Silversong



                        Chapter 1
                         Aklflam
          1,0000,000, Age of Life, Early Spring
    "Aklflam! Swiftshine!"
    Aklflam Swiftshine tightened his jaw, but tried to 
keep walking, tried to pretend he didn't hear.
    "Land Elwen!" Now there was no mistaking the arrogance 
in the voice. "I need to talk to you. Last night I saw 
your friend here- again. Just what do you think you're 
doing, allying with evil?"
    Aklflam had planned to deal with whatever Lacinthia 
was complaining about now reasonably, but the taunt 
angered him too much. Still, he did not shout. He never 
shouted. Instead, just as Lacinthia's hand clamped onto 
his shoulder and she drew in her breath to begin another 
round, he whirled, glaring deeply into her eyes. "My 
friend is essential to our victory," he growled, directly 
into her surprised face. "Perhaps I should ask, instead, 
why you stay here?"
    The lightning Elwen stared at him a moment, then 
dropped her eyes. The sparkling blue, electric aura around 
her hummed faintly, a sure sign of mortification in one of 
her kind. "I stay here because you need me." Despite the 
defiant words, the way she twirled one jade curl around a 
finger showed she was nervous. "Besides, where else do I 
have to go?"
    Aklflam felt the brunt of his anger pass, dimming to a 
small, smoldering ember. They really couldn't afford 
arguments at this time. Still, that didn't mean he had to 
forgive her completely. "I understand." His voice was 
still rough. "I know he must remind you of what it was 
like before- the Empire. But please remember, it is the 
silverini who are the real enemy now, not members of our 
own species. And Zorsran has tried more than once to be 
your friend."
    Seemingly thinking him mollified, Lacinthia lifted her 
golden eyes and tried once more. "That's exactly it, 
Aklflam. I don't want to be his friend- and I don't see 
why you stay his friend either." She either did not notice 
or did not care about the growing anger on the land 
Elwen's face. "Of course, the friendship can be 
maintained- if you think we'll actually win. But you know 
we have no chance, and-"
    "Enough."
    Lacinthia stared at him, the blood draining from her 
face- but this time, she seemed unable to lower her eyes. 
She began to shake with fear. Aklflam wondered why. He had 
never struck her, or even insulted her; such things would 
risk alienation, and they all needed each other. He had 
even seen himself in a mirror once when he had been 
enraged, and his face had not twisted or gone silver. It 
had remained the same as it always was, if hard and cool 
as marble. Why did everyone seem terrified when he grew 
angry?
    Other than the usual reasons, of course. But he would 
never, but never, use his emotional powers on anyone. He 
had never threatened to...
    He dragged himself back to the present as he realized 
that Lacinthia was still shaking in her tunic for fear of 
him. With a sigh, he spoke simply and directly. "That kind 
of talk will lose us this war. Now leave me." He turned 
and stalked away, his heels thudding into the earth like 
dropped rocks.
    Behind him, he heard Lacinthia murmur, "Yes, sir," and 
scurry away. By the time he whirled on her in outrage, she 
was gone. He sighed and continued his stroll, trying to 
convince himself that it was what he had wanted, after 
all.
    The land Elwen moved to the edge of the valley and 
stood staring south, toward the minalds and Ceowydi. 
Slowly, his hands clenched into fists. He had promised 
himself he would go back there, someday, and personally 
cut down all the silverini who had felled Rowan. He could 
still hear the screams of his father, trampled to death 
under the silver unicorn hooves; he could see the blank, 
pathetically eager expressions on the faces of his mother 
and sisters as they marched after the victorious 
silverini, wide rictus grins indicating that mind, will, 
and spirit were gone. He had been only six at the time, 
but every detail was burned into his memory, had haunted 
him for the past two thousand years of his life. It was 
only lately, however, that he had been able to join with 
one of the resistance forces and gain some kind of hope 
that he would win his revenge, make up for his cowardice 
in not meeting the eyes of the silverini and fighting his 
way out, instead of standing and dying beside his family.
    A slender shape stirred beside him, but with his 
warrior's senses the land Elwen was aware of it from the 
first movement and permitted it. A rich, musky scent, 
familiar to him, filled his nostrils, and he turned to 
greet his friend, lips stretching in a smile, feeling his 
anger melt like snow under the summer sun. "Zorsran. Well 
met."
    The other regarded him with amused gaze and an 
uplifted eyebrow, but the voice was gentle, as if to belie 
the soft humor twinkling in the silver eyes. "Dealing with 
Lacinthia again?'
    "Stars, yes." Aklflam's fist crashed into his palm. "I 
know that she is essential to our cause, being able to 
strike the silverini from such a distance with her 
lightning, but she-" He paused, searching for words.
    "You have a right to feel that way, my friend," 
Zorsran soothed, moving up beside him. His blue hair 
glinted in the last rays of the westering sun that fell 
like lazy fingers across the encampment. "Besides, I would 
say that she is getting personal. Attacking your friends- 
hmmm, could this be a lovers' quarrel?"
    So, the source of the amusement in Zorsran's gaze was 
revealed. Aklflam frowned, but he was no more capable of 
getting angry at his friend than he was of forgiving the 
silverini. "You know very well that I don't care about 
her. Not even the usual feelings of comradeship-"
    "But she cares about you," the other Elwen finished 
softly. He glanced at Aklflam, his diamond-shaped eyes 
glinting earnestly. "My friend, if it would make it easier 
on you for us to leave-"
    Aklflam snapped up a palm. "Don't even think such a 
thing. This is the problem of Lacinthia and a few others. 
No one else." He was gratified when the other's face 
softened, and he laid his hand on Zorsran's dark-tunicked 
arm for just a moment, making a feeble joke. "I daresay 
it's harder for you than it is for me."
    Zorsran smiled slyly, as always showing no trace of 
the pain the land Elwen knew he felt. "Oh, no, not really. 
The fear is born out of respect, after all- simply the 
wrong kind."
    Aklflam knew very well that those passing by were 
giving him some very odd looks, and he also knew why. Seen 
together, the two could not have been more of a contrast. 
Aklflam was an average height by his people's standards, 
just under six feet tall, with eyes the blue of lightning. 
His hair, of a color his people named "brilliant," was a 
dark, dusky blue with two parallel stripes of perfect deep 
green, the color the sunset was now above the glory of 
purple and gold and pink-tinged green sky. He wore a sword 
at his side, and moved with the cautious, skillful step of 
a fighter. He was slender, with a thinness about the ribs 
that bordered on gauntness.
    Zorsran, on the other hand, stood a head above his 
friend. The bright, simple colors of his pale blue hair 
and silver eyes clashed strongly with the complicated hues 
of Aklflam's gaze and mane. He carried no weapons and 
moved with a studied calmness that proclaimed him to be 
what he was: a mage. He was no more than usually slender. 
But the thing that earned him the stares, the half- 
hostile, half-awed mutters, was none of these. Even in the 
direct and brilliant light of dusk, his skin gleamed 
sable, deeper than the color of the cloak he now wore.
    The darkness Elwen Trula tipped his head, eyes 
searching Aklflam's face with the curiosity his kind were 
famous for. "What were you thinking about?"
    "The Falling," the land Elwen replied immediately, 
wondering why his friend had bothered to ask. What else 
did he think about when staring south? "And how I'm going 
to pay the cursed ones back, of course."
    Zorsran's hand gripped his shoulder. "You've punished 
yourself all your life, Aklflam. That driven energy of 
yours could be better put to other uses."
    Aklflam's jaw muscles tightened, but he responded 
calmly. "Thus you have often told me, Zorsran. I thank you 
for your concern." He regarded the darkness Elwen with 
affection and yet a bit of pique. This wasn't the first 
time the Trula had urged him to give up his life's quest, 
and at times the vengeful land Elwen found his friend's 
obsession with good- and the elaborate moral code of his 
people- tiresome. And yet, he could say nothing against 
the Trula. After all, he was the same way about the 
silverini.
    Zorsran sighed, as if he had been expecting the 
answer. "I suppose I should be returning to Zosron," he 
murmured unhappily, naming the darkness Elwen city to the 
east of the land Elwen city of Areil, the last free 
stronghold of Aklflam's people in Minamar. "I came here 
mostly to talk to you, but that has been acc-"
    "Beware! Enemies!" The voice calling loudly from the 
hilltop behind them baffled both Elwens. They exchanged 
blank looks. There had been no rumors of an attack before, 
and surely the vigilant sentries would have been able to 
note soldiers before they got so close.
    Aklflam called back to the slender shape poised at the 
edge of vision. "What race? How many?" he asked in Aril. 
If it was the enemy, he didn't want to risk using the 
Primal Tongue, the common language.
    The sentry's reply would have sounded like a flurry of 
birdsong to any non-Elwen listener, but the two below 
understood it well enough. "Our own people, mixed in with 
a few curalli- no, wait!" The sentry's voice went from 
puzzled to excited all at once, electrifying with anger 
and fear. "They are only being driven as a front. Behind 
them are silverini!"
    Aklflam began to curse, low and steadily. This was a 
common and favored trick of the silver unicorns: to drive 
those Elwens whom they had enchanted into mindless slaves 
before them, ensuring that the land Elwen archers would 
hesitate about killing them. By the time the resistance 
fighters did shoot, the silver unicorns were close enough 
to use their gazepower.
    By then, of course, it would be too late.
    Of course- and the fighter smiled a bit- he had one 
trick of his own, one that should slow and conquer the 
silverini as well as ease his innate revulsion about 
killing his own people. He nodded sharply and turned to 
Zorsran. "If you would mind-?"
    "Not at all," the Trula said simply, and tilted his 
head back, his eyes going unfocused. A moment later, his 
form fogged and blurred as, exercising an inner zorkro 
ability, he lifted as a cloud of darkness and rolled away 
slowly over the hills.
