Starsheen to be 
tortured by Destria, ruler of the powerful Silver Unicorn 
Empire.
    He finally found the comb and ran it, in irritation, a 
few times through his indigo hair until he looked, as 
Starsheen scoffed, presentable. Dropping the instrument as 
if it were a hot poker, he straightened some wrinkles in 
his clothing, stifled a yawn, and headed downstairs, 
ignoring the knife's further protests. He needed to eat, 
and anyway the washing rooms were on the lower levels too.
    He walked down a short stone corridor, passed through 
a door, and emerged onto a huge, round platform, encircled 
by doors and slightly sloping walls. A twirling stair led 
downward, and he took the steps two at a time, though he 
resisted the impulse to slide down the bannister. He might 
meet one or two Annihilators on the way.
    Coroncheer was a huge hollow mountain, dug out by 
underground Elwens and composed of stairs and platforms on 
which the rooms rested. There were also lifts for the 
four-legged Annihilators who found it difficult to 
negotiate the steps. Hearing the creaking of a cage above 
him, Maruss looked up and grinned. A unicorn lounged in 
it, wearing a furtive look of enjoyment. Despite their 
complaints, he suspected they preferred the lifts.
    The white horned beast, seeing him, swiftly stood and 
stared into the distance, struggling to assume a stoic 
expression. Maruss only laughed and continued his journey 
downwards. His people treated him with a mix of casual 
friendliness and deferential awe, and it was hard to tell 
what emotion was uppermost in them. Hard for them, Maruss 
thought sourly, his grin fading, to decide how to treat 
the leader of the Annihilators, the rebel band formed to 
obliterate the Empire.
    Consequently, he was in a black mood by the time he 
reached the lowest level, where the largest ice cellars 
were. Still, he kept his face calm and exchanged friendly 
nods with Elwens, elves, Cats, and unicorns who passed 
him. He tried to ignore the muttering and the reverent or 
sympathetic stares that followed him, but it wasn't easy. 
His skin prickled, and his misery deepened. It was 
imperative that he travel to the Desert- but would they 
let him?
    He found a cellar and pulled open the door, 
luxuriating in the blast of cold that came from the ice 
provided by the ice Elwens before choosing something to 
eat. He eventually selected a strip of frozen goat meat 
and a glassfruit, one of the rich, tangy fruits whose 
natural protection of glass had only been strengthened by 
its long storage.
    Sitting on a bench formed by an outjutting piece of 
the mountain, he ate and brooded, though he enjoyed the 
exercise the jerky gave his teeth. If he told them why he 
needed to go to the Desert, they would panic. If he 
didn't, they would refuse to let him go. What to do? 
Should he go at all? They needed him here. This was not 
conceit, but simple fact. He led the Annihilators. There 
were others they would trust in his place, but he had no 
right to run off and abandon his duties.
    "Lord Maruss!" The voice was ringing, formal, laden 
with solemn expectancy. Maruss hid his sigh in the 
glassfruit. He recognized it, as he could recognize any 
Annihilator by voice, sight, footstep, or breathing 
pattern, and though it belonged to one of his dearest 
friends, he didn't want to talk to Aeren at this moment.
    The dawn Elwen halted before him, snapping a salute 
and silently handing him a piece of hide. Maruss didn't 
even need to glance at it; he knew what it was, and the 
smell of fresh goldu only confirmed his suspicion. The 
golden flower-ink was regularly used by only one group 
within the Annihilators. "What is it this time, Aeren?" 
Maruss asked wearily.
    The blond dawn Elwen's silver-gold eyes were as fierce 
as the day Maruss had rescued him from silverini slavery. 
"My lord, the unTouched are at it again, stirring up 
trouble." He pointed a shaking finger at the piece of 
hide. "On that petition you'll find the signatures of 
sixty Touched. Unless we get some consideration, we will 
ask for our own separate place within Coroncheer." He 
added in a friendlier tone, "I can't see why you're so 
unsympathetic to us, Maruss. After all, you can astrally 
project; you're powerfully Touched yourself."
    The curalli unfolded the petition and nodded gloomily. 
Yes, Aeren had persuaded nearly every Annihilator with 
unusual mental powers to sign this.
    Frustration surged up in him. Yet another problem to 
deal with! Would he ever get to the Desert?
    He forced down his anger and smiled at Aeren. "Let me 
tell you again why I need to maintain a neutral position."




