Voice of Glory
                         Prologue
              1639, Age of Ascent, Midspring
    The Tintielo Nya, the Bell of Death, boomed out across 
the city, and the woman whom it spoke for toppled slowly 
onto her knees, her mouth a silent, distended scream of 
horror and pain that her watchers had not thought her 
capable of.
    Herran Turnlong closed his eyes and fought to keep his 
own emotions from blending with hers. He knew that she had 
to die for what she had done, and she was not even a 
native of Rowan, which meant that he could not feel her 
thoughts. Still, that did not make that much difference. 
It never did at this point. He was the one who had to 
execute her, and he had a powerful gift of emotional 
magic, and the emotions felt at death were so strong that 
he could feel them as if they were his, as if he were the 
one condemned to-
    He turned away sharply. Deureen Alostara had had 
chance after chance to save herself. So long as she had 
kept to the neutral territory of the Acrad River, none of 
the city-states of the Tableland had been able to touch 
her. But she had abducted and tortured a Rowanian citizen, 
and that was a crime that had to be answered for.
    Here and now, on the great dais in the center of the 
city of Rowan, while the Tintielo Nya rang and boomed from 
the Council building a distance behind and his people 
poured into the Square to be properly horrified and 
wounded and disgusted. They would feel hatred for him if 
they had to. They would not feel hatred for the laws that 
defended them, or for the woman who was going to die, 
which was as it should be.
    There was already enough hatred towards her, and all 
of it she deserved.
    He just had to keep reminding himself of that.
    Herran turned to look near the dais, where stood the 
woman she had kidnaped, Lomona Deerfriend, still leaning 
on the arm of her foster brother, Sodiest Lafoxbane. They 
stood stiffly, and not just because Sodiest was an 
emotionless son of a human and Lomona had begun to show a 
little more passion lately as she emerged from under his 
influence. They had also had a disagreement over what to 
do with Deureen, with Sodiest favoring letting her live, 
arguing that her crime was no greater than others for 
which she had gone unpunished.
    "You were not the one she took," said Lomona, and that 
had ended the discussion.
    The Council had decided for death, and that was all 
there was to it. And this death would accomplish something 
for Herran, as well.
    Why did he have to feel what Deureen was feeling, that 
horror of the end of life so great that it ruled out and 
over what she had done?
    But it didn't.
    Herran bowed his head and concentrated on breathing 
for the moment, then glanced over at the Council of 
Arcadia delegates who stood near the opposite corner of 
the dais to watch and felt his mouth harden. They had 
wanted to try Deureen's case themselves, though they had 
no grounds, especially as they had been arguing for years 
that she could get away with similar crimes since she was 
always on her ship. This time, she had been on land. The 
citizen had been Rowanian.
    That was enough.
    Deureen made a small moaning sound beside Herran. She 
was courageous enough, no one could doubt that; so 
fearless that some of them called her half-mad. But it was 
now touching her for the first time, less the fear of 
death than the knowledge that she was going to die, and 
she could not hold back the terror any longer. It 
enveloped her and Herran in icy, dark wings, and he could 
hear every heartbeat that came from her as if it was his 
own, the last one getting closer and closer.
    And what chance like this- a fair trial- had she given 
any of those whom she captured? None. And some of them had 
been in even worse condition when finally rescued from the 
hold of her ship and from the camp that she had 
established not so far away on the land.
    The thought of that camp, not far from Rowan but 
constantly overlooked by the patrols who had felt sure 
that it must be further afield, fired Herran's resolve 
again. He turned away from the red-haired woman kneeling 
before him, lips tight, to stare into the upturned green 
eyes of Lomona Deerfriend.
    The young woman bore a scar across her face that she 
would have for the rest of her life, the result of 
Deureen's experiment with a hot brand.
    Death was really too good for her.
    But that was what the Council had decided.
    Herran turned and locked eyes with Daemon, one of the  
guards who accompanied him everywhere. Daemon nodded now, 
diamond gaze glowing with knowledge and eagerness that it 
seemed most of Herran's people shared, the eagerness to 
see someone who had captured and tortured any Elwen she 
could get die.
    It was time.
    Herran turned and faced the thing that stood beyond 
Deureen on the dais, between the kneeling captive and the 
Arcadian delegates.
    The Render.
    It was a magical machine of marvelous construction, 
used for nothing but execution. From the top of a square 
frame hung a central cross, from the sides four great 
arms. A fifth was bent back and wrapped around one side of 
the frame. All five of the arms had great square paws with 
claws on the end of them. It had all been formed out of 
silver, the metal that land Elwens could mine most easily 
and the metal that most easily took the magic that needed 
to be imbued in it.
    Herran sighed, a little, as Deureen's fear became more 
distinct, and he raised his hand. The Render shuffled a 
little and turned towards him, awaiting instructions from 
the Councilmaster.
    "Deureen Alostara."