    Satisfied that they would receive a little 
intelligence, Aklflam ran to where he had hidden his bow 
and his store of drowseberries. If anything went at all as 
planned, they could win this with minimum loss of life.
    Except on the silverini side, of course...
----------------------------------------------------------
    "It makes no sense," Lacinthia murmured, disturbed. 
Along with the other Elwens who had chosen to defend 
Areil, the brinna lay flat on the top of the hills that 
ringed the small valley, avoiding showing a vulnerable 
figure on the skyline for the enchanted archers to shoot 
it. "The silverini know that they cannot see as well in 
darkness as we can, and they are the main weapon in this 
battle; they know very well that their automatons cannot 
match us in fighting ability." As always when the 
lightning Elwen spoke of those mindless Elwens, an 
expression two parts pity and one part disgust twisted her 
features.
    Aklflam grinned at her as he squashed the red berries 
he held in his hands and rubbed their sparkling juice 
along the tips of his arrows, his former disagreement with 
her completely forgotten in the excitement and 
anticipation of upcoming battle. "Perhaps they are getting 
desperate, eh? That is not impossible, especially with the 
accuracy of your lightning bolts." He dipped his head a 
little in respect.
    Lacinthia looked at him in surprise for a moment, then 
flushed with pleasure. She gingerly touched one of his 
arrows, being careful not to wet her electric skin with 
the berry juice. "What is this about?"
    "My plan," answered the land Elwen simply, not wanting 
to tell anyone about it. It seemed that ever since the 
Falling, his actions were not good enough in the eyes of 
anybody save his closest friends. Stars knew he was always 
trying to drive himself on to greater levels. If this plot 
failed, he didn't want to watch people laughing behind 
their hands.
    Lacinthia gave him an earnest look, as if she had 
sensed his thoughts and was trying to reassure him that 
she would never laugh. "If those are drowseberries..." She 
did not finish the sentence, but neither did the land 
Elwen accept her silent invitation to do so. Instead, with 
all his arrows fully smeared, he stood and nocked one, 
being careful not to handle it by the iron head. Drawing 
it back until the fletching brushed his cheek, he scanned 
the open field before him for a likely target.
    His lip curled; the silverini, always certain of their 
right to win and of the power behind their gazes, did not 
cultivate knowledge of field tactics. They drove their 
slaves forward in tight clumps- that meant a hurtling 
arrow, or a missile propelled by magic, could drive 
through more than one Elwen before stopping. The slaves, 
because they had no willpower of their own and had to rely 
on the silverini to guide their every movement, staggered 
forward, not trying to take advantage of the numerous 
small patches of scrub on the Areilien field.
    Perhaps the greatest folly of all was that silverini 
arrogance. The silver unicorns galloped forward, one of 
them herding each small group of slaves. They made no 
attempt to conceal either the soft silver shine of their 
coats or the bell-notes their hooves made as they struck 
the ground. Too confident, Aklflam thought with a patient 
smile- an expression that could become a snarl of rage all 
too quickly.
    His eyes shifted to the west, and he frowned. Either 
he had slept through the last attack, or the silverini had 
introduced something new. Seven of them surrounded a close 
pack of unicorns, whose gleaming black and violet coats 
managed to blend into the night somewhat. However, they 
had a much worse implication than mere camouflage. Alone 
among the eight natural races of unicorns, blacks and 
violets could work magic.
    It was strange, and Aklflam didn't like it. The 
silverini relied on their slaves to capture rather than 
kill, to surround an opponent until a silver unicorn could 
arrive and steal the foe's will. What reason would they 
have to start killing, now?
    Well, best immobilize the magic-users first, Aklflam 
thought. He gave a tiny, philosophical shrug, whirled to 
face a great black stallion trotting some way ahead of the 
others, and loosed the first arrow.
    It flew through the air in a perfect arc; Aklflam had 
practiced for more than half his lifetime, and after a 
millennium hitting something as big and slow as a unicorn 
was no problem. The blunted arrow sank into the midnight- 
dark flank, accompanied by a little outflowing of blood, 
but not much. The land Elwen didn't care about that; he 
could just as easily have made it a heart-shot. He craned 
his neck, anxious to see if his theory held out.
    It did; the effect of the narcotic juice of the 
drowseberries was immediate. The unicorn made no noise; it 
simply collapsed. One moment it was lifting a crystal hoof 
to take another step, the next it was snoring on the 
ground. Aklflam smiled smugly and shifted his eyes to the 
silverini.
    The bright unicorns stared in consternation at the 
snoring black, than nudged him. The others huddled around, 
the violet and dark slaves wandering aimlessly without 
their masters' controlling wills, for the silvers were 
concentrating on the downed one. It would be quite a while 
before they would be able to rouse him; even a drop of 
drowseberry juice caused its receiver to sleep for more 
than six hours.
    Aklflam had truly intended to nock another arrow and 
put it straight out into the enemy archers, who were 
already loading up for battle, but an old, familiar, and 
not unexpected impulse came upon him as he gazed at the 
silverini surrounding the downed figure. For a brief 
moment, his better nature fought against it, but he soon 
bowed his head in submission, loosened the sword in its 
sheath, and made to creep down the hill, blending with the 
shadows that silverini eyes were not able to pierce.
    A cloud of darkness reforming beside him halted him, 
though, and he knew that Zorsran would most certainly want 
to talk to him. Fighting down the urges, he halted and 
waited patiently as the thick, roiling mist congealed to 
form the outline of an Elwen with skin as sable as it. The 
transformation back from being darkness always took the 
Trula longer than becoming it. Still, only a few moments 
passed until the mage stood before him.
    Zorsran sighed and rubbed at his ears, which always 
rang after such a change. "Whew! Aklflam, I'm glad I found 
you." The dark face blackened even more than was usual. 
"We've got-"
    "Trouble?" the land Elwen finished, his curiosity 
aroused. Possibly it would be something he could handle, 
though most of the unicorns' unexpected innovations were 
magical and required someone other than a fighter.
    "Exactly." Zorsran nodded grimly. "The silverini have 
brought a dragon in."
    His friend never had been one for subtlety, Aklflam 
thought wryly. He rubbed his ears as if they also hurt. 
"Let me get this straight. They have a wyrm?" He didn't 
wait for the darkness Elwen's nod; the Trula had better 
eyes than the keenest archer among them. He clenched his 
fist. "Stars!" he spat.
    Zorsran grinned wearily. "Probably what I would have 
said, had I been able to speak in that form."
    Instinct took over. "What color? Where? How high was 
it flying?"
    The mage, as always, never reacted as though he 
thought Aklflam's brusque manner offensive. "Soaring above 
the western part of the army; they're otherwise weak on 
that side, and they know it. I would say about five miles 
up. Don't worry, we'll hear- and see- it if it stoops. And 
the color-" He broke off, and turned his head away. 
Aklflam felt his heart chill; only a few species of dragon 
would make a hardened warrior react that way.
    "Eternity?" the land Elwen asked quietly.
    The Trula managed a weak laugh. "Not quite as bad as 
all that, Aklflam. No. Aqua."
    "Nearly as bad," the land Elwen noted grimly, and he 
paused, struggling between his desire to take the 
silverini and his longing to go after the dragon. However, 
perhaps Zorsran saw the latter want on his face, for his 
stare quickly became menacing, and he lifted a finger to 
shake it under the young land Elwen's nose.
    "Don't even think of going after the serpent by 
yourself; I'll take care of that. You stay here, and 
shoot."
    Aklflam tried to keep a perfectly innocent expression 
on his face as he nodded, and made sure he took up his bow 
and donned a grim expression as the darkness Elwen again 
became a moving mass of his element and drifted away. 
However, the moment the cloud was out of sight, fleeing 
rapidly toward the west, he slung the bow over his 
shoulder and replaced the arrow in its quiver. With only a 
little bit of guilt, he slithered down the hill, silent as 
the starlight falling on the grass. He stopped only to 
pat, for luck, the small pouch hanging from his belt.
    Drowseberry juice was not the only potion he carried 
with him.
----------------------------------------------------------
    He neared the silverini, who were still struggling to 
lift the sleeping unicorn without the hands of slaves, two 
minutes later. Even with the necessary task of keeping 
under cover, Elwens- especially determined, obsessive 
Elwens- could move with a speed the silverini rarely 
dreamed of, even after more than ten thousand years of 
having Elwens in subjugation to them. The land Elwen found 
shelter in a small patch of scratchweed and stared out at 
them. As he surveyed the softly shining coats, the 
delicate hooves no bigger than coins, the heavy, soft, 
moonlit manes and the long, graceful horns on the noble 
heads, hatred twisted his face. Raising a hand to his 
cheek, he felt the lines of his countenance literally 
reshape themselves under his fingers.
    Stars, how he hated them.
    As always, the sickening, bile-like burn of his 
loathing continued for only a few moments. Then it faded, 
to be replaced by something almost more terrible. The 
inside of him became a crystal lit with golden flecks of 
light, perfect and clear and cold. All emotion, all 
passion, drained away- or nearly. He called a bit of power 
and kept it on the tips of his fingers, waiting.
    Then the silverini turned and called for Elwen slaves 
to come help them, and the time for hiding had ended.
    Aklflam shot into their midst with a screaming battle- 
cry, momentarily startling several into stillness with his 
sheer volume. That was more than enough time for him to 
draw his longsword and call fire with the other hand.
    An arc of shining energy raced through the air, 
scorching one silverini's hide. The unicorns were, for 
some strange reason, liable to unusual damage from flames. 
The silver one screamed in agony and began to roll over, 
but the dry fur fueled the flames, and they clung 
hungrily, rather than going out. The others stared in 
morbid fascination, for the moment too entranced to summon 
any slaves.
    Moving with the speed of long practice, Aklflam swept 
three things- an arrow, his bow, and a bit of cloth- from 
his back. He held the arrow under the small pouch on his 
waist and squeezed. The leather folds parted, allowing a 
single drop of smoking blue fluid through. It landed on 
the arrowhead and immediately began to hiss and steam.