                        Chapter 1
                   As In Ancient Times
           1,999,999, Age of Life, Early Spring
    The talking, laughing, and clinking of glasses nearly 
overwhelmed the shrill yelling of cheerful children, the 
bell-like sounds of unicorn hooves, and the occasional 
voice raised in drunken song.
    Maruss looked around with a satisfied smile. Despite 
his fears, the Greensong Festival- celebrating the color 
change of the sky from winter white to spring green- had 
gone off without a hitch.
    The Chapel Chamber, Coroncheer's huge worship room, 
was decorated with everything that had the slightest 
connection to spring. Peach and grape Elwens had grown 
trees and vines in solid stone, and now both boughs and 
vines trembled and drooped, heavy to the point of snapping 
with ripe fruit. The air was perfumed as if the 
Annihilators stood in the center of a garden; for once, 
mages who usually used offensive magicks against the 
silverini had taken the harmless course of providing the 
scents of wildflowers. Apple trees added their fragrance 
as well, courtesy of Maruss's foster brother Geruth, a 
master of illusion magic. The usually gray stone walls and 
their holy decorations had disappeared under a riot of 
green, both real and imaginary.
    Snow and ice Elwens had willingly provided a slight 
storm that was melted away by two sun Elwens, and now 
young elves and Elwens were chasing each other through the 
puddles left, throwing slushy snowballs and shrieking at 
the tops of their lungs- in general, having the time of 
their lives. Their parents and other adults stood pursuing 
more grown pursuits- drinking, chatting, singing- but 
privately Maruss thought the children were having more 
fun. There were times he would have given anything to be 
that age again; though still young by the standards of a 
race that lived ten thousand years, he was too old for 
such play.
    And he could use play.
    He sighed, then started as a glass of a mild liquor 
called honeyberry nearly hit him in the head. He glanced 
around in irritation until his eyes lighted on the 
throwers, then nodded in understanding. Two white 
unicorns, one still with a glass perched somehow on his 
horn, were leaning against each other, obviously 
intoxicated as they mouthed the words of some drinking 
lay. Only a treat to Elwens, honeyberry went straight to a 
unicorn's head. 
    He gingerly plucked the cup from its precarious perch 
and set it on the tray of a passing servitor; it was 
untouched. The waiter, an Elwen, seemed annoyed until he 
saw the unicorns, then made an exasperated little sound 
and nodded in understanding, gliding swiftly away. Maruss 
steadied the equines a bit, made sure they were firmly 
leaning against each other, then moved away.
    Dozens of trays passed him in the course of a few 
minutes, yet he was not hungry or thirsty. He concentrated 
on listening to and watching those around him, an old 
habit.
    "Well," an elf was saying in a gossipy tone to one of 
the sun Elwens who had melted the snow, "I think this is 
impious, personally." She gazed around with such an 
affronted look that Maruss stifled his chuckle; such a 
sound would certainly bring him unwelcome attention. Elves 
were, in general, very religious. "It covers up all the 
decorations- and look at that peach tree growing on 
Chilune's altar! Talk about impudent! The zolonora who put 
it there must not have completely recovered from silverini 
slavery. I think we ought to tear it down."
    Privately Maruss thought that Chilune, as Goddess of 
Mischief, might enjoy such a prank. The hemelian the 
elfmaid was talking to seemed to think the same; he wore a 
long-suffering expression and was constantly lifting a 
hand as if to prevent his companion from lunging forward 
in her passion. The elf was now denouncing the grapevines 
growing merrily on the altar of Sarastaa, Lord of the 
Dawn. The curalli shook his head and continued to glide 
through the small chattering groups, his ears picking up 
nearly every bit of stray conversation.
    "I heard Destria was crushed by the death of his 
granddaughter and won't come after us any more..."
    "I heard he's willing to negotiate a peace treaty..."
    "Isn't this impious?"
    "I think it's rather fun, actually."
    "You're young, Timon."
    "My dear lady, I am a worshiper of Jvevanni, and I can 
assure you that the Lady of Life and Death is in full 
agreement with this celebration..."
    "Isn't that dress the most awful shade of pink?"
    "I wonder if they really did things like this in the 
old days."
    "Not exactly like this, you fool. The races were 
enemies then..."
    "I wonder if that purple-eyed unicorn can be trusted. 
They say, you know, that Lord Maruss favors him simply 
because they both have violet eyes."
    "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard..."
    Maruss grinned to himself, grateful for that support. 
Having found nothing disturbing in the western side of the 
room- though the rumors about Destria weren't true- he 
moved to the eastern.
    "Gloria has got to change that dress. The pink doesn't 
flatter her, not at all..."
    "Here comes that unicorn. I want to ask him a 
question. Oh, good, he's blindfolded." A nervous giggle 
that could have come only from the throat of a white 
unicorn- a drunk, female white unicorn. "I don't think I 
could face him otherwise." The voice dropped to a whisper 
that could be heard two hundred feet away. "He's handsome, 
isn't he?"
    Maruss grinned, seeing a shining silver horn poking up 
above the crowd, and moved to rescue his friend from his 
admirers. Heading off a young white unicorn mare whose 
breath was laden with honeyberry, he draped an arm 
comfortably around Jierran's neck. The mare snuffled in 
disappointment, bowed stiffly to him, and turned away. 
Maruss spoke to Jierran out of the side of his mouth. 
    "Don't look now, but you're becoming popular."
    Jierran turned his head, lips curving in the silverini 
equivalent of a smile. "I heard her. I could have dealt 
with her, perhaps, but I prefer not to. Thank you, my 
friend." The young silverini uttered a long-suffering 
sigh, and Maruss was willing to bet his violet eyes behind 
the blindfold were fluttering in mock impatience. "It is 
such a burden to be fascinating. But then, I'm sure you 
know all about that."
    "Oh, don't start that." Keeping light hold of the 
silver unicorn's mane, Maruss guided him in the direction 
of one of the long tables laden with food. "Are you 
hungry? Have you eaten?"
    Jierran shook his long horn. "No, I haven't. Thank you 
for mentioning it. I smell salad nearby." He sniffed, 
loudly licking his lips. "If I might-?"
    Maruss nodded and reached for one of the glass bowls 
crafted by freed slaves who were non-Annihilators. Their 
rebellion had freed nearly a hundred thousand people, but 
few chose the difficult, dangerous life of a strike-and- 
run fighter. They were more than happy to provide goods to 
those whose reputation protected them.
    The curalli, as he spooned fresh green leaves and 
blades of grass into the dish, surreptitiously studied 
Jierran. The silverini stood placidly, his lion-tipped 
tail swishing against his hind ankles, his ears swiveling 
to catch every slight sound and his nose twitching. Forced 
to wear a blindfold because of the dangerous gaze of his 
kind- a gaze that ripped apart the will and had allowed 
the silverini to subjugate nearly every other race on the 
continent- he had learned to use his other senses. And he 
might have stayed safely in the Empire, among his immortal 
kind, assured of a place of honor.
    For Jierran was Destria's son. Filled with a horrible 
loathing for his father, he had torn the bonds the Emperor 
had subjected every other silverini to and come to the 
Annihilators. He willingly accepted the mistrust he 
engendered for freedom and the few friendships he had 
found. Maruss was proud to call the unicorn comrade, and 
his acceptance had ensured the others reluctantly allowed 
the unicorn to stay- and also made sure Maruss had a 
friend to confide in who wouldn't tell someone else the 
curalli's secrets in fear for his safety.
    Now the silverini gave him a knowing look through te 
blindfold, not immediately touching the bowl of greenery 
Maruss placed beneath his muzzle. "Are you going to tell 
them soon?" he asked in a whisper.
    Maruss sucked in a deep breath, feeling Starsheen 
vibrate comfortingly in his sheath. He nodded and let the 
breath out. Jierran nodded in return and bowed his head to 
the bowl, tearing at grass and leaves with every evidence 
of enjoyment. Maruss shook his head and began to walk 
along the table, searching for something else to eat.
    The great tables were loaded with the product of a 
week's labors in the kitchens of Coroncheer. Even the 
worst cooks had helped- resulting in a few sloppy-looking 
concoctions. But for the most part, the feast was 
flawless.
    Pies of every imaginable kind- blueberry, peach, 
apple, grape, cherry, strawberry, venison, goat, gamebird, 
fish, and even a few imaginative tries such as cheese or 
snow- caused this end of the tables to literally groan 
under their weight. Not far from these treats, as if the 
cooks had feared everyone would be too stuffed to walk 
across the room for healthy food, were great wheels of 
cheese and six-foot-long loaves of bread only pulled from 
the giant ovens a few hours ago. Maruss tore off a chunk, 
spread it with a delicious-smelling peach preserve he 
found not too far away, cut a piece of cheese, slapped it 
on top of both of them, and walked away idly munching. He 
liked it, and didn't care that his friends and foster 
siblings thought of him as strange for doing so.
    The curalli was concentrating on the food, and didn't 
look up until he nearly ran into someone. The other cried 
out too late, and their heads banged together, forcing 
Maruss's face down. He came up brushing off cheese and 
jelly and looking ruefully at the remains of his half- 
sandwich. His eyes brightened when he saw the other, 
however.
    "Phaedon!" he greeted his foster brother 
enthusiastically. "I didn't know the healers had 
pronounced you fit to get out of bed yet."
    His foster brother's quick smile flashed, not lighting 
the always-reserved silver eyes. "They didn't," the other 
curalli informed him blandly, "but I could hardly miss 
this celebration. The laughter, the- musical 
entertainment." He glanced at two singing unicorns with an 
uplifted brow. "The food," he finished delicately, eyes on 
Maruss's face, left eyebrow lifting to join the right.
    "An accident," said Maruss with as much dignity as he 
could muster, considering that jelly was gummed in his 
eyebrows, turning them from their usual indigo to a soft 
gold-brown. He picked at them unsuccessfully, ignoring his 
foster brother's amusement and giving him a concerned 
look. "You seemed horrible when we- got back," he said 
with difficulty. "Are you sure-"
    "More shock than anything else," Phae interrupted him 
in a coolly brisk tone. "I had been tortured, and I hate 
spiders, and the release of giant ones hardly did much to 
improve my condition." His face softened and he laid a 
hand on his foster brother's arm in a gentle touch that 