    His voice calmed the voices of the thousands of people 
in the Square at once. That was unusual, but then, they 
had been waiting days to see her dead.
    She lifted green-gold eyes that shone like sun through 
leaves to his face, and flinched and shrank a little at 
whatever it was she saw there.
    "Yes," he said, staring into her eyes and fighting 
back the tide of fear that came from her and not from 
himself. "It is time."
    She lashed to her feet then. Perhaps she meat to shout 
an obscenity, perhaps to try an attack at him or a run, 
perhaps just to face death on her feet. But she stopped 
when the click of crossbows from the side warned her that 
there were plenty of Elwens who would like the honor of 
killing her.
    She glanced at the Render, and then at him. "Will it 
hurt very much?"
    Herran nodded.
    Deureen stared at him a moment longer, and then said, 
"You have done this before, and felt what the one dying on 
the machine feels?"
    It was all he could do to nod this time.
    Deureen smiled, a ghastly and a smug expression all at 
once. "Well. I always swore that I would take someone with 
me when I died. I will at least have the satisfaction of 
making someone suffer just as much."
    Swinging her hair behind her, red as flame or human 
blood, she walked to the Render and leaned casually 
against the center cross. Herran closed his eyes, and the 
straps there, obedient to his will, surged up and around 
her, gathering her into a close embrace, like that of four 
snakes.
    One for her waist. One for shoulders and arms. One for 
legs.
    One for her neck and head.
    Herran glanced out over the watching crowd, as solemn 
as they should be, save for the angry expression in 
Sodiest's flat black eyes and the strange peace in 
Lomona's brilliant green gaze. Then he glanced back at the 
smug Deureen.
    He gestured.
    The Render swung into play with a spitting of blue 
sparks that came more from magic than from the grinding of 
metal against metal, and the great clawed arms began to 
rotate. The first two struck Deureen's arms, lopping them 
off. The second two struck her legs.
    In moments the smugness had vanished from both her and 
the mental air around her, and there was nothing but a 
veritable backwash of screaming pain.
    Herran bowed his head and shut his eyes against it, 
against her, allowing everyone the moments to see her as 
she was, as they had to, bound there, a screaming torso 
with no limbs left. Then he gestured again, and the fifth 
arm snapped across, severing her head from her neck in a 
single clean gesture.
    The screaming stopped.
    Mixed with its final note, hot silver blood leaped and 
sprayed from all her wounds across Herran's face and 
hands, burning and stinging like acid where it landed. He 
wiped himself clean as best he could and then knelt to 
begin cleaning up the blood.
    The crowd remained around the dais for a long time, 
longer than they usually did after a death. Herran caught 
a few quick mutters about it being too quick or not 
painful enough, and stifled a laugh that wanted to turn 
into a sob, only he would not let it.
    Not painful enough? Were they paying attention to 
their emotional senses at all?
    It did not seem so.
    Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned warily 
to see who it might be, expecting Sodiest or a Council of 
Arcadia delegate or some other heckler. But it was Lomona, 
staring at him with that strange peace still in her eyes, 
and he knew then that he had not misread her after all. 
That really was safety and gentleness in her eyes. He had 
not understood it because he had tried to look beyond the 
surface, and there was nothing beyond the surface that 
needed to worry him.
    "Thank you, my lord," she said simply.
    "My lady?"
    "Thank you for killing her," said Lomona, glancing at 
the grotesquely mutilated and now, thanks to the stars, 
mercifully burning body. "I could never have slept if she 
had lived. I will be able to sleep now, now that she is no 
longer alive."
    Herran nodded, not quite knowing what to say. But 
then, he had never executed a personal enemy and did not 
know what it was like to see one die that way. He had 
turned his assassins around and made them serve him, or he 
had simply killed them in a fit of rage, without pausing 
to see what it would be like to watch them die in a fit of 
tormented pain.
    It was nothing less than what Lomona had suffered, 
though.
    "I would have done as much for any citizen of Rowan," 
he felt compelled to answer at last.
    Lomona turned and walked away, to be replaced by the 
Council of Arcadia delegates, who did not understand that 
he would need to clean up the blood before he could see 
them back to the Council building.
    Herran answered them politely, and did his best to 
keep from thinking about how this had helped him.




                        Chapter 1
                    Various Outbursts
    "You can never do something that pleases everyone when 
you play the Game. The best you can do is hope that you 
are clever enough that no one with the power to make their 
displeasure real and felt will be able to figure out what 
you are doing until it is too late to do anything about 
it."
    -From Toa Y'endo Vastin, or The Art of Intrigue, by 
Y'endiy Darkspinner.

    "My lords, my ladies, what stands before you here 
today is no less than a man who used the death of this 
woman to advance his own goals."
    Herran closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The 
sunlight through the stained-glass windows of the Council 
Chamber was brilliant, beautiful, and the air smelled of 
early spring still even inside. He found that much more 
interesting than