    Aklflam lifted the arrow and bow, balancing the 
weapons in the crook of one arm for a moment, all the time 
aware that a silver unicorn could recover at any second. 
He tied the cloth around his eyes and rushed silently, his 
arrow aimed toward the nearest scent.
    The unicorns finally began to move; he heard the bell- 
notes that spoke of hooves striking the ground, and 
smelled the scents beginning to converge on him. However, 
his cool steadiness remained intact; he had fought 
silverini more than a thousand times before, and always 
survived.
    He smelled one unicorn, a powerful stallion, swerving 
into his path, and fired. The arrow sank into a silver 
flank; he smelled spurting blood and heard the stallion 
utter one sharp cry before he collapsed to the ground. Not 
surprising, Aklflam thought smugly as he dropped to the 
ground and rolled to avoid a pair of enraged, powerful 
hooves. The arrow had been dipped in afkata, deadliest of 
venoms.
    He could smell and feel the gathering rage about him. 
The silverini, with one of their fellows dead and another 
likely at death's door, had lost all interest in taking 
him as a slave. Though he would not dare to heart-read a 
silver unicorn, his land Elwen sensitivity to emotions 
provided him with a good picture of what was going on in 
his opponents' minds.
    The archer scrambled to his feet and flung his bow 
over his back, drawing his sword. He heard a gasping sound 
that might have been a sob or a chuckle- probably the 
latter, considering the next words. "You think you can 
beat us with an ordinary, nonmagical sword? The more fool 
you! Little one," and now the voice was a lulling croon, 
or as lulling as a silver unicorn's could be, considering 
their thick accent when they spoke in any language other 
than their own. "It does not have to be this way. We will 
defend ourselves if attacked, but we offer only peace and 
brotherhood, for all the peoples of hand, hoof, wing, and 
fin. Have you ever considered that the code of your 
people, and not the silverini, is in the wrong? For 
example-"
    Aklflam, shaking his head and marveling that the 
unicorns' tedious words could still bind his interest 
magically after so long, struck out at the speaker. His 
aim was unerring, and he knew from the thick odor and the 
unicorn's bellow of outraged pain that he had struck one 
of the vulnerable places of the silverini, the eye. 
Instead of drawing back his sword, he leaned on it, 
pushing forward, shoving until he felt the point enter the 
vulnerable brain and the struggling body of his opponent 
become so much dead weight. He laughed, satisfied with his 
take, then abruptly raised his head and sniffed alertly.
    He cursed lowly. Unicorn-controlled Elwen slaves were 
moving in, and he was not willing to fight them, even with 
his drowseberry arrows. He wiped his sword on the fur of 
his foe, sheathed the blade, and then whipped the cloth 
from his eyes, turning to flee. Once he was running on the 
open plain, no unicorn would be able to catch him.
    To his surprise and horror, a silver unicorn, one who 
looked quite young, stood before him. He quickly averted 
his eyes, but the unnatural enchantment that compelled 
many people to gaze upon the glance of a silverini pulled 
at him.
    In his peripheral vision, he saw the unicorn's- the 
colt's- slender legs move, bringing him forward. Though 
the silverini did not live as long as Elwens, they spent 
the first two thousand years of their lives as children, 
and he judged that this unicorn was just entering the 
young adult stage. "Do you not wish to look upon us?" came 
the coaxing whisper. "Do you not wish to drown yourself in 
the peace and oblivion of my gaze? Do you-"
    Unbidden, Aklflam's memory flared, bringing to him the 
screams of his mother and sisters as they lost their 
wills, their spirits, their whole identities, to the 
monstrous silverini.
    "Never!" he spat, and launched out blindly with a 
fist. Such power and hatred was behind the blow that he 
heard the silverini's jaw crack. The youngster fell 
backward with a squeal, and Aklflam dashed into the open 
space it offered.
    Within seconds, he reached the normal Elwen running 
speed and swooped like a bird in flight across the open 
expanse of the Areilien Plain. Glancing behind, he 
estimated the pursuit. Several curalli or shadowed Elwens, 
one Elwen of his own race, and an Elwen with black-spotted 
golden skin and long golden hair. A long way behind them 
ran the silverini.
    Aklflam whirled and again drew a drowseberry-tipped 
arrow from his quiver. The golden Elwen was a kali, or 
cheetah Elwen, faster than anything that walked on land. 
He couldn't let her catch up with him, or even transform 
to cheetah.
    His arrow hit her just as her long limbs sprouted fur 
and she dropped to all fours. She fell asleep, but the 
transformation continued, until a great cat instead of an 
Elwen lay sleeping peacefully in the grass. Even better, 
Aklflam saw with pleasure, he had placed a stumbling block 
in the path of the rest of his pursuers, for the other 
controlled Elwens could not turn unless the silverini 
instructed them to, and the unicorns had not seen the 
slumbering kali in time. They piled on top of each other, 
tumbling into a writhing heap. Grinning, Aklflam went on.
    He ran a wide circle through the decimated eastern 
ranks of the army and then circled back in. More by 
accident than design, his steps led him to the west, and 
he was walking, trying to recover his breath and not 
exhaust himself, when a dark shadow fell over him.
    Glancing up in surprise, he saw the bulk of an aqua 
dragon. The great creature was swinging its head back and 
forth and roaring in irritation, snapping at the cloud of 
darkness that hovered around its face, slowing its 
progress and obscuring its vision. Aklflam frowned 
worriedly; it looked like Zorsran and the dragon were in a 
stalemate. The wyrm could not hurt the darkness Elwen in 
his insubstantial form, but neither could the mage use any 
spells. And Aklflam had seen several dead from their own 
side already, flayed by dragonflame or the beast's pellets 
of water.
    His hand clenched on the hilt of his sword and his 
eyes narrowed. In its frustration over the attacking 
zorkro, the dragon had allowed its height to drop 
tremendously. Now it hovered a mere sixty feet from the 
ground, and though Aklflam was hard-pressed to keep his 
feet in the wind of its beating wings, he quickly 
formulated a battle plan. If the dragon would keep 
descending...
    It did, until it was flying within reach of his Elwen 
legs. The land Elwen pressed himself against the earth, 
waited until the main part of the back was above him, and 
then sprang, striving against the air currents with all 
the strength he possessed.
    He was unusually strong for one of his race, and his 
long experience in battle had enabled him to judge his 
target perfectly. Though the breath was momentarily pushed 
out of him as he landed with a jolt on the dragon's armor- 
hard scales, he immediately rolled to the side, gasping. 
He lay still for the merest of moments, trying to catch 
his breath and watching the landscape vanish and then 
reappear as the great wing to his right lifted and 
lowered.
    As he had anticipated, the presence of a tangible foe 
on the dragon's back distracted it from its futile pursuit 
of Zorsran. It turned its head, and though still blinded, 
it could smell well enough. He heard the sucking in of 
breath, and considered for the briefest moment whether the 
attack would be water or fire.
    A smoky smell gave him his answer, and he reacted 
instinctively, dropping flat from his half-crouch as a 
great gout of flame thundered by overhead. The dragon, 
evidently thinking its task done, turned back to snap at 
its hovering nemesis- and abruptly squealed in pain.
    Aklflam knew very well that no steel, not even his 
fine blade, could bite through a dragon's scales unless 
heavily enchanted. He reacted accordingly, using his 
emotional magic to conjure a whirling shower of diamond 
bits that matched his cold, fey mood perfectly. He 
directed these to circle like butterflies around the 
dragon, some tearing at the vulnerable wings or slightly 
softer underbelly, some drilling through the back or the 
serpentine neck. Already, blue-green blood had begun to 
flow.
    The dragon roared in a frenzy of pain, and abruptly 
pulled out of its descent. It spread its wings wide, 
catching the bucking air currents and holding them steady 
as it pulled into a steep climb. The feat would have been 
impossible for many flying animals, including most birds, 
and the move took Aklflam by surprise. He lost control of 
the diamond bits as he clung desperately to the smooth 
scales, digging his fingers into the wounds his magic had 
made. His stomach flipped dizzily, and the wind howling 
along his ears raised pain in both his eardrums and his 
cheeks. Still, he could not lift a hand to soothe the 
friction. He was too occupied with making sure he stayed 
alive; jumping from this height would be sure suicide.
    Not that it occurred to him to abandon Zorsran.
    The dragon reached the apex of its climb and hovered 
for a few moments, seemingly seeking some command from its 
silverini masters. As Aklflam coughed and rubbed his 
stinging cheeks, a thought occurred to him. The dragon's 
reactions to him, from breathing flame to ascending 
instead of descending, had been natural, without any 
mental influence by the silver unicorns that he could 
feel. The land Elwen lifted his head, eyes full of hope. 
Occasionally the mental healers or mages still were able 
to bring back a lost soul. He had never done such a thing, 
but he had followed the required patterns and paths often 
enough. It was possible...
    He breathed deeply, clearing his mind of all doubts 
and distractions, including hope. He sent out a tendril of 
mental power, not daring to feel less than confident. 
Finding the dragon's mind in a state of turmoil- it had 
indeed broken its masters' control for a few moments- he 
set up a defensive wall around the chaos.
    Just in time, for a command by a silverini came 
streaking in like a comet. He grinned impudently, 
imagining with pleasure the unicorn's chagrin, and then 
ventured a little deeper into the complicated mess of the 
dragon's mind.
    However, he soon became disheartened. The dragon had 
been under the control of the silverini too long, 
conditioned while still in the egg and exposed to the 
gazepower in the first moments of its life as a hatchling. 
Aklflam might be able to break the barriers, but the best 
the dragon could ever achieve would be a state of complete 
and total, animal-like freedom. It could never return to 
the rich life led by an intelligent creature, the life it 
should have had by rights. Heartsick, the land Elwen 
buried his face in his hands, his hatred for the silverini 
stronger than usual. "How dare they," he whispered through 
his fingers, feeling hot tears slide down his cheeks. 