was rare for him, a hardened warrior. "It was far harder 
on you. I realize that."
    "Thank you." Maruss pronounced the words carefully, 
trying not to let the thickness in his throat catch up 
with him. "Jesartlu Durillo was something- special. He'll 
be missed."
    "He will," Phaedon agreed blandly, and started away. 
"If you'll excuse me, I think I see Elenyi over there. I 
haven't properly greeted her since my return, and I'm most 
anxious to question her about this magnificent Wolf-home 
she's established." He seemed anxious to get away.
    Maruss's eyes narrowed suspiciously; a tiny breeze had 
brought the smell of steel to him through the cloying 
scent of the peach preserve. He now noticed a slight lump 
under one fold of Phaedon's loose tunic. He brushed the 
cloth aside, revealing a dagger strapped to the curalli's 
waist. A moment only he stared at it, then lifted his eyes 
to his brother's accusingly.
    The other shadowed Elwen shrugged defensively. "What 
can I say, Maruss? There's always a chance. And you can 
hardly expect me to go unarmed. Besides, if you'll forgive 
me for saying so, you're minus a bodyguard at the moment. 
Will taking me on really be such a problem?"
    "I assume the incident at Pinil has cleared you of 
glory-hunger?"
    Phae shuddered very slightly. "You could say that. I 
wouldn't ask you to accept a bodyguard who dashes 
recklessly into danger, intent on winning glory and power 
for himself, and leaves his charge in danger. I'll leave 
the glory-winning to- others."
    Maruss darted a swift look at Phae. The glittering 
silver eyes that held his were blank, coldly polite. The 
indigo-haired curalli forced down his suspicions. Once, 
his foster brother had hated him because Maruss, according 
to some silly song, was the one chosen by fate to defeat 
the unicorns. Phaedon, out of hunger to be needed, had 
opposed Maruss in every way possible. But they owed each 
other their lives now, and were bonded by the shared agony 
of Jesartlu's death. Surely their rivalry was at an end.
    Maruss turned away without speaking and glided toward 
the doors of the Chapel, aware of Phaedon following at a 
discreet distance. This time, neither curalli passed 
unnoticed. Some fell back before Maruss, stifling sounds 
that could have been either reverent murmurs or chuckles; 
those that did not see the Annihilator leader strayed 
nervously away from Phaedon. He was regarded in the same 
light as Jierran: a necessary evil, but one with which a 
person had to be on his or her guard, and one which it was 
best to avoid.
    The violet-eyed curalli exited the Chapel, walked 
across the platform, and ducked swiftly into a washing 
room. Phae waited politely outside as his brother used a 
waiting basin of water to scrub the cheese and preserve 
off his face. That done, Maruss raised his head and stared 
at himself critically in the mirror.
    He looked as he had for the past six months, though no 
longer like the young innocent who had lived with the 
underground Elwens in a dell apart from the Empire and 
never had a care in the world. Then, he had never known 
loss. Now he had seen Jesartlu die, his foster mother 
Maana die, and others. The lines of three white scars 
showed pale against his temple. The only grace, he 
supposed with a droll smile, was that he hadn't managed to 
get his face completely torn off.
    Limping slightly, a bad ankle abruptly paining him, he 
moved out of the washing room and back to join the 
celebration, Phaedon following at his heels. The shadowed 
Elwen ground his teeth and did his best to ignore his 
brother. Jesartlu had at least kept a distance and hadn't 
been so obvious about it.
    He cut off that line of thought as he reentered the 
Chapel and moved to greet his sister, Elenyi, who stood by 
the tables chatting earnestly with the Elwen she loved, 
Terling. The wolf Elwens broke off as he came up, and Elen 
bestowed a dazzling smile on him. She was beautiful, with 
deep night-blue skin, blue-silver hair, and gold-green 
diamond-shaped eyes. She stretched her arms wide in a 
spontaneous hug.
    Maruss bowed from the waist instead, looking up 
gleefully to see her flush silver with embarrassment. "My 
Lord and Lady," he said with lightly mocking gallantry. 
Elenyi and Terling had been elected Queen and King of the 
respective Wolf-homes they had founded, though no Elwen 
liked monarchy and it drove his sister mad to be reminded 
of her office. Terling merely grinned.
    "It's no joke being King of Terling now, I can tell 
you that," he said with false exasperation. He looked as 
if he had been molded out of pure silver, his skin, eyes, 
and hair all the same dazzling color. His eyes glowed more 
brightly now, with mischief. "Every time I turn around, 
there's someone bowing. I once made a half-hour long 
speech trying to convince them they didn't need to bow, 
and they listened in polite silence. Then, when I looked 
up, I realized they'd had their faces on the ground all 
the way through it." He shook his head and sighed sadly. 
"I don't know what to do."
    Maruss chuckled, finally hugging his blushing sister. 
She pushed him swiftly away, obviously searching for some 
suitable insult to get back at him. Before she could 
retort, Phaedon stepped around Maruss and bowed to her as 
well, his face solemn.
    The wolkani's hand shot out and slapped Phae across 
the face; then she whirled and stalked away. Startled, the 
shadowed Elwen put up a hand to the white blood trickling 
through the hole her claw-like nails had torn. "I didn't 
mean-" he began.
    Terling favored the curalli with a look of contempt 
and followed his beloved, calling softly to her. Phae's 
features twisted in outrage, and shards of wounded pride 
glimmered like broken glass in his eyes. "How can he?" he 
growled ominously. "I didn't do anything to hurt him. 
Perhaps I ought to call out challenge-" His hand strayed 
toward his hidden dagger. Maruss swiftly seized it.
    "No," he said, in a firm voice that reluctantly 
compelled his brother to look at him. The violet-eyed 
curalli fought to keep his fear hidden; Phae might well 
attack if he sensed it, like a wild animal, but Maruss 
wanted no fighting tonight. Phae was the best fighter in 
Coroncheer now that Jesartlu was gone, and could easily 
defeat Terling. "I'll have no blood spilled in this Chapel 
unless it's a sacrifice to the gods," he said softly, eyes 
blazing and fastened to his brother's face, "and none 
tonight."
    Reluctantly, Phae ducked his head, pulled free, and 
stalked off muttering. Maruss hesitated, caught between 
the temptation to go after him and make sure there wasn't 
any trouble, and the urge to return to the tables and make 
himself another sandwich.
    The choice was taken from him when arms closed around 
him from behind and a kiss was firmly planted on the back 
of his neck. Laughing, he turned, brushing the clawed 
hands away and beaming at Myyti. "I was wondering when you 
would drag yourself from your hole," he teased, his smile 
flashing. The Elwen he loved had always been a heavy 
sleeper and preferred the privacy of a dark cave apart 
from most rooms in Coroncheer.
    The underground Elwen merely shrugged. If Terling had 
been a silver statue, she might well have been an emerald 
one to accompany it. Neat green curls tumbled down onto 
green skin, past flashing eyes the color of springtime 
leaves. She had actually worn a dress, Maruss saw with 
amusement, a jade-green gown, instead of the usual gray 
tunic and leggings her people wore, crafted out of spun 
stone. "I probably woke up earlier than you did," she 
replied, lifting one hand decorated with digging claws and 
touching his cheek. Her other, he saw with curiosity, was 
behind her back. "It took me hours to find out where you 
had hidden this." 
    Her other hand produced a stone harp, a delicately 
molded thing, its strings formed of flexible rubies and 
sapphires. Maruss's smile died at once; he lowered his 
eyes to the ground, and even the noise of the festival 
seemed muted, though that was only in comparison to 
Myyti's voice, both sad and strident.
    "Denying that Mother's dead won't bring her back, 
Maruss. And you're a bard; you get so few chances to play 
these days. Why not take this one?"
    "What would I sing?" Maruss asked helplessly. "I've 
come across no songs relating to spring in the books, and 
written none. And- that." He looked at the harp with 
distaste mingled with longing. It was beautiful, but he 
could never play it as it deserved, without sadness. 
    "It doesn't have to be a spring song," Myyti told him 
in an exasperated tone. "If we're truly celebrating as 
they did in the days before the Empire, then you can sing 
a song of the ancient times." Her green eyes seemed to 
pierce him. "I know you've written one of those."
    "Yes, but-" Maruss cut off as she shoved the harp into 
his hands and propelled him toward the altar of Chilune 
with a push.
    "Everybody's been saying all evening long we ought to 
have entertainment," Myyti said out of the side of her 
mouth, "but everyone else who can reasonably sing is drunk 
and can't reasonably sing. If they see you getting up 
there with a harp, they'll know, and they'll support you. 
You can sing whatever you like."
    Nervously, hesitant, Maruss ran a hand over the harp. 
The strings quivered, the music lovely but slightly out of 
tune. He grimaced fastidiously and moved to tune it, then 
paused again. "Old habits die hard," he said with a hollow 
laugh, attempting to press the harp back into Myyti's 
hands.
    She promptly shoved it back into his. "Sing whatever 
you like," she commanded in a tone of steel, eyes on him. 
"But sing." Abruptly she smiled, the steel gone, and 
dropped her eyes demurely, for all the world like a coy, 
empty-headed maiden. "Sing- for me?"
    Caught off guard by the change, Maruss could only nod. 
And by that time people had noticed he was carrying a harp 
and were beginning to shout for entertainment. 
Reluctantly, he mounted the broad steps of the dais that 
was Chilune's altar and turned to face the crowd.
    Eyes blurry with drink peered up at him, and thick 
voices named old favorites. As they were mostly drinking 
songs, however, and had been repeated dozens of times 
about the room, he smiled and shook his head, trying to 
disguise the nervousness he felt by tuning the instrument. 
As he was doing so, it came to him in a flash that this 
could be a good thing after all, and he looked up with his 
grin broadening. 
    If he pleased them well enough, it would be an 
excellent time to talk about going to the Barren Desert.
    In a good humor now, he played several scales to 
limber his fingers, crooning beneath his breath to sweeten 
his voice. His mind ranged through the various songs he 
had written, recalling the words and tunes. He could play 
a true song from the ancient days, but feared he wouldn't 
do it justice, out-of-practice as he was.
    At last he decided on one of his own as suitable, and 
launched into a trembling, lone opening chord. Those 
nearest fell silent, faces tilting up eagerly.
    Conversation gradually ceased as his music flowed 
across the room, the melody of a song he had named simply, 
"Song of Amburn," describing one of the strangest legends 
of Arcadia.

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

"Rare beyond question, the mingling of amber
 So jewel-like, and auburn like pale flame.
 Amburn it is called, and the people with its eyes
 Are different from others, never totally the same.

"Awe goes with the color, and people so born
 Have no idea how much they are respected.
 But then, there is fear also, and people of amburn
 May never be completely accepted.

"The source of the legend died long ago,
 Though it is prevalent among every race.
 Amburn, though so rare, is burned in our hearts,
 And one so born is recognized by the face.

"Be assured, they'll be different from their kin,
 No matter the struggle to conform.
 They are distant, not totally world-connected,
 And their reception anywhere is warm.

"No one knows the meaning anymore,
 But it is part of every code of law,
 Placed there by sages and lawgivers,
 Who were skeptical and yet held that stricken awe.

"No creature anywhere shall harm one of amburn.
 Even trees bow in the face of one so born.
 Wild animals provide their care and reverence,
 And any creature who meets one is sworn

"To provide shelter, guardianship, protection,
 All in the name of the race.
 Though no one can remember why this is so,
 None would dare not to bow to that face.

"The old laws may be simple, but stressed and strict,
 For all that obedience is assumed.
 For some creature might overcome that ancient taboo,
 But in threatening one of amburn would be doomed.

"Even if he was not found out by others,
 There would be punishment for the transgression.
 Tales have come down, songs of offenders
 Dead, their faces frozen in terrible expressions.
"Still, there is more trust than fear,
 And respect is burned into all
 For those with eyes that mingle pale flame
 And the leaves of a hylea in fall.

"And why is this so? None can remember
 Save to repeat respect and the laws.
 Though those of amburn provide no protection,
 They are safe from both blades and claws.

"There must have been a reason once.
 Is there no record that could tell?
 Or has the last who held the answer
 Already heard the death knell?

"Even those of amburn are not sure.
 Their origins are lost in the mist.
 Their opinions vary, but one thing is sure: 
 Those of amburn have the most right to exist.

"Though ages may pass before another is born,
 All keep the tradition in their hearts.
 Reverence and love are showered on the favored,
 Though it may not agree with their own hearts.

"In some ways they are to be pitied,
 Trapped in a heritage they cannot escape.
 Amburn is never passed on to their children.
 At most they are a feature of the landscape.

"So why do the races continue to respect them,
 When they may not appear in years of the sun above?
 It is because something in the eyes of the amburn-trapped
 Reaches out and kindles love.

"Mortal enemies of the amburn one's kindred
 May become the favored's best friends.
 Guardians sworn will give their lives in protection
 Or walk beside the amburn-eyed until their life's end.

"Defiance and denial of amburn never works,
 Either for other creatures or those who bear the eyes.
 Tradition is grounded too heavily in the former, 
 And they love the latter, despite their cries.