Angrily, he brushed them away.
    A hand as cool and dark as ebony fell on his 
shoulders, and a weary voice whispered, "Not every soul 
can be saved, my friend." Aklflam glanced up, but his 
sight of the zorkro beside him was blurred by the 
moisture.
    "I can only try," he said dully. He again brushed at 
his eyes to clear them, and saw that Zorsran's expression 
was as stricken as his own. The mage reached out, 
caressing the dragon's cool scales, his face a mask of 
grief. The beast responded to the touch with a confused 
chirp, much like a hatchling.
    Aklflam looked at his friend in wonder that was 
familiar but always strangely new. Most zorkro cared for 
nothing beyond themselves; their civilization was based on 
reth, a drug that stole the conscience, and on the eating 
of souls. But Zorsran was a Trula, one of an almost 
separate race of darkness Elwens with spirits as bright as 
their cousins' were dark. The Trulae never ate reth, never 
used their fangs save to defend their own lives or the 
lives of others, and had specially adapted their bodies to 
resist the change that had reduced other zorkro to eating 
souls. The Trulae were leaders of the darkness Elwens, but 
loved their people too much to force them to change. 
However, it was largely due to their efforts that their 
sable-skinned race had survived.
    And stayed free, Aklflam thought. "Is there anything 
we can do?" he asked aloud.
    "Nothing, I'm afraid," sighed Zorsran, and though he 
did not weep, his face was more sorrowful than if he had. 
"Nothing, that is, save to let him go, let him live the 
life of a free wild creature. Still- if there is any 
intelligence in his mind that the silverini did not take, 
I would reach it, let it know that it will be remembered." 
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, and Aklflam 
settled down with a feeling of anticipation. Even among 
the musical Elwens, Zorsran had a renowned voice.
    The first notes that passed his lips were sprightly, 
conjuring mind-images of a playing child- or hatchling, as 
the land Elwen supposed. However, they almost immediately 
dipped and became dark and somber, bringing to Aklflam's 
inner eyes a picture of deep sable with a single silvery 
thread of bright sadness running through it. That, and the 
direction of the notes, showed the music for what it truly 
was: a lament. The land Elwen leaned back on the cool 
scales and closed his eyes.
    As if the dragon understood the song, it began to move 
forward, gliding sedately, so as not to disturb the two 
Elwens on its back. It again gave an absurdly hopeful 
chirp, as if begging to have its mind restored. Tears 
began to slide down Aklflam's cheeks, and this time he was 
not ashamed of them.
    Zorsran's response was instantly audible within the 
song; he began using both his voiceboxes, the larynx and 
the more magical laryma, which allowed Elwens to speak 
Aril, in concert. Two tones of slightly different pitches 
were produced, liquid and flowing, twining in and about 
each other. The more mundane one was identifiable by its 
more physical sound; the other sounded like birdsong. It 
was a rare feat, and one that many Elwens, Aklflam 
included, had tried without success to duplicate. This 
time, however, it seemed there was more magic and wonder 
than usual embodied in the song. Smelling a delicate, odd 
odor, Aklflam lazily opened one eye, then sat up 
instantly.
    Zorsran had his eyes tightly shut and was 
concentrating wholly on the song, but the beauty of the 
music became only a background effect for the land Elwen. 
He stared at the dragon's head, which was covered by a 
gentle puff of silver cloud, as Zorsran had lately covered 
it in his darkness form. However, the sparkling color of 
this mist- it appeared like molten silver- and the flower- 
like fragrance of it quickly convinced the fighter that 
this was no ordinary cloud. He watched, mesmerized, as the 
cloud formed two funnels, which extended like tentacles 
into the small holes under each great eye that served as 
the dragon's ears. Curious, he followed them with his 
mind, until his mental thread brushed the dragon's brain.
    He felt the orange-red of his own amazement color the 
mental world, and for a moment he could do nothing but 
stare. The silver tendrils were darting like butterflies 
or his own shards of diamond through the tortured maze of 
the dragon's mind, spreading a sparkling mist over 
everything.
    And where the mist lay, it accomplished the quickest, 
quietest, and most thorough psychic healing he had ever 
encountered.
    Aklflam quickly withdrew into his own mind again and 
glanced at Zorsran, wondering if the zorkro had noticed 
the mist. One quick look convinced him that he hadn't; the 
dark one's eyes were still tightly shut as he poured his 
whole heart and being into the song.
    The song, the land Elwen thought in wonder. It was 
possible that the Trula's voice was causing this; never 
had Zorsran sung so strongly, so sweetly. There were 
legends of other types of magical song being produced, 
although none of them had ever had an effect anything like 
this.
    Of course, that didn't mean the existence of a new 
type of magical music was beyond the realms of 
possibility, either. Aklflam waited until the silver cloud 
had retreated from the dragon's mind and was hovering 
about the great head as if waiting for some command, 
before he tapped the singer's shoulder.
    Seemingly rudely startled, the Trula blinked his eyes 
and looked at Aklflam, his voice dying into stillness. At 
the exact moment that the notes faded, the sparkling 
silver mist vanished also. The land Elwen chuckled at this 
confirmation of his suspicions. "Touch the dragon's mind," 
he told his friend, to forestall any questions.
    Zorsran looked doubtful, but did so, his eyes briefly 
unfocusing as they always did when an Elwen was engaged in 
telepathic communion or some other mental work. When he 
returned to himself and the glaze faded from his glance, 
the silver eyes were sparkling with pure wonder. "I don't 
know how your accomplished it, Aklflam," he said warmly, 
putting a hand on the land Elwen's arm, "but that was a 
heroic d-"
    "I didn't do it," the land Elwen interrupted him, 
quietly but firmly. "You did, Zor."
    The darkness Elwen stared at him and then laughed 
uneasily. "Aklflam, I know you love jesting, but please, 
there's no need to be modest. I'll make sure the others 
know what you did," he continued excitedly, his eyes 
brightening with a contented glow. "They'll plan-"
    A booming cough stopped him this time, and both Elwens 
looked up to find the great head of the dragon cocked 
above them. Just in time, Aklflam dropped his gaze to 
avoid meeting the great aqua eyes. That could be even more 
damaging than surrendering himself to the gazepower of a 
silverini. Still, he could hear the aqua's words clearly.
    "It was you, mage- through your song," said the dragon 
respectfully. In the corners of his eyes, Aklflam saw the 
dragon's wings flare out to the side in a traditional 
gesture of gratitude of his people. "It was like nothing I 
have ever felt before, and it accomplished its purpose 
admirably. What do you call it?" Though the beast strove 
to speak calmly, the excitement, relief, and heart-rending 
joy were obvious just below the surface of its voice.
    Zorsran shook his head helplessly, holding out his 
hands, and the amused land Elwen could not help stealing a 
glance at his face. The Trula's lips were bloodless, his 
eyes wide with shock. "Please, Great One- I don't know 
what you're talking about! I-"
    "-was too deeply in song to notice its effect," 
Aklflam finished dryly for him. "When you got deep into 
the song, Zor, a silver mist appeared about the head of 
our friend here and entered him through his ears. I 
followed it and watched it heal his mind. Now it's my turn 
to scold you about false modesty. What is this ability, 
and what are you going to call it? Since it appears to be 
yours alone, I would say you have the pleasure of naming 
it. It could be very useful."
    "A silver mist, you say?" There was both 
thoughtfulness and resigned acceptance in Zorsran's voice; 
he was not overjoyed about suddenly manifesting an unknown 
and totally unexplained ability. "Then why not call it 
silversong?"
    "Apt," the dragon acknowledged, with a flick of his 
wings. "And now, my friends, let me take you down."
    At first, Aklflam mistook the creature's meaning; it 
was, after all, an evil dragon. But the aqua beast did not 
flip and drop them; it coasted smoothly downward, wings no 
longer locked in the gliding position but flapping gently. 
It landed some distance away from where the two armies 
were still embroiled in battle and extended one foreleg to 
earth with a deep bow. Both Elwens slid gracefully to the 
ground, nodding their heads in gratitude to the dragon. 
The aqua seemed embarrassed at their response, scraping 
the ground with one great taloned paw.
    "This does not pay the debt," he said solemnly. "I do 
not wish to stay near here- the silverini still might 
recapture me- but I can come if you call me 
telepathically." He looked at Zorsran and grinned 
toothily. "Or with your silversong, Mage." He turned, 
flattening himself against the earth, then soared aloft in 
one great bound, wings positioned so as to take full 
advantage of their largeness. In one smooth movement, he 
uncoiled like a striking snake and shot for the sky. 
"Farewell!" came his final roar, from high above. Aklflam 
lifted one hand in salute, though he knew he could not be 
seen, and turned a mischievous look on the still-  
bewildered mage.
    "Well, Zorsran- or should I call you a silversinger 
now?"
    The Trula shook his head, his silver eyes abstracted. 
He was gnawing on his dark lip, a sure sign of anxiety. 
"Aklflam, none of this makes sense. The children of my 
race are tested young to see what magical abilities we 
possess. I showed no sign of having any talent even 
remotely linked with musical magic. Why should this 
develop now?" His voice sank, and he darted a hunted look 
towards the slowly retreating silverini. "There are rumors 
of mutations in the minalds," he murmured. "Could this be 
a result of a malevolent spell sent by our enemies?"
    Aklflam's clap on the back caused him to stumble. 
"Don't be silly, Zor! Why would they send something that 
works as a reliable cure on the minds of those they've 
twisted?"
    "I suppose you're right," said the zorkro after 
contemplating the truth of that remark for a few minutes. 
"Still, I'd like to study this 'silversong' further, and 
keep a very careful eye on it. Speaking of which, we'd 
better get back to Areil, or there won't be anything left 
to study."