"Those of amburn, though rare, have been of most species,
 As diverse as dragon or elf, race random as smoke.
 And yet, strange though it seems, few have been born
 Among the ranks of the evil folk.

"Yes, destiny's choices are varied and strange,
 But however much time flies
 It will never quite remove the love
 For those with amburn eyes."
    For a long, long moment, there was silence. Maruss 
lowered the harp and flexed his weary fingers, staring 
around hesitantly, half-fearful they hadn't liked it. 
Everyone whose eyes he met merely stared at him.
    Then the applause hit, like thunder or the crashing of 
tidal waves on the seashore, prompting Maruss to cling to 
the peach tree growing out of the stone that the elf had 
earlier complained about. He buried his head against its 
trunk, grinning. It appeared they had liked it, despite 
the somewhat odd content.
    "Beautiful!"
    "Sing it again!"
    "Sing 'One Last Drink' now!"
    Maruss slowly rose to his feet, gathered his courage- 
he'd never have a better time than now, with this chorus 
of approval- and majestically raised his hands for 
silence. The cheers and clapping quieted at once, 
everyone's eyes fastened expectantly to the harp. The 
sighs of disappointment when he set the instrument down 
were audible, but his audience still remained, patient and 
willing to listen, caught under the bardspell he had 
woven.
    "That legend is beautiful," said Maruss in a tone at 
once both respectful and dismissive, pitching his voice as 
he had been taught, "but I would speak of one that has 
more bearing on our situation." He saw the curiosity in 
many eyes sharpen and nodded in approval as he continued, 
ignoring uncomfortably Myyti's worried eyes.
    "I assume most of you have heard the legend of the 
Wellspring?"
    Mingled hisses of derision and fear came up to him, 
and Maruss nodded again. That was as it should be. He saw 
a few puzzled faces, however, and explained. "The 
Wellspring is a pool of god's blood, formed when Jet the 
Feline Lord was accidentally caught in a magical trap by 
the desert Elwens. He died, but his blood formed the 
Wellspring, which has the power to make things immortal. 
It is how unicorns achieved their eternal life, over a 
million years ago."
    Astonished murmurs rose about him. Even those who had 
known the legend before, apparently, hadn't known it in 
such detail. Maruss continued slowly, inexorably. "I have 
discovered that they are using the Wellspring again."
    A puzzled silence fell, until the voice of the elf who 
had earlier been complaining rose. "To do what?" It was 
clear from her tone of contempt that she didn't believe 
him. Maruss didn't answer at once, but let his eyes roam 
over the crowd, picking out each person near him. He let 
the tension rise a little before he replied, and then he 
did it in a roundabout way. 
    "All know that the unicorns, though immortal, can be 
killed." He waited for nods of assent before he continued, 
repeating information they already knew. It would reassure 
them. "It is merely a matter of wounding the body so badly 
that it cannot be healed. They are very conscious of 
physical beauty in their culture, and their spirits will 
flee rather than stay with ruined bodies."
    Everyone was nodding now, soothed. Maruss uttered a 
silent sigh and dropped the volcano. "Until recently, this 
appeared to be normal. But then, my brother Geruth-"
    He nodded toward the front row where the sunset Elwen 
stood, almost at the foot of the dais. Ger inclined his 
purple head, face solemn, deep blue eyes troubled. The 
curalli continued as gently as was possible, considering 
his news. "He recognized a unicorn when a force led by 
Destria came against me and tried to take me. A unicorn 
that he had killed."
    Gasps of outrage and disbelief sprang up across the 
Chapel. Some began to shout angrily that the sunset Elwen 
was trying to trick them. After all, his kind had been 
evil in the ancient days, and he still drank blood. Maruss 
saw Ger's shoulders hunch defensively at those latter 
accusations. The vamipric Elwen had always had shaky self- 
confidence, and had only recently come to terms with what 
he was. Maruss swept in before they could erode Geruth's 
fragile perch further.
    "The only possible thing that could have happened," he 
said gently, but in a voice loud enough to command silence 
again, "is that Destria has been resurrecting his people 
through the Wellspring. We never thought to question it 
when unicorns claimed the bodies of their dead after a 
battle. And the unicorn Geruth saw was whole, without 
blemishes save for the scar by which my brother recognized 
him." He let his eyes dart over their faces, his voice 
deepen. "The Wellspring must be closed! The unicorns, for 
all we know, may have reclaimed every silverini we 
destroyed, save for those whose bodies were burned or 
hopelessly squashed. If we continue to kill them without 
taking precautions, we'll find ourselves facing an endless 
army. They may not even need their slaves anymore."
    "Isn't it possible there's another explanation?" an 
unseen speaker challenged. "You leap at once to the worst 
conclusion. How do we know these are not- well, illusions, 
or something of the type?"
    Geruth spoke for the first time, voice taut with 
carefully controlled anger. "I would have known if it were 
an illusion. I am an illusion-master. You forget." There 
was a softly dangerous tone in his voice, suggesting it 
might not be in their best interests to forget.
    Whoever-it-was had to concede the logic of that. 
"Well, I suppose it is reasonable to think it's the 
Wellspring," came a disgruntled mutter. "A party going to 
make sure can't do any harm, I suppose. But how will they 
close it?"
    "I don't know," said Maruss truthfully, shaking his 
head. "I had hoped to study more, but the books on this 
are in the dell and I haven't the time to fetch them. I 
should take the chance that I might be wrong and leave as 
soon as possible."
    For a moment there was silence again, people too 
stunned to react or missing the point of the sentence. 
Then shouts of protest rose in the air. Maruss raised his 
hands in a desperate plea for quiet. This was what he had 
feared from the start: that they would show immediate 
disapproval and refuse to let him go.
    The shouts finally died, but stubborn, stone-set faces 
stared at him. Even his siblings, once they recovered from 
the shock, were wearing patient expressions of refusal- 
save Myyti alone. His foster sister's face beamed like a 
moon come to the full, though she did not smile, and 
approval glittered in her deep green eyes. He looked back 
at her, in relief, keeping his eyes on her face as he 
spoke, as if he talked for only her ears.
    "I'm the one who's studied most about it; that 
qualification alone should at least include me in a group. 
And right now," he added lightly, staring at the obstinate 
faces, "I'm a danger to you. Destria hunts me frantically, 
even though we did negotiate a slight peace after the 
deaths of his granddaughter Zea and Jesartlu Durillo. If 
I'm in a different province, he won't be able to find me, 
and may even skedaddle to the Barren Desert if reports 
come of my being there. Thus, I also think I should travel 
with no protectors. It would be just the kind of foolish 
thing he would expect of me."
    "And you would bow to his expectations?" asked an 
incredulous voice. Maruss saw Filaria, her red hair 
elaborately coiffed and her gown glowing a deep rust 
color, staring at him in amazement. Her wings, now the 
picture of health, rustled in agitation. "My Lord Maruss, 
you must have some protectors! Choose some to go with you, 
at least. We can't afford to lose you," she added to 
Maruss's shaking head, and turned to face the rest of the 
crowd. "What do you think? Should our lord travel with at 
least a small group?"
    The shouted consensus was yes, that he should- if he 
went at all, which still seemed to be in doubt among some 
people. Maruss scowled. "I think you're becoming too 
dependent on me," he called at last, temper fraying. 
"Surely you can spare me for the few weeks it will take to 
travel to the Desert and find a way to close the 
Wellspring."
    "If needing you is being dependent on you," called 
Larelina, a blond land Elwen sorceress with skin that was 
beginning to tan already, "then we are. But, Lord Maruss-" 
She shook her head, forcing a smile, and Maruss saw that 
she was fighting back tears. Understandable; she had been 
like a sister to Jesartlu. "Even if you weren't the leader 
of the Annihilators, I, for one, would still oppose your 
going. I like you too much to lose you."
    Maruss dropped his eyes, touched, though he and 
Larelina had been friends since he rescued both her and 
Jes from a slavehold. "Thank you, Lare," he murmured self- 
consciously, "but that doesn't destroy my other 
qualification. I've studied the Wellspring. I know what to 
expect."
    "Tell someone." Larelina would not be shaken. "Unless 
you find at least three others to go with you, I say we 
don't let you go at all. And how were you planning on 
getting there and back so quickly? Flying?"
    "Well, yes," said Maruss, wiping the smile from her 
face. "I had planned to ask Dustdancer and Coalcloud to 
transport me. And you know that the gryphon lords know me 
slightly better than any other." He winced slightly at the 
seeming arrogance of that statement, but it was true: it 
was he who had first seen the gryphons flying and managed 
to persuade them to join his resistance effort.
    Larelina was still groping for an answering argument 
when Myyti spoke up. "I say my beloved should go," she 
murmured, "on one condition."
    Maruss faced her warily, knowing what the condition 
would be. Other Annihilators glanced at the verde, 
obviously troubled, hesitating, on the edge of doubt. If 
the underground Elwen Maruss was practically betrothed to 
said he should go, the curalli could hear their thoughts 
running, perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing after 
all.
    "Name the condition," the curalli demanded warily, 
when it became obvious Myyti was waiting for him to speak 
first. The fighter's secret smile made it clear this was 
what she had intended. Her eyes never wavered from the 
shadowed Elwen's face as she spoke.
    "That I should go at his side."
    Maruss reacted before anyone else, even though he had 
been expecting it. "No," he said softly, leaping down from 
the dais and striding towards her. The crowd parted before 
him, perhaps in respect or curiosity, perhaps at the 
desperately troubled look on his face. Maruss stood before 
Myyti in a matter of seconds. Reaching out, he clasped her 
wrists.
    The underground Elwen watched him steadily, her green 
eyes unflickering in the shadows of her verdant hair. 
Maruss shook the beloved, clawed hands slightly. "You know 
there will be danger. I can't subject you to it. You saw 
what happened to Filaria when Jes died. Would you condemn 
me to the same fate?" The words were deliberately cruel, 
designed to make her stay behind and give up this insane 
idea. "They can spare me- Geruth can command in my place- 
but I can't spare you."
    "I have had what I believe is an honest premonition," 
said Myyti clearly. Louder than his whispered words, her 
voice reached the ears of the listeners. "There isn't much 
choice, Maruss. If I don't go with you, you will die. It 
matters not if your death comes by hoof of unicorn, nip of 
rattlesnake, or heat of desert sun. You will perish 
without me at your side."
    Despite himself, the calmly spoken, supremely 
confident words made Maruss chill. Myyti's eyes were 
sincere, and in any case he could detect deception, as 
could all Elwens. His hands fell, nerveless, from her 
wrists, as if commanded to by the greater powers he didn't 
worship. He stepped back and looked one more time into her 
eyes. No doubt there, but crystal-clear sincerity. She 
would have no reason to lie.
    He nodded, once, abruptly, and wondering if he had 
made a decision he would regret later. But it was too late 
to do anything about it. He had given his word, and that 
he would honor. Myyti smiled at him, reaching out and 
drawing him close against her, shutting her eyes and 
resting her head on his shoulder.
    That seemed the cue for the musicians to strike up; 
perhaps they had recovered from their drunkenness. They 
began to play a lively dance tune, and couples moved out 
into the central part of the Chapel, the only one not 
cluttered with food or greenery. A few singles moved out 
as well, including Filaria, who danced alone, a wistful 
smile on her face and wings rustling behind her, refusing 
all comers with a simple shake of her head, though she 
looked enviously at the couples near her. Maruss saw her 
brush a swift hand over her eyes.
    Her gesture reminded him of how lucky he was. At least 
he hadn't lost the one he loved, even if she would soon be 
going into considerable danger. They whirled into a clear 
part of the floor, and the curalli looked down at the 
verde, who had her eyes closed, humming happily to the 
tune. Her arms still clasped him tightly, as Maana, his 
foster mother and Myyti's natural mother, had used to do 
to shield him against nightmares. Sadness washed over him 
unbidden; the grip was also remarkably like the one he had 
used trying to hold Maana to life. But she had had a fatal 
case of wizard's blight, and at last had slipped away from 
him. His arms tightened slightly around Myyti.
    The girl's eyes flared open, and she looked up at him, 
seeming to know what he was thinking. "Don't," she said 
earnestly. "Let the past lie at rest."
    Maruss snorted brief laughter and removed an arm from 
her waist to wave a hand at the greenery around them. 
"This is letting the past lie at rest?" he demanded 
incredulously. "I thought we were trying to bring back the 
past, the times the unicorns destroyed."
    Myyti seized his arm, wrapping it back around her. 
"Don't," she repeated. "You know what I mean."
    He did, and so didn't argue, simply held her as they 
moved through the rhythms of the dance. The tune died 
eventually, and Maruss released her and started to 
withdraw as well. If he would be going only with 
companions, he would be up half the night worrying about 
who to take, and also needed sleep so that he would have 
the telepathic strength to send a message to the gryphon 
valley. But Myyti seized his hand, her gown rustling, her 
eyes sweet and bright.
    "They're starting a romantic tune," she murmured, 
inclining her head toward the musicians. They were five of 
them now, Maruss could see, three Elwens and two elves, 
with three lutes, a flute, and a lyre among them. The 
soft, sweet notes of a very slow dance began to tumble 
through the air, and the underground Elwen tightened the 
hold of her hand on his. "Dance this one?" Her beam grew 
brighter, her grasp tighter. "For me?"
    As when she had asked him to play, Maruss was unable 
to refuse. He nodded, cast a covert glance at the doors 
one more time, and drew Myyti into his arms. The girl 
leaned her head against him again, but this time instead 
of whirling around the room, they merely moved a few steps 
at a time, accompanied by the hauntingly sweet wail of the 
flute rising above all else.
    In such an atmosphere- the lights had been dimmed- 
Maruss wondered if it were possible for anyone to remain 
tense. He relaxed, letting his guards down, even the 
barriers that normally prevented other Elwens from seeing 
into his mind and heart. He could see others doing the 
same, overwhelmed by trust and tenderness. The curalli 
lifted his head again, almost languidly, lazily staring 
out over the crowd.
    His face softened as he spotted the one tense figure. 
Even the musicians had been affected by their own music 
and were nearly sagging against each other- though that 
could be the wine catching up to them- but Phaedon leaned 
against the Chamber's far wall, beneath the window Maruss 
had broken in his escape over a week ago, staring 
enviously at everyone else. His muscles trembled with 
nervousness, and he had removed the dagger from its hidden 
sheath and was idly tapping it against his hand. He looked 
as if he might throw it with very little provocation.
    "Poor Phae," whispered Maruss, scarcely aware he spoke 
aloud. "He was so loyal to Mother, and he never really 
recovered from her death. I ought to take him along to the 
Desert with me. That would at least give him something to 
think about besides brooding-"
    He gasped and lost the rest of the words as air was 
driven from his lungs. Looking down, he saw Myyti, elbow 
poised over the soft place between his ribs, prepared to 
try again. The verde's eyes snapped green fire at him. 
"You're thinking about tomorrow again," she informed him 
sternly, in a whisper, so as not to disturb the couples 
dancing around them. "While that's a commendable habit, 
Maruss, and one that makes you deserve your position as 
leader of the Annihilators, it can be annoying at times. I 
want you concentrating on me tonight, not Annihilator 
business."
    Maruss smiled his apology and let the matter drop from 
his mind again. Luckily, he was able to ease back into the 
mood with a minimum amount of effort. Perhaps it was his 
own need to relax, the music, or simply Myyti's fantastic 
beauty- but whichever, he was grateful for it.
    "You're beautiful tonight," he whispered admiringly in 
her ear, having to stoop slightly to say it and nearly 
getting a mouthful of emerald curls for his efforts. He 
chuckled slightly, both at the near miss and the lazy 
smile she gave him. "I didn't know you could actually be 
persuaded to wear a dress."
    "On- occasion." Myyti grinned, moving slowly, even 
regulating her breathing, to the soft, measured trill of 
the flute. The player's skill was extraordinary, but at 
the moment the notes only formed a backdrop for Myyti's 
words. "Elenyi told me she had to be very conscious of 
what she wore as a queen, and that new sensitivity is 
making her aware of other people too, and what will 
flatter them. She told me I should wear a dress, if only 
to attract your wandering attention."
    Maruss smiled slightly. "It worked, though I'm always 
glad to see you."
    Myyti started to reply, but somebody else hissed 
warningly, and they reluctantly ceased talking, letting 
the music take first place again.
    Then, abruptly, it died. Maruss snapped up his eyes, 
tense suddenly, adrenaline flooding his system, instincts 
born in battle making his hand dart toward Starsheen.
    He relaxed with an effort. The musicians were arguing 
in soft but increasingly heated tones what they should 
play next. He smiled at Myyti and drew his hand gently 
free. She gave him a look of such crushed disappointment 
that he blinked. His resolve wavered slightly, but held 
firm. As lightly as he could, he said, "You're lovely, my 
lady, and it would be selfish of me to dance with you all 
night. I'm sure there are others who-"
    Myyti shook her head, her green eyes not tear-bright 
but close. "I know," she said softly. "A few were asking 
me if I might dance with them earlier. But I told them no. 
I love you, Maruss."
    The curalli coughed slightly, feeling his cheeks pale 
with the influx of white blood. "Ah, I love you too, 
Myyti. But-"
    "I don't see you hurrying off to dance with someone 
else." The hurt had retreated from Myyti's voice; the lids 
had dropped over the sparkling green eyes, but he had the 
feeling she was eying him speculatively. "Or hurrying off, 
for that matter."
    "I have to decide who should go with me," Maruss 
objected. "I need to ask Coalcloud and Dustdancer if 
they'll help. I-"
    The music began again, one of Maruss's favorite tunes 
(the musicians had learned nearly all their music from 
books Maruss had brought from the dell). He paused, 
swallowed in anguish, then shook his head in determination 
and turned to stride toward the doors.
    Myyti's hand caught at his at the same time that the 
music reached his favorite part. He turned slowly, trying 
to hide his eyes, knowing he would yield if he saw her 
pleading smile.
    He saw more than that. The eyes of everyone not 
dancing- and the mingled gazes of a few couples who were- 
were focused his way, curious. As yet no whispers had 
begun, but they looked as if they might. He could hardly 
make a scene, walk out, leave a lady weeping or 
disappointed behind him. Much as he hated thinking of his 
reputation, he had to, to keep the trust and affection of 
his people.
    With a sigh, he yielded, nodding. Myyti's smile 
flashed dazzlingly bright, and the eyes turned away. 
Maruss let himself be drawn back onto the dance floor, 
absolutely certain this was the last time.
    The tune was faster and livelier but also more 
romantic than before. The torches, lamps, and magical 
lights had been dimmed so much that Maruss's nightsight, 
allowing him to see the auras shed by the pure force of 
existence, sprang into being. The room brightened some, 
but not much; shadows were not recognized by nightsight as 
having any existence, so his vision did not pierce them, 
and parts of the immense chamber were still bathed in 
pools of darkness.
    Myyti danced well, Maruss thought admiringly. Of 
course, all Elwens moved with lithe grace, but there were 
still some who had two left feet when dancing. Maruss 
didn't, but he limped slightly, on a sprained ankle healed 
wrong, and he felt incomparably clumsy beside his Myyti, 
who moved on the air like a feather.
    He became so involved in watching her that he did not 
feel the hostile stare for some moments. When he did, he 
could not immediately tell where it was coming from. Then 
he saw Aeren, standing beside Phaedon, his silver-gold 
eyes flaming as if he'd have liked to burn Maruss to 
pieces. The curalli frowned. Surely the Touched alalori 
wasn't still upset about the petition he'd refused a few 
days ago?
    "You're doing it again," Myyti accused him.
    "Sorry," he apologized, and returned his eyes to her.
    It was a good thing he did. The tune hit a high note, 
then paused- a long rest Maruss had never been able to 
puzzle out when reading the score. It was a nearly 
expectant pause, and Maruss didn't understand until he saw 
discreet hands dimming the lamps still further. Even then, 
he held Myyti shyly, not sure if eagerness or lack of it 
would offend her more.
    She made the decision for him, leaning forward, 
slipping an arm around his neck, and pressing her lips to 
his. After a startled moment, Maruss returned the kiss 
eagerly. Well, perhaps he wasn't as shy as he thought 
after all.
    The light returned gradually, and Maruss pulled away, 
making a formal bow, though he exited grinning like an 
idiot, aware of the sparkle of the green eyes affixed to 
his back.