    Glancing about, Aklflam saw that the silverini had 
almost contrived a stalemate, but had lost slightly at 
last. Great numbers of their own kind and of the unicorns 
they had herded lay unmoving on the grass, and several 
Elwen slaves had been surrounded and taken by the 
defenders of Areil. Now both sides were slowly retreating, 
keeping a careful eye on each other. The land Elwen 
nodded, and the pair moved to rejoin the ranks of their 
own people.
    A thin, odd, keening scream shot across the Plain, 
piercing Aklflam's heart like an arrow tipped with one of 
his own poisons. He turned with speed that surprised even 
himself and scanned the open horizon narrowly, 
desperately. He knew that scream.
    The cry of a silverini's victim.
    He spotted the telltale, still ring of silver 
unicorns- the destruction of any will, particularly a 
strong Elwen's, took a few moments, and the silverini 
wanted to make sure their fellow was not disturbed. He 
sprang forward, ignoring Zorsran's shouts. It could only 
be one of their own, since the aqua, the only prisoner 
freed, had flown swiftly away.
    He hit the back of the silverini ring, a silent, 
deadly whirlwind of sword and arrows that seemed to 
bristle around him like an angry porcupine's quills. The 
unicorns wheeled to confront him, confused, but as they 
lowered their deadly horns and gazes to do battle, he 
squeezed inside the ring. The icy crystal went even colder 
inside him as he realized what was happening.
    Lacinthia, the jade-haired lightning Elwen who bore a 
fondness for him, stood motionless in the center of the 
circle, facing a young silver unicorn whose jaw hung limp 
and broken: the colt Aklflam had faced earlier. He quickly 
looked away before he could be caught by the spell of the 
silverini's eyes- some could enchant two or even three 
Elwens at once- but he had seen the damage done. Lacinthia 
already possessed the blank face and terrible, soulless 
eyes that were common to silverini slaves.
    He risked a quick glance back at her the next moment, 
and realized he was too late. Her eyes were still 
soulless, but had gone from blank and filled with terrible 
loss to an expression of animalistic devotion, puppyish 
eagerness. Her jaw hung loose, and she drooled like an 
old, helpless elf, or an Elwen afflicted with some wasting 
disease. She cuddled close to the silverini colt, who 
smiled smugly as he patted her head like a dog's, careful 
not to use too much force. Even the tiny hooves of the 
silverini could inflict killing blows. "My dear," he said 
in a voice as icy as the main weapon of his people, "it 
seems this Elwen," and he nodded his horned head toward 
Aklflam, "has seen fit to wreak harm on your master." He 
touched his broken jaw tenderly with a hoof, and Aklflam, 
through his sadness, sickness, and loathing, could feel 
the waves of disgust and confusion emanating from him. 
    Lacinthia stood, her movements still graceful, but 
bearing just the barest hint of puppet-like jerkiness; her 
body moved now only to the silverini's will. She stepped 
in front of Aklflam, whose pride forced him to meet her 
servile golden eyes. The expression in that gaze was anger 
mixed with understanding and love. For the barest of 
moments, the land Elwen allowed himself to hope.
    The illusion of retained Elwenity was shattered the 
moment she spoke, for those words were from no soul but 
that of a silverini. "Aklflam, why do you fight? Don't you 
want to join in the brotherhood of all races, the peace, 
complete, consuming, and total? Don't you want to join 
me?" She smiled and held out her hand, but her expression 
had nothing of the beauty that had marked Lacinthia's.
    The land Elwen knew that Zorsran could cure her, if he 
got her away. His legs tensed subtly, and then he leaped, 
grasping her shoulders and whipping her around as he 
attempted to down her and knock her unconscious.
    However, Lacinthia fought back with a determination he 
had not expected, and she had been stronger than him even 
when free. She easily reversed their positions, seizing 
his arms and pushing him toward the silverini who was her 
master. Aklflam squeezed his eyes shut, but already the 
gazepower was pulling at him, singing to him, compelling 
him to look.
    And then Zorsran's rich, full voice boomed out from 
beyond the ring of silverini, weaving an intricate 
pattern, a medley of notes. Half-fainting from shock and 
grief, Aklflam barely felt the sparkling silver tendrils 
of mist curl around him, tearing him from Lacinthia's 
grasp and spiriting him upward. The angry clamor faded 
behind him as he was borne full speed toward Areil. 
    The product of the silversong's magic dissipated just 
outside the Areilien Hills. Stumbling, Aklflam felt 
himself assisted up the crest of one of the small rises by 
friendly hands. Only when on the valley floor did he turn 
to face Zorsran, choking, "They have.. they have..."
    "I saw," the Trula murmured, voice thick with grief. 
He hesitated, then held out his arms. Aklflam clung 
tightly to him, his face tearful as he sobbed out his 
grief; Zorsran's face was dry, but no less stricken.
    The land Elwen pulled free at last and stood staring 
out over the hills. He muttered to himself, not caring for 
the presence of the disapproving Trula so close. "Someone 
will pay." He looked grimly at his friend. "I have a 
personal enemy among the silverini now."




                        Chapter 2
                      The Silverini
    Destria trotted along the winding, hidden path that 
led to the beauty of the minald, the unicorn city, feeling 
quite pleased with himself. Even though they had been 
driven back, this had been quite a successful foray. They 
had plumbed several of the Areiliens' weaknesses. 
    And he had taken his first slave.
    He looked proudly out of the corner of one eye at the 
female lighting Elwen walking beside him with an 
expression of fierce and vigilant devotion. This had been 
his first formal use of his gazepower, his first real 
taking of an untamed will, though, of course, he had used 
it before to cow rebellious slaves, as had all his 
brethren. All the slaves that had served him before this 
had been the property of others or the general, all- 
purpose property of the minalds where he had lived. Now, 
finally, he had a personal one, inexorably bound to him by 
a tie that could never be broken. Even luckier, she was an 
Elwen, the race most favored by the silverini because of 
their adaptability and long lives. All that was almost 
worth the price of a broken jaw, and that could be healed 
the moment they returned to the minald. For the minute, it 
remained a dull ache.
    The young silver unicorn did feel annoyed that the 
land Elwen had resisted him and gotten away, but greater 
than his irritation was his covetousness. Besides the 
pleasure of breaking an extremely strong will, such as the 
one of "Aklflam", he had been young and strong.
    Many silverini could take only the careless Elwens or 
those weakened by age, he thought sadly, and those 
characteristics were retained when the Elwens became 
slaves. Taking this land Elwen, though...
    He put the matter out of his mind. After all, the 
silverini planned another attack on Areil within a few 
weeks. The distance from Ceowydi to the land Elwen city 
was not a journey to be undertaken lightly, considering 
the hostile "free" territory in between, but it was still 
accomplished in two or three days.
    Destria felt the trail become more worn and beaten 
under his hooves than ever, and he lifted his horned head, 
snorting softly, eyes bright. Yes, he recognized that 
large pine. The minald was just around this bend...
    As he stepped into the cleared area of the place that 
had been his home for several years, Destria could not 
help glancing around once again, overcome with admiration. 
Though he had been born in Tharassia Minald, the capital 
of Ceowydi, it could not match the glory of Crownia.
    Here and there amid the softly gleaming wooden and 
silver buildings were large patches of forest that had 
been left for pleasure or to feed the slaves with meat. 
The trees, mostly oaks, looked as if they were on fire, 
for the unicorns had bred a special variety that bore red 
leaves, even now, so early in spring. The luscious scarlet 
canopy spread over the city like a welcoming coverlet, 
keeping out the last soggy, still-drifting flakes of 
winter snow.
    The trees were not the main focus of the minald, 
however; those buildings designed for silverini were. They 
rose among the squat slave stables like the lords they 
were home to, Destria thought with indulgent pride. Many 
sported silverini staircases, long, thin, strong bolts of 
spidersilk with silver steps attached. The stairs were 
placed so that silver unicorns could comfortably jump 
them, without having to walk a series and get the four 
legs that were a mark of superiority tangled up. Many of 
the buildings themselves were delicate spires with 
thousands of rooms at the top alone, the silver reinforced 
by wood and slave magic. Yes, Destria thought, this time 
smugly, Crownia reflects the true pride of my people.
    "Destria!" called an impatient voice, and the young 
silver unicorn tilted his horned head. An older stallion 
stood behind him, scraping at the ground with a hoof and 
glaring with one blue eye. His silver body was covered 
with scars, at least five dozen to Destria's one. "Move 
out of the way, youngster!"
    Destria felt his silver fur pale to almost white, and 
stepped off the path into the shelter of the pine tree. He 
watched through narrowed eyes as the older unicorn pranced 
by. Snarreln was Crownia's field commander in the struggle 
that would not cease until the remaining free races were 
enslaved, and a gaggle of slaves followed him like 
ducklings and hung on his every word, but he was also ugly 
and impatient. Destria wondered sardonically what he would 
do when the opposition was no more. Breed slaves and watch 
for interesting mutations, he supposed. It was what all 
the elders did.
    He kept his face calm, but inwardly seethed and threw 
stinging taunts until Snarreln was past. Then he rejoined 
the ranks, leading his lightning Elwen slave down one of 
the many twisting paths. He needed to get her noted and 
bonded more firmly.
    Everywhere, the minald rang with the noise of bells as 
the silverini who had stayed in the city rushed to join 
the returning raid party and ask questions. Several soon 
sniffed out Destria as the only silver unicorn who had 
taken a new slave and followed him, admiring the lightning 
Elwen and asking him excited questions. When some noted 
that there were far fewer silverini than the herd who had 
gone out, Destria was quick to shift the subject away from 
that- as well as the subject of the missing aqua dragon. 
The field force had decided between themselves on their 
return that mentioning such things would only create 
unnecessary dismay. Above all, they were not to mention 
the mysterious cloud of silver that many of them had seen 
cure the aqua and lift the helpless land Elwen away.
    What was it? Destria wondered for the hundredth time. 
An alien life form, some spirit they've coaxed or talked 
into serving them? Though it smelled of magic, it couldn't 
be that, they all knew. No silverini had ever performed 
that type of magic, and-
    The young stallion's eyes snapped up, unconsciously, 
to the reminder carved over the door of the binding house 
he was about to enter. "Anything a slave can do, a silver 
unicorn can do better."
    Therefore, this strange silver cloud must be something 
alive, and Destria felt his grin widen. It could be taken 
by the silver unicorn gazepower then.
    He braced himself and stepped into the heat of the 
binding house, hot even though the cold silver walls 
absorbed much of the fire's warmth. He blinked, and 
blinked again, trying to adjust his eyes to firelight 
after the brilliance of the outdoors. At his side, he saw 
the lightning Elwen's pupils dilate briefly as her eyes 
comfortably made the shift from daysight to nightsight. He 
frowned, consumed by envy for a moment, then banished it. 
Just who was the slave here, after all?
    "Master Destria!" he was hailed, and he lifted his 
head, face relaxing in a smile. Lunanin, the owner of the 
binding house, was one of the few silverini who didn't 
treat Destria as a child. He waited eagerly, still 
struggling to see past the strangely flickering shadows of 
the bonfire in the center.
    A moment later, Lunanin stepped into the center of the 
shop and beamed a welcome at him. The older silver 
unicorn's forelock and tail were singed dark by the 
constant fire he was exposed to as the bindingmaster, the 
unicorn equivalent of a smith. His horn was also dark in 
the upper regions, and his legs, especially around his 
forehooves, bore many small, pitted scars. But none of 
that mattered to the younger silverini, nor did his 
ruby-red eyes. Destria cared only that Lunanin's gaze was 
wide and gently open.
    He stepped to one side, mentally commanding the 
lightning Elwen forward. "Got a slave to be bound," he 
said as casually as he could manage.
    Lunanin stared for a moment, then chuckled softly. 
"Well, I'll be! The first of your own, young Destria?"
    The colt nodded sharply. The bindingmaster smiled 
widely, trotting to the wall, where several thin iron rods 
hung. He selected the sturdiest and, holding it in his 
teeth, rapped it on the floor several times. Satisfied 
with the sound, he walked to the fire and held the iron 
into the hottest part of the flames, which were fueled by 
an underground magma source. As he watched the metal, 
seemingly mesmerized, he spoke skillfully around the iron 
in his mouth. "Never really dealt with a lightning Elwen 
before; they're rare in this minald. What did you plan on 
calling her?"
    Destria wrinkled his nose fastidiously and glanced 
toward his slave out of the corner of his eye. She watched 
him with puppyish innocence, her jade hair shimmering in 
the light of the fire. "Her present name is Lacinthia, 
which I don't care for. I thought Opalia," he whispered, 
naming the silver unicorn word for jewel.
    "Opalia it is then," muttered the bindingmaster, and 
abruptly pulled the iron free of the fire and tilted his 
head back. Mentally summoned, his slaves scurried toward 
him, one taking the cooler end of the iron and another 
standing by with a bucket of water. Meanwhile, the 
stallion moved to the end of the iron, tensed himself, and 
abruptly reared on his hind legs.
    Destria had seen the bindingmaster at work before, but 
he never tired of watching him. Not even the smith in 
Tharassia had been so good. With swift, practiced taps, 
Lunanin forced the soft iron into the shape he wanted; 
that of a large O. Then he stepped back and nodded to the 
slave holding the water. The elf lifted the bucket, and 
the iron was plunged into it, hissing and steaming.
    Lunanin nodded again and turned comfortably to 
Destria. "That will take a short while to cool. Tell me, 
is it true that we lost an aqua dragon to the Areiliens?" 
His face was grim.
    Destria cursed silently, but it was not in his nature 
to lie. He and the others should have recognized the power 
of rumor and the observation powers of some individuals. 
"Yes. Somehow they've bound or conjured a cursed cloud- 
like being that can heal the minds of our slaves. I don't 
like it, but the attempts to catch it were futile. Also," 
he added grudgingly, knowing Lunanin would only pick up 
the information elsewhere in any case, "it snatched a land 
Elwen from right under my nose." He stamped a hoof on the 
ground. "I would have had two slaves today if not for it."
    "Ah," Lunanin sympathized. "I can understand your 
loss." With their varied emotional magic, land Elwens were 
among the most prized servants in the minald. "Did the 
cloud break your jaw?"
    "No," Destria admitted grudgingly. He turned to the 
lightning Elwen and stepped in front of her. "Heal," he 
commanded, staring into her yellow eyes and tapping his 
jaw with a hoof.
    Opalia stretched out a hand and rested it on his 
cracked jaw, stroking gently. In moments, the electrical 
energy in her body that was normally used for lightning 
bolts had been converted into healing power, and it poured 
into him, making him tingle sweetly all over. When she 
pulled her hand back at last on his order, he could tell 
that he wouldn't have to visit the healers after all, save 
perhaps for a painkiller to soothe the last few smarting 
aches. He turned a smug eye on Lunanin.
    Again the older unicorn's face was filled with 
admiration. "You were lucky to capture a slave who could 
heal. Most unicorns I know can't make them do that until 
after they're bound."
    "I had a good teacher," Destria replied, with a 
roguish wink. Lunanin laughed aloud and affectionately 
touched the young unicorn's ivory-colored horn with his 
dark one.
    "Flattery will get you everywhere," he chuckled, as 
his slaves walked forward with the halfway-cool iron. 
"Tell Opalia to hold still, will you? They struggle, 
sometimes, out of an instinctive response to pain."
    Destria did as he was asked and inserted a psychic 
wall in the lightning Elwen's mind to block the pain as 
the still-hot iron touched her on the cheek. You do not 
feel the pain, he soothed her, through the intense 
thoughts that were as near as a unicorn could come to 
telepathy. You stand still because your master, the master 
who loves you, wishes it to be so...
    Apparently he did a good job; Opalia ceased resisting 
after a few moments and stood passive, though she did jerk 
and flinch briefly as the brand was implanted into her 
skin. Destria, hovering in her mind and watching the 
situation through her eyes, felt the last buried bit of 
personality die in her, and was satisfied. The binding 
accomplished more than mere tying of the slave to his or 
her master; it also killed the repressed parts of the 
slaves, and the occasional, dangerous abomination known as 
an elwenspirit. In the first rise of the Empire, Elwen 
slaves had given their owners grief by maintaining some 
parody of that ridiculous irony, free will. That would 
never happen now.
    When Opalia's binding was complete, Destria stepped 
outside the shop and, tensing his legs, leaped. The oak 
that stood nearby provided him with several sweet red 
leaves, the type that older unicorns, like Lunanin, could 
not reach for themselves. Standing inside again, the colt 
gravely presented them to the stallion as payment. The 
bindingmaster ate them in a few bites and then licked his 
lips, eyes wide with gratitude. "You have a good day, 
Destria," he said affably, glancing at one of his slaves, 
who was writing down Opalia's name, race, gender, looks, 
and ownership in a large book. "And you have fun with her. 
First slaves are always the best. Congratulations again."
    "My thanks, Lunanin," said Destria, simply and 
formally, and stepped out of the binding house. With 
Opalia on his heels, he made his way toward the nearest 
spire that rose above the trees. He could always graze or 
order his slave and others to forage for him, but at the 
moment, he felt the need of some cooked food.
    He passed other silver unicorns, all of whom nodded 
and murmured congratulations, glancing at Opalia. He took 
the compliments with a stiff nod, and sometimes chatted 
with a particular friend before moving on. However, the 
majority of the passerby were slaves, all branded and all 
wearing the differently colored tunics and leggings that 
indicated their stations. All hurried intently along on 
whatever errand their masters had given them, their faces 
serious and eager. Destria noted with no small pride that 
there was a marked shortage of brinnae. He would probably 
have people willing to barter for the power of Opalia's 
lightning bolt soon.
    After several moments, they reached the spire he had 
seen earlier, as well as the spiderweb staircase. This the 
silverini hopped nimbly up, the lightning Elwen matching 
his leaps with no physical or mental complaints. Of 
course, how could she? She was just an empty shell now, to 
be filled with himself.
    They entered the building of the minald that was the 
closest silverini equivalent to an inn, the minacada. As 
Destria pushed the door of the anteroom open, he felt the 
welcoming warmth of the fires settle around him, and the 
still-brisk air of early spring was left behind. He 
motioned Opalia to one of the slave stalls along the wall. 
Obediently, the lightning Elwen entered it and stood 
inert, head down and arms hanging at her sides, for all 
the world appearing no more animate than a stone. Destria 
felt her brain activity- a little tickle compared to the 
activity a silverini was capable of- cease. Satisfied, he 
trotted to the second door and stuck his horn through the 
small hole provided.
    The portal swung smoothly open, and he stood on the 
threshold of cheer and laughter. Though built of silver on 
the outside, the minacada was paneled with wood on the 
inside. This provided for interesting reflections as the 
shadows of the fire flickered and danced across it, and as 
the light of the sunset fell through the open windows, 
sparkling softly and caressing the smooth oak.
    The silverini had no such contrivances as tables. They 
stood comfortably on all four legs before small, raised 
platforms with flower-like buds that held each separate 
meal. Destria moved to an empty platform and began gorging 
himself on the untouched meal of hay, grass, and leaves 
there. It took him a few moments to become aware of the 
presence beside him, but when he did so, he turned.
    He had expected one of the few unicorns who did not 
feel him to be a stranger in the minald, perhaps Lunanin, 
but to his shock, this young mare of his race was one he 
had never seen before. She was even more diminutive than 
he was, her mane, tail, and legs scarcely longer than 
those of a filly. Her horn glowed the mingled silver and 
ivory color sought by all silverini, and in her case 
Destria felt the effect was natural and not contrived. 