                        Chapter 2
                         Mediator
    The curalli spent an hour recounting the list of the 
Annihilators in his mind- once he had recovered from the 
odd surge of joy that kiss had given him. Larelina had 
said it would be reasonable for him to go with three 
companions, and he had Myyti and Phaedon, if Phae would 
go. But that meant he had to choose his other companion 
very carefully.
    His friends were out for a variety of reasons- Elenyi 
and Terling because they had kingdoms to attend to, Geruth 
because he would be needed to command in Maruss's absence, 
Aeren because of his position as leader of the Touched, 
Larelina because she had refused to go anywhere until a 
month had passed since Jesartlu had died. Maruss would 
have liked to have the blond sorceress with him, but he 
respected her peculiar form of mourning and was willing to 
leave her alone.
    The only problem was that he knew no one else really 
well enough to trust them with his life. Well, Flame 
perhaps, but the red-haired elf was over six hundred years 
old, and despite his loyalty to Maruss, would be reluctant 
to leave the warm fireside where he had established 
himself.
    The shadowed Elwen continued to hunt through his mind, 
but came up with no new proposals. He shook his head in 
combined frustration and weariness. Perhaps the need to 
sleep was clouding his mind too much. Doubtless he would 
find an answer in the morning.
    He was about to retire when somebody knocked politely 
at his door. Maruss already had his face turned away and 
considered it too much trouble to lift his head and scent 
for who it was. "Come in," he invited, his pronouncement 
somewhat interrupted by a mighty yawn.
    The door clicked open, followed by silence, but Maruss 
had caught the scent now and was not alarmed. Aeren had to 
learn to move silently to find out what the unTouched 
really thought of the Touched. "What do you need?" he 
murmured, somehow summoning the strength to roll over and 
courteously look the dawn Elwen in the face.
    Aeren's stern expression faded; perhaps he found it 
impossible to maintain when the intended object of his 
lecture was sprawled at his ease on his own bed. "I'd like 
to go to the Barren Desert with you," he replied quietly. 
"Larelina said you need strong protectors, and I am that."
    Maruss nodded. He had known and been impressed by 
Aeren's mental powers since the day he met the dawn Elwen. 
"I would have asked you to go, but your position as leader 
of the Touched-"
    "Can be resigned to one more fanatic than I," Aeren 
cut in smoothly. "Fremelly will be good for them; she has 
almost no concern for herself in her overriding concern 
for the Touched." Maruss, knowing the young elf well, 
nodded in silent amusement. "I wasn't the best choice; I 
simply had- have- your ear, and they trusted me."
    "If you were unhappy, Aeren-" Maruss began, puzzled.
    "Oh, I wasn't. And I'm not now. But they weren't 
completely at ease around me, either." The alalori raised 
an eloquent eyebrow. "It is hard to trust someone who can 
suck out someone's mind, or wipe all sense from it."
    Maruss merely grinned. Aeren had the feeding and 
weaving Touches, the first allowing him to "eat" thoughts, 
the second to weave a curtain of mental energy that 
reduced those who passed it to the mental level of 
infants. The curalli had always known his friend would not 
use them on him, however. "If you're sure you want to face 
burning sands, enslaved desert dragons, desertlord 
spiders-"
    "Oh, cut the spiel," said Aeren, displaying unusual 
impatience. "I've read a little history of the Desert and 
the legend of the Wellspring. I don't think it's quite as 
bad as you're making out."
    "I may be underestimating the danger," said Maruss 
soberly, able to look back on the events of the evening 
without anger now. "I was a fool to demand I be allowed to 
go alone."
    "I still think you should stay here," said the alalori 
bluntly. "The Touched need you." He didn't seem to notice 
Maruss's repressed sigh. "I know, you won't sign our 
petitions demanding special privileges into law, and I 
suppose I can't blame you. But-"
    Maruss had been blinking incredulously, and finally 
managed to break in. "Sign petitions into law? Aeren, what 
do you think I am? A leader, not a ruler!" He burst into 
helpless laughter, tinged with just a hint of nervousness. 
"Only kings did that in the old world."
    It was Aeren's turn to look stunned. "You mean to say 
you don't know that you could be a king if you wanted to?"
    Maruss stared at the morning Elwen, then dropped his 
eyes. "I had hoped," he said softly, "that you trusted me 
somewhat less than that. No, I don't think so, and I have 
no desire for such corrupt power." He spat the words with 
heartfelt loathing; the thought of ruling, making 
decisions for others, left him sick and shaking. He didn't 
envy Elenyi or Terling.
    "That's the argument they always use!" Aeren's fist 
pounded into the sheets.
    Maruss eyed him in confusion. "People you ask to be 
kings?"
    The dawn Elwen gave a short, humorless bark of 
laughter. "No! The unTouched, or at least unTouched 
Elwens. They see we have power, and say we must be 
corrupt, because all power corrupts eventually." He stared 
at Maruss accusingly. "I had not thought you an adherent 
to such views."
    Maruss's temper gave a bit. He was weary, he wanted 
only to sleep, and he had already explained the necessity 
of his neutral position to Aeren a dozen times over. "I am 
not," he ground through gritted teeth. "Not every sentence 
everyone says is a move in this duel between Touched and- 
others, Aeren." Though it was true, he disliked the word 
"unTouched"; it only served to drive their attitude of 
fear and envy deeper into them. "If you want to go to the 
Desert, tell me so and leave."
    "I do," Aeren acknowledged with a quick nod. He paused 
then, nervously tapping golden fingers against each other. 
When he had said nothing for three minutes, Maruss rolled 
over, preparing to return to slumber.
    The dawn Elwen spoke- then, of course. "There is 
another thing."
    Maruss rolled over, laid his hand across his eyes to 
defend them from the light, and let a mock snore escape. 
Aeren shook him gently, said, "I know you're awake," and 
continued, over Maruss's increasingly louder snores.
    "There are many who admire you, Maruss. Even love you, 
but from a distance. You could return their love, if you 
wished." He paused, and Maruss imagined an irritated 
expression on his face as he peered down at the 
uncooperative curalli. This curalli intends to continue 
not cooperating, Maruss told him silently, and hid a 
smile.
    The dawn Elwen's next words wiped the smile from his 
face. "Why not return their love, and leave Myyti to me?"
    "What?" Maruss sat up, his eyes flaring wide. He 
stared at Aeren incredulously. He had known the alalori 
was fond of the verde, but he thought Aeren had given up 
the hopeless love after he saw how devoted Maruss and 
Myyti were to one another. The curalli stared at his 
friend, his eyes swiftly narrowing. "I love Myyti." He 
spoke with a simple dignity that he hoped would be enough 
to daunt the other Touched.
    Aeren refused to be shaken. "Yes, but there are dozens 
whose love could be yours. I love only her. I've loved her 
ever since my arrival here, but I never thought I had a 
chance." He shook his head, bright eyes on Maruss's face. 
"You don't appreciate what a treasure you've got for a 
lady, Maruss. You would have walked away and left her!" 
Another short bark of laughter. "And then you only gave in 
because there were people watching, not because she had 
asked you to!" His hostile expression melted into the 
dreamy look of the hopeless gallant. "I would never do 
such a thing."
    He peered at the shadowed Elwen hopefully. "Do I have 
your word you'll stand politely back while I press my suit 
with her- perhaps even help me?"
    Maruss finally managed to get his tongue working 
again; it seemed to have been strapped to the roof of his 
mouth. "Your question is beyond the point of 
ridiculousness."
    Aeren's hope drained away, revealing a sneer. "I 
should have known you would say that," he complained 
bitterly. "Talking about her as if she were your 
possession, instead of the free lady she really is! Why 
not ask her? Are you afraid she'll tell you she's 
miserable?"
    Maruss rose to his feet, walked to the door, and 
opened it quietly. "Get out," he said, "and don't come 
back."
    Aeren snorted with amusement. "If you think I'll leave 
until this is finished, you're wrong."
    Maruss stalked back; Aeren braced himself as if he 
expected to be punched, but the curalli did not touch him, 
instead carefully removing the pillow and upper blanket 
from the bed. The alalori was forced to stand as Maruss 
tugged the coverlet from under him. "What are you doing?" 
he demanded in disbelief.
    Maruss looked over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow; 
he had already moved more than halfway to the door. 
"Leaving the room. I wish you joy of it." He continued 
calmly before Aeren could explode. "You may come to the 
Desert with me. At the moment, I need rest, and you're 
obstructing that goal. Come after me again, and you'll 
find out what I can do when annoyed." He shut the door 
calmly on Aeren's enraged shout and walked toward the 
Chapel Chamber.
    Though he received a few surprised glances from the 
late lift operators, he ignored them, and entered the 
room. The dancing had ended only recently, and the tables 
and greenery had not yet been taken down. Maruss curled up 
on Sarastaa's altar, under the shelter of a bristling 
clump of vines, and abandoned himself to slumber.
    He never considered Aeren's ridiculous request.
----------------------------------------------------------
    When he awoke, it was to the light touch of a hand on 
his shoulder. Stirring, he peered into Phaedon's face 
through bleary eyes. His foster brother's silver eyes were 
concerned. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. "Someone 
forced you out of your room?" There was disbelief in his 
voice. He might dislike his brother, but Maruss had never 
seen him stoop so low.
    "Aeren came in and wished to discuss matters I 
didn't." Sitting up, Maruss shrugged off the blanket, 
yawning. "He refused to leave, and I came here to get a 
little sleep."
    "I see." Phaedon cocked an eyebrow at the altar he had 
chosen to nap on. "And I'm sure no insult was intended." 
His voice was dry; Aeren was a dawn Elwen, Sarastaa the 
Dawn Lord.
    "If there was, I did it subconsciously," Maruss 
defended himself. He yawned again, putting out a hand to 
stay his brother when he would have moved away. Now was 
the perfect time to ask him. "Would you be willing to 
travel with us to the Desert, Phaedon? I'll be going, of 
course, and Myyti, and Aeren."
    For a moment, the silver-eyed warrior seemed frozen 
with astonishment. Then he bowed, his voice husky. "Thank 
you for asking me. I will consider it."
    Maruss stifled a sigh; that was Phaedon's way, caution 
even around his own family. He climbed to his feet, shook 
out his blanket, and retrieved his pillow from the nest of 
vines. He looked curiously about at the people moving 
around the room until he saw they were plant-linked Elwens 
removing the greenery, and more ordinary volunteers 
picking up garbage. He suspected Phaedon had joined them, 
perhaps out of boredom.
    Well, he had nothing else to do, and they were getting 
their pick of the considerable leftovers. He joined them, 
scooping spoons from the floor, mopping up wine, and 
dipping up pieces of cherry pie from the table. Phaedon 
joined him, and they worked in companionable silence- save 
for when they ate. Phaedon preferred blueberry pie, and 
got into a spirited argument with his brother over the 
merits of the fruits.
    "Blueberries taste better when they're hot," said 
Phaedon with an immense dignity, marred only slightly by 
the blue ring of smashed berries around his mouth. "They 
still retain their freshness. Cherries are sickeningly 
sweet."
    "I think you've got that backwards." Maruss licked red 
from his fingers and reached for another half-crushed, 
cherry-dripping piece. "Besides, they're not hot anymore."
    "They were, and I'm not wrong." Phaedon popped a 
blueberry that had somehow wandered the wrong way into his 
mouth and closed his eyes in bliss. While he was so 
occupied, Maruss innocently replaced the next blueberry 
piece with a piece of raspberry pie, which he knew Phaedon 
hated, and buried his giggles in enthusiastic downing of 
the cherry.
    The curalli picked up the next piece and bit in, 
obviously eager, as he swallowed a large gulp. The 
expression on his face was priceless, Maruss thought. His 
eyes came open, blinking several times, and he opened his 
mouth, raspberries sliding down his chin. His mouth 
wrinkled in disgust, but he obviously thought it ill 
manners to spit it out now and forced himself to swallow 
it.
    The disgust deepened, and then Maruss could no longer 
hide his laughter. Phaedon threw the rest of the pie at 
him, but the other curalli adroitly ducked, swallowed the 
cherry, and sedately returned to work. Phaedon, fuming and 
constantly spitting in an effort to clear his mouth of the 
foul taste, walked over to the other side and started 
working with stiffened back, refusing to glance in 
Maruss's direction.
    "You might start by cleaning up the pie you threw," 
Maruss called mildly, but Phaedon did not respond save for 
a slight stiffening of his shoulders and a muttered 
comment. The other curalli smiled as he carefully picked 
up shards of broken glass from a shattered goblet. "What 
was that?"