Most unusual of all were her eyes. Most unicorns had 
bright eyes, but hers were dark pools as violet as the 
light slanting in through the window.
    "Hello," said the mare softly, shaking her head so 
that a stray piece of silver mane floated out of her eyes. 
"My name is Kumota. You are Destria, if I am correct?"
    Hypnotized by the soft, rich inflections of her voice, 
the young stallion nodded. Kumota stretched her lips in 
the equine equivalent of a smile. "I've been looking for 
you. I'd like to know how I can join a raiding party."
    Destria motioned, greatly daring, toward one of the 
empty platform-flowers. "Stand down. Have something to eat 
while I tell you." The mare nodded her thanks, her mane 
rippling like water in moonlight, and moved to the place 
he had indicated, extending her neck to munch delicately 
on the vegetation as she awaited his answer.
    Destria could only watch her for a moment, but he 
recovered quickly. "Usually," he said uncomfortably, "one 
of the older unicorns suggests you for a raid. That, at 
least, was how I got in. I assume it takes friendship with 
an elder stallion or mare; it's the only requirement I 
know of."
    "Puzzling," said Kumota delicately, working her lips 
to separate a blood-red oak leaf from the rest of her 
meal. "Considering you and the slave you brought back, I 
would have thought raiders were chosen for intelligence 
and strength."
    The young stallion felt the blood rush away from his 
face, turning his skin pale under his fur once more. 
"It's- very kind of you to say so," he stammered, somehow 
finding his voice. "But- n-no, I don't think so."
    "I do," said Kumota, her voice so serious and deep 
with conviction that he stared at her. The young mare 
regarded him with violet eyes that beamed, orbs of deepest 
and most fiery lavender, across the steel platform at him. 
"I also think you underestimate yourself."
    Again Destria blushed, but this time, he didn't know 
whether to feel mortified or pleasantly surprised. He 
opted for the latter and returned to his meal, lifting his 
head to gaze at Kumota every now and then. Though she ate 
through the first few times he looked at her, she tilted 
her horned head to return his glance the fourth time, her 
vibrant violet eyes now amused. "You don't have to worry. 
I'm not a mirage. I won't vanish."
    Destria flushed a third time and brought his eyes 
determinedly back to his own fare. If he didn't, she might 
either become insulted and leave, or think he was staring 
at her food instead of her.
    When they had finished eating, the two unicorns stood 
still by the platform, now relatively comfortable in each 
other's company. Across the room, a silverini harpist used 
his teeth to rake the golden strings of his instrument, 
setting both room and harp humming with the vibration. It 
was not long before some silverini began to clap in time 
to the cheerful tune that the musician both played and 
sang, balancing themselves against the empty cups that had 
held food and tapping their forehooves together. Others 
contented themselves with standing on all fours and merely 
touching a hind foot to the ground, but soon the room, 
indeed the whole of the minacada, seemed to sway.
    The harper reached the end of his first song and 
started the next, and at that point a pair of rambunctious 
silverini colts standing beside their parents could 
contain themselves no longer. With sharp squeals, they 
galloped to the center of the floor, which was specially 
reinforced for this kind of thing, and began to dance, 
tiny horns weaving seemingly magical patterns as they 
vaulted through the air, manes and tails streaming behind 
them like silver banners. Their indulgent parents joined 
them a moment later, leaping around and over their 
children in a dance that was swift, graceful, and, 
ultimately, breathtaking.
    A few other silverini couples joined them, exhibiting 
a more wild aspect of the same joyous freedom. These 
tended to do flips as they leaped, to land on places other 
than their hooves, to juggle the buckets of water brought 
by the slaves with their noses. One pair even reared on 
their hind legs, touching forehooves so that they braced 
each other with their stiffened front legs, and waltzed 
around the room in a hilarious parody of Elwens or elves. 
Destria laughed loudly at this display, while Kumota 
merely smiled quietly and turned her head, watching him 
coyly out of the corner of a violet eye.
    "Do you want to dance?" she asked directly, when his 
chuckles had died down. Destria blinked at her for only a 
moment before grabbing the wits to reply.
    "Of course," he said, with what he hoped was grave 
formality, and inclined his horn, indicating that she 
could step onto the dance floor first. She smiled a thank 
you and did exactly that, mincing delicately, carrying her 
silver tail like a banner. Destria followed a minute 
later, trying to see what she was doing.
    It appeared that the young mare had chosen to leap 
with the best of them, vaulting among the flying shapes 
with a carefree abandon at odds with her dignified 
appearance. Destria admired her from the ground for a long 
moment before joining her, and he wasn't the only one. The 
eyes of a few unicorns who had been listening to the music 
turned to her, apparently finding her cartwheeling grace 
enchanting.
    Kumota herself did not appear to notice the stares she 
attracted, whether they were admiring or envious. She 
existed only to dance in those first few moments, silver 
tail and mane cloaking her like spidersilk as she rose to 
the apex of her climb and came down again. She landed 
delicately on all four hooves, positioning them so closely 
together that she had no trouble leaping into the air 
again at once.
    Destria did not fancy himself nearly as graceful as 
she was, but grace was as much a part of silverini as it 
was of Elwens, when the unicorns cared to exercise it. He 
turned in midair, managing three complete revolutions 
before he hit the floor, his mane and tail tightly 
bundling themselves around his face and flanks. He 
laughed, snorted the hair from his face, and crouched to 
jump again. However, he paused a moment later and stood 
transfixed, allowing the tension to drain out of his legs. 
He had seen a familiar figure on the other side of the 
minacada. Unnoticed by the riot of dancers- especially 
Kumota, whose ecstasy-glazed eyes were staring at nothing 
at all- he slipped from the center of the dancing floor to 
the platform where the other silver unicorn stood.
    His target was a stallion only a few years out of the 
gangly colt stage, his legs still a touch too slim to earn 
them the designation "beautiful." The tip of his horn 
still drooped a bit, bearing around its base the soft gold 
that indicated it was not finished with growth. His 
equally golden eyes, however, were filled with an 
intensity unusual in such a youngster, and he munched his 
meal of oak leaves and tender blades of grass 
thoughtfully, as if concentrating on each and every piece 
of vegetation.
    Destria spoke the other's name aloud in his native 
language, his voice clear and bell-like, resembling the 
notes of his hooves. "Windhoof! I didn't know Father would 
be sending you so soon."
    His younger half-brother turned at the greeting, and a 
faint expression of welcome filled his golden eyes, an 
equally mirthless smile slipping across his long equine 
lips before disappearing. That was as much acknowledgement 
as one ever got from Windhoof. Unlike many members of his 
race, so proud of their superiority, so sure in their 
place as the ones who were to rule the other races in 
peace and brotherhood, Windhoof seemed afflicted with a 
strange melancholy. He was given to brooding for hours in, 
of all things, solitude, and to equally weird outbursts of 
temper or pride. Destria was not surprised, despite his 
feigned shock, that his father had sent him forth from 
Tharassia so soon. The old stallion had probably breathed 
a sigh of relief to have his youngest son gone. Tharassia 
would be much quieter without his presence, Destria 
thought to comfort himself, though he almost feared 
Crownia would now become uproarious- all because of the 
strangest part of Windhoof's disease.
    He actually was filled with sympathy for lesser races, 
and talked to slaves as if they were capable of mental 
activity.
    "Destria," murmured Windhoof, his voice low and quiet 
as the sighing of a flute. His older half-brother thought 
again, privately, that the colt had a voice more befitting 
an Elwen than a silverini. Windhoof cocked an eyebrow and 
lifted his head up so that his silvery mane hid the golden 
base of his horn, a tacit admission that Windhoof felt 
uncomfortable with this sign of youth. "Unfortunately, I 
was not sent by Father, but because of him. I bear sad 
news." His voice did not reveal if this revelation pained 
him personally or not. It was cold and smooth as the bolts 
of ice all silverini could cast, and Destria felt his own 
heart chill.
    "What is it?" he asked softly, unconsciously lowering 
his voice until Windhoof beckoned him closer to hear him.
    "Father is dead," his half-brother said bluntly. He 
went on without giving Destria time to recover from the 
shock. "He strayed too near Silvergate."
    The silver-eyed silverini felt his hooves dig into the 
wooden floor with crushing force. "You don't mean..." He 
left the sentence uncompleted, but Windhoof understood his 
meaning- any unicorn would- and nodded wisely.
    "Yes, I am afraid so. When I found him, he was barely 
coherent. His body had been scorched and baked, almost 
beyond recognition." For the first time, the colt gave 
some evidence of discomfort; he shuddered his coat, 
causing the light reflecting off his silver fur to dance 
crazily. Perhaps because of his obvious distaste, the cool 
composure of his voice had slipped, revealing gentleness- 
and a barely perceptible, well-concealed anguish. "He 
begged me to go to find you and tell you two things." 
Windhoof paused to take a long drink from the wooden 
bucket that stood by his platform. Destria waited in 
growing impatience for him to go on, which he finally did, 
shaking water off his dripping forelock.
    "He said, first of all, that he had discovered the 
secret that the Elders of Crownia most wanted to know- he 
didn't tell me what it was. You are to go to them and tell 
them, 'It is in the Barren Desert. It is guarded by 
deserae.' That was all he said about that particular 
item." Windhoof frowned, obviously irritated- or striving 
to appear that way. "His second message was to you 
personally. Apparently, he had a prophetic dream the night 
before he entered- excuse me, attempted to enter- 
Silvergate. He wanted to tell you that the dream revealed 
the Areiliens are far more dangerous than was previously 
thought. Specifically, he warned you to watch for a 
silver-eyed zorkro and a land Elwen with brilliant hair." 
    Destria frowned, disquieted. He knew from devouring 
the thoughts of the lightning Elwen, Opalia, that the 
Elwens knew a dusky blue-green color of hair as 
"brilliant." That had been the color of the land Elwen who 
had escaped him...
    He forced the thoughts from his mind, and a light 
laugh from his mouth. "Thank you for the warning, Brother, 
but it is hardly necessary. Our brethren plan another 
foray to Areil within a few weeks, combining massive 
numbers of slave-soldiers with trained will-stealers of 
our own race. Dragons will fly with us, as will rheeth- 
wind Elwens. We have made a mistake in not using the 
rheeth before, in my humble opinion. They can soar over 
the hills and, if nothing else, spy on Areil. They may 
even be able to gain entrance to the city and open its 
gates for us."
    Destria felt his eyes glow as he spoke. Though no 
silverini had ever been able to get past the Areilien 
Hills and survive, by all estimates the city contained a 
great number of Elwens- including the prized land Elwens. 
When Areil fell, the generals, drunk on victory, would 
most probably be generous with those individuals of strong 
will and magical power. Each unicorn might be gifted with 
as much as two slaves! If Destria asked carefully enough, 
perhaps did a little subterfuge, he should be allowed to 
choose...
    It took him a moment to realize that Windhoof was 
speaking, and that his half-brother had ignored much of 
his speech, focusing on one statement. "In your humble 
opinion?" he asked softly. Eyes of antique gold peered 
doubtfully at Destria from beneath strands of silver. 
"Brother, I know well enough that you are ambitious, as do 
all in this minald if they are wise. You have no need to 
hide this. You have never held a humble opinion in your 
life."
    His brother's tone was not judgmental, or even 
disapproving, but Destria found himself bristling 
defensively, and responding that way. "Ambition and 
superiority are the marks of a healthy silverini soul, 
Windhoof. If anything, you should be concerned about 
yourself." Time to work in a few taunts of his own. 
"Unless you have developed a mark of that health- 
abandoning your useless favoring of slaves over your own 
race- you will not be well-accepted here."
    "What makes you think I'm going to stay here?" But 
Windhoof's face was thoughtful. "Yet, I have no relatives 
in Tharassia without you and Father. Yes, I may-"
    "Destria!" The power of the bellow cut through song 
and dance like a knife through cheese, turning all the 
silver unicorns in the room to face the door. Destria 
wheeled slowly, with a feeling of creeping dread.
    At the door of the minacada, staring around as if they 
found the warmth and slowly dying joy of the room 
offensive, stood half a dozen older silver unicorns. The 
tips of their horns were pure white, the silver or ivory 
making a slow retreat into their head. They were covered 
with scars- in fact, Destria recognized Snarreln, the 
one-eyed field commander, among them. He stiffened, 
running the raid on Areil over in his mind, frantically, 
trying to think if he had had any lapses. It was not often 
so many Elders called on a person, unless he was a 
dangerous criminal.
    It took a moment before the young silver unicorn 
realized he had begun to walk forward, automatic and 
helpless as a slave, resigned to his fate. With an effort 
of will, he managed to stop in the middle of the silent, 
staring crowd, but he found he could not meet the openly 
hostile gazes of the Elders. At last, he started his steps 
reluctantly forward once more.
    The Elders parted as he came in, then flowed back into 
place like disturbed water. One nodded her semi-white horn 
at the minacada's population, her voice surprisingly mild. 
"Please, you may go on. We have what we came for." She 
chuckled wickedly, turning a smug eye on Destria. To his 
shock, he realized her identity: Kumota.
    He nickered angrily, stomping one hoof against the 
floor. "Traitor," he hissed, through a voice choked with 
emotion. Righteous indignation, he told himself, but there 
was some sadness in there as well.
    He received a stinging jab in the flank from 
Snarreln's partially broken horn. "Quiet, youngster," he 
warned with a hiss, "or I'll personally see that you 
receive less than civil treatment."
    Destria winced, not sure whether it was from the stab 
or the implied meaning of his words. The Elders of any 
minald, but especially Crownia, were famous for 
understatement. If "less than civil" were pronounced in so 
calm a tone, it was probably terrifying. He kept his peace 
as they escorted him into the anteroom, though he did 
catch Snarreln's blue eye and nod timidly at the lightning 
Elwen standing in the stall.
    The field commander appeared to consider for a moment, 
then bobbed his head curtly. Destria permitted himself to 
utter a small sigh of relief as Opalia opened her eyes on 
his command and returned to him. Surely they would not 
have permitted any silverini to walk without a slave!
    He saw that his guess had been correct, for the moment 
they reached the bottom of the spiral stair, slaves 
converged upon them from every direction. Only about half 
of Snarreln's gaggle was there, but he was nevertheless 
well attended, a living barrier of Elwens, elves, and 
lesser unicorns between himself and the outside world. 
Kumota, like Destria, had only one slave, reinforcing the 
stallion's opinion that she was of low status and had been 
invited to accompany the Elders for a special purpose.
    They moved through the silent, moonlit streets easily, 
the only sounds the bell-hoofbeats of the unicorns and the 
beating of wings as a small flight of parakeets soared 
overhead. Destria tossed back his horn, inhaling what were 
perhaps the last gulps of air he would be permitted as a 
free unicorn. As he did so, his eyes fell on the radiance 
of Rareth, the small purple moon of spring, and for no 
particular reason he recalled a proverb about the 
silverini he had sucked from Opalia's memory. "The silver 
unicorns will not be satisfied until they have even the 
moons underhoof, and the heavenly lights at their 
command."
    He thrust the thought angrily away; it infuriated him, 
though he could not have said why. All knew that silverini 
did not command; that was the natural role of life. They 
served just as diligently as their slaves did, bringing 
peace and brotherhood to a world that sorely thirsted for 
it. It was a sad thing that the other races could not be 
treated as equals, but if they insisted on maintaining 
their warped worldview, they had to be protected from 
themselves for their own good. The silverini defended 
others and brought about order; the other races served 
them in return. A fair bargain, profitable to all. That 
was the natural way of things. Life as it should be.
    He found he wasn't as convinced by and proud of the     
old words of the silver unicorn creed as usual. I stood 
next to Windhoof too long, he thought in disgust. He's 
rubbing off on me.
   He glanced at Opalia out of the corner of his eye. He 
had, of course, been right to take her thoughts and 
personality. Now she was truly free, removed from the 
tedium of thoughts and hope by the one necessity that 
people never stopped needing- love. She loved him, he did 
not doubt it. Her whole being existed now to serve others; 
she sacrificed everything for him now, willingly, eagerly. 
He had done an act of good by taking her as a slave.
    Hadn't he?
    As they passed out of a grove of oak, Destria's 
attention was caught and held by the spire that rose ahead 
of them. Unlike any building in all the city, the Silver 
Minaret appeared to rise naturally from the ground, a 
twisted wave of smooth metal that looked as if it might 
sink back at any moment. Like all Arcadian silver, it did 
not tarnish; its worst fate was to crack slightly with 
age. It gleamed softly, capturing each color of moonlight 
that hit it and changing it to its own, the soft hue of     
a silverini's coat. Destria found himself relaxing, though 
the place did not have a welcoming reputation. Surely the 
Elders wouldn't punish criminals in anything so beautiful!
    The unicorns trotted to a small cleared space, 
directly under one of the minaret's windows. Destria 
looked for the spidersilk stair and was surprised not to 
find one. The others, however, stood patiently.
    A moment later, the area brightened as Rareth came out 
from behind a cloud and sent its light to bounce off the 
polished side of the building. The light reflected 
sharply, magnified by a mirror positioned in an oak 
nearby, and fell on them. The world went swimmy with 
different hues, and the group vanished.
    With almost no transition, they appeared in the 
minaret, in a wide room that contained a high bench at 
which the Elders stood to deliver judgments. They all 
moved to this now, sending their slaves to the corners of 
the octagonal room with mental commands. The slaves, both 
two-legged and four-legged, scurried to obey, their 
expressions fawning and servile. The only unicorn who did 
not dismiss her slave and move to the bench was Kumota. 
She stood still beside him, tail switching and ears alert, 
her elf crouched at her feet like a dog. Destria glanced 
uneasily at her, trying to divine if they were being 
punished for something, but he could read nothing in the 
serenity of her beautiful face.
    The tapping of a hoof on silver recalled his attention 
to the front, where Snarreln leaned forward, his face 
suddenly going from snarling to grave. "Destria," he said 
slowly and distinctly, "we did not call you here because 
we think you are a criminal. We brought you here in that 
manner only to fool any spies that might be watching."
    Destria blinked, then stared uncomprehendingly. 
"Spies? In a minald? But how could that be? All the lesser 
creatures here bow to the rightness of our wills, and no 
silverini would ever betray his own race." The old words, 
crooned in his ears by his mother as he slept after 
birthing and repeated countless times since then, came 
easily to his lips.
    The one-eyed field commander smiled, and strangely, 
Destria felt that it was the first sincere expression he 
had seen from the scarred warrior. "I am glad to find that 
some of our young are still instructed in our traditions." 
He glanced around, as though to gather support for his 
next statement. "And believe them."
    Destria started to speak, but Kumota tapped his ears 
with her tail, hushing him, and he fell silent as Snarreln 
went on. "Nonetheless, we can take no chances. The 
Areiliens have a powerful new ally- cloud or spirit, we 
know not what it is, only that it undoes all the good we 
have we worked for. It is not inconceivable that they 
might send it to spy on us. However, here we are safe even 
from that. Our words cannot be heard beyond this room." 
The older unicorn leaned forward, his face abruptly 
assuming an expression of weariness. "I am tired, boy. I 
was three thousand when I began to fight, and I have 
fought for as long as I have lived like a careless 
youngster. Our opponents' strongholds are only so many 
itches to be scratched, but not for me." Again his face 
changed, becoming formal. "Destria, will you accept my 
position for the rest of the war?"