    Phae turned around. "I said, I think I will go to the 
Barren Desert." He strode toward his brother, clasping his 
wrist with one hand. "At least there aren't any raspberry 
pies there."
    Maruss did not bother to hide the enthusiastic smile 
that flashed over his face.
    A moment later, a faceful of cherry pie did it for 
him.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The matter of his companions settled, Maruss was 
nearly dancing when he emerged from the Chapel Chamber, 
his argument with Aeren already more than half-forgotten. 
If he wanted to ask Myyti, the curalli decided in a burst 
of spontaneous generosity, he would stand aside. He was 
confident that the verde would say no.
    He found a small, sheltered niche near the Chapel 
doors, one of the many defensive places the verde carvers 
had built in the impossible chance that the unicorns might 
take Coroncheer, and settled himself in it. He closed his 
eyes, breathing deeply, reaching within himself for mental 
strength. It had been several weeks since he touched the 
mind of Dustdancer, lord of the gryphon valley, and he was 
slightly out of practice.
    At last, when he felt he had the telepathic strength- 
largely restored by the sweet food and the deep, if not 
comfortable, sleep- he reached out, sending a flow of 
telepathy over the mountains, reaching for the familiar, 
tangled golden feel that spoke Dustdancer to his mental 
ears.
    He found it, established the link, and waited 
patiently for the gryphon to acknowledge it. There was a 
pause, as if the amber one were considering cutting the 
link, but at last he spoke, with the haughty impression 
that he was conferring a great favor. ^Greetings, Maruss 
Freewind, Lord of the Annihilators. Feathers to your 
wings. How may I serve you?^ His tone in the last sentence 
was a mockery of humility.
    Undisturbed- he was familiar with Dustdancer's ways- 
Maruss replied easily. ^Greetings, Dustdancer, Lord of the 
Free Gryphons.^ He spoke deliberately in the gryphon 
tongue; the proud lion-eagles were sometimes easier to 
approach that way. Indeed, he thought he felt Dustdancer 
unbend a little. ^Feathers to your wings. I would ask a 
favor of you.^
    Dustdancer sent a mental image of a fresh-slaughtered 
mountain goat, the meat exposed in the neck. ^Can't it 
wait until after I'm finished eating?^
    Maruss, knowing Dustdancer would only keep finding 
excuses not to talk to him, sent the impression of a 
headshake. ^It's very quick,^ he assured the gryphon. ^You 
can say yes or no immediately, or demand what price you 
will for it.^
    Wary interest, mingled with impatience. ^Very well. 
Ask.^
    ^Would you and your brother be willing to fly me and 
three friends to the Barren Desert?^
    Stunned silence. Then Dustdancer coughed. ^Coalcloud 
would, but I'm not sure about myself. If I am, I will 
demand a hefty price for it, be assured of that.^ But he 
was intrigued, Maruss could tell. ^Why would you be 
wanting to travel to the Desert?^
    ^I think the unicorns are using the Wellspring to 
resurrect their dead, and I would put a stop to that.^ As 
succinctly as he could, he explained the problem, 
admitting freely his own uncertainty about how to close 
the Wellspring. ^Will you aid me?^ He waited with bated 
breath as Dustdancer pondered.
    ^I will- if you can solve a seemingly irreconcilable 
argument.^ Dustdancer's voice revealed frustration, 
unusual for him. The amber gryphon hated to admit there 
was anything he could not handle. ^My people are beginning 
to take my brother's side in our frequent fights. I am 
afraid he means to supplant me-^
    ^Coalcloud?^ Maruss hated to interrupt, but his 
disbelief and outrage were too strong to be restrained. He 
loved Dustdancer's younger brother, and knew well that the 
thought of ruling sickened Coal as it did him.
    ^Oh, not him exactly,^ Dustdancer said hurriedly. 
^Certainly not. I know Coalcloud's too much the innocent 
to have such ambitions. But there are those who are not, 
and they see him as a convenient tool. Somehow settle the 
problems that rage between us- mostly caused by 
Coalcloud's wanting to negotiate a peace treaty with the 
unicorns- and I will fly you to Fhevu if you so desire.^ 
He named the province farthest from Minamar.
    Maruss gave a wry, regretful smile. ^That won't be 
necessary. I'll mediate.^ He felt a bit sorry that he must 
inevitably enter this debate on Dustdancer's side, when he 
disliked the amber gryphon personally, but if Coalcloud 
truly wanted a peace treaty, someone had been whispering 
madness into his tufted ears. There could be no peace 
while the Empire existed, not least because the unicorns 
were too convinced of their own righteousness to honor any 
agreement.
    ^I agree.^ Dustdancer's words were, for once, fervent. 
He might be proud to the point of being arrogant, but he 
had seen his father die of Destria's magic. If that had 
scared Coalcloud and strengthened the young gryphon's 
resolve to end the bloodshed, then it had strengthened 
Dusatdancer's vow to get revenge. ^If you will mediate, I 
will be eternally grateful. Should we come to Coroncheer 
two days hence, perhaps?^
    Maruss blinked. Dustdancer was actually offering to 
leave the valley?
    He tried not to let the gryphon hear his astonishment, 
knowing it would most likely offend him. ^Two days is 
fine, Dustdancer. Will only you and your brother be 
coming, or more gryphons as well? We've depleted the herds 
around here a bit,^ he added, half-apologetically, half as 
explanation for why he needed to know. ^I'm not sure how 
fine the hunting is.^
    Proud relief colored the mental world. ^Oh, I don't 
think we'll have to stay there long enough to hunt 
extensively. Once you understand the argument a bit 
better, you'll know I'm right, and Coalcloud will listen 
to you.^ Both those assumptions were a bit insulting, 
though the second no less than truth. Dustdancer 
considered some more. ^It will most likely be my brother 
and myself, with a few witnesses. Expect five gryphons on 
your doorstep two days from now.^
    Maruss sent the impression of a nod. ^Will do. 
Farewell, friend.^
    There was a pause, then Dustdancer said, ^Farewell,^ 
and broke the link rather quickly. So he wouldn't have to 
puzzle out whether or not to call me friend, Maruss 
thought with a chuckle. He stood up, stretching and 
yawning to erase the impression of vast distance from his 
mind and keep it inside his body, where it belonged. When 
he felt halfway-normal again, he went to seek out Myyti 
and Aeren. Hopefully, Phaedon would still be in the 
Chapel- a convenient place for them to gather and talk.
    He admitted to no one, not even himself, that he 
wanted Phaedon's company if Myyti did accept Aeren's suit. 
Sometimes even leaders needed a shoulder to cry on.
----------------------------------------------------------
    He found the dawn Elwen sprawled asleep on his bed. 
Irritation flooded Maruss, and he didn't even care for the 
reddened corners of Aeren's eyes or the deeply exhausted 
look on his features, as if he had wept for most of the 
night. He tossed a curt, "Get up. I want you to meet in 
the Chapel with the rest of those who are going to the 
Desert," and then ran lightly down the hall.
    The encounter with Myyti was more pleasant, tainted 
only by Maruss's hidden fear. The underground Elwen was 
working in her private chambers, and most likely on 
something secret. In any case, she took a long moment to 
catch his scent before warmly bidding him to come in. He 
pushed open the door shyly and stepped inside.
    As Maruss had thought, Myyti's quarters were little 
more than a cave- though those were pleasant surroundings 
for a verde- dark and quiet and private as they were. In 
keeping with the rather spartan tradition of her kind when 
living on the surface, she had little furniture, only a 
carefully carved niche in the stone that served as her bed 
and the table and chair before which she stood now, as if 
she had just risen from working. She greeted him with a 
warm smile and a light touch on the hand. "What can I do 
for you?" she asked softly.
    Maruss kept his eyes firmly on her green ones as he 
replied, so he wouldn't be tempted to peek around her and 
find out what she was working on. She stood in front of 
the table in an undeniably protective way, her eyes a bit 
nervous. "I'd like to have a meeting in the Chapel with 
those of us who are going to the Desert. Phaedon's there 
already, and I've told Aeren." He hoped frantically his 
voice didn't sound thick as he spoke the alalori's name. 
"I've contacted the gryphons, and they've agreed to fly us 
if I settle a little argument for them-" He stopped in 
chagrin. "I didn't mean to tell you that. I was going to 
say it in the Chapel so I didn't have to repeat it three 
times. Are you going to be bored hearing it again?"
    "You don't bore me," Myyti assured him with such frank 
honesty that Maruss felt the last of his doubts blow away. 
He smiled at her, knowing his own eyes reflected the 
devotion in her green ones.
    "I'm glad of that," he said lightly. "See you in the 
Chapel soon then?"
    "Just let me finish putting this away, and I'll walk 
with you," Myyti replied briskly, turning her back on him. 
He retreated a few steps and turned his back in return, 
politely. It was fairly obvious she didn't want him to see 
what she was doing.
    A moment later she announced she was ready, and moved 
away from an empty table. Maruss blinked in disbelief. He 
had smelled no magic, but then, with their mastery over 
stone and metal, verde were able to carve all sorts of 
intriguing little hiding pockets for themselves.
    They walked in companionable silence from her room up 
three sets of stairs to the platform containing the Chapel 
Chamber. He opened the great gold-festooned stone doors 
with a light touch of his hand and motioned her inside. 
She went, with a lyrical laugh for his somewhat old- 
fashioned courtesy. He followed her- and blinked in 
surprise.
    He wasn't sure how long he'd spent in mental rapport 
with Dustdancer, but the place looked completely 
different. Every last scrap of greenery had been taken 
down, save that normally left up as part of the holy 
decorations. The altars of the two gods and four goddesses 
were clear again, as if there had never been a Greensong 
Festival last night.
    Maruss smiled sadly; this was typical of the 
Annihilators. Such flings as last night were rare, with so 
many of them consumed by passionate love for the cause of 
freedom or equally passionate hatred for the unicorns. In 
the end, the two had much the same effect: introducing a 
sobriety into them that was not easy to break. Maruss had 
convinced them to celebrate Greensong partially out of 
respect for the ancient tradition, but more as a much- 
needed break from the endlessly problematic winter. They 
had enjoyed it, but now they were already abiding by 
Duty's tempo again. Even most of the cleaners were gone; 
only a few, evidently with nothing better to do, moodily 
picked up trash from the floor. One of them was Phaedon. 
Maruss caught his eye and signaled him over.
    His foster brother jogged slowly to the sides of his 
siblings, coughing slightly. His face was pale, and dark 
shadows under his eyes, normally barely visible against 
the silver skin, shone clearly now. Maruss eyed him in 
concern, but knew better than to mention it, or even hint 
that his brother was up without the healers' knowledge. 
Phae disliked questions, and anyway if he did answer it 
would only be to deny that he felt tired at all. The proud 
warrior, Maruss thought with a fleeting grin. He'd deny on 
his deathbed that it was anything more than a slight heart 
attack, or a little cut.
    Phae nodded to both of them, then lifted his head, 
staring over their shoulders. Maruss saw his silver eyes 
narrow in wary confusion and checked a sigh, knowing who 
was coming up behind them. Phae had always distrusted and 
disliked Aeren- the feeling was mutual- but he must be 
puzzled by the firm purpose in Aeren's stride combined 
with the confident look on his face. Usually, when the 
alalori strode so firmly, he was angry, and when so 
confident, he minced. The other curalli looked at his 
brother. "He's coming with us, I suppose?" he asked in 
reluctant acceptance.
    "Yes." Maruss nerved himself, took a deep breath, and 
stepped carefully away from Myyti's side. She blinked at 
him in confusion, and stretched out a hand, but he 
deliberately didn't take it. He glanced over, leading her 
gaze to Aeren's charming smile, the hope shining in his 
silver-gold eyes.
    Myyti still looked perplexed- until the alalori began 
to speak.
    "How are you this morning, Lady Myyti?" He looked at 
her as if examining her for blemishes. Phae's hand hovered 
near his sword, Maruss saw with faint satisfaction. Phae 
wasn't in love with Myyti, but he considered her his 
sister, and he didn't like the way Aeren was looking at 
her, apparently.
    The verde stretched out one clawed hand, as if to ward 
off Aeren or silently warn both curalli that she could 
protect her own honor. "Fine, thank you, Lord Aeren," she 
said with her own disarming grin. "What are you doing 
here?"
    The dawn Elwen grinned widely, foolishly, like a boy 
on the verge of seeing his dreams fulfilled- or thinking 
he saw them. "I am here for the same reason you are, lady. 
We are both accompanying the Lord Maruss to the Barren 
Desert." He spoke the formal title with an exaggerated 
reverence more insulting than outright pretending not to 
see him. "Which reminds me, lady," he added, as if 
something had just popped into his head. "There are 
certain- feelings- that are between us, unspoken, that I 
would have cleared up before we started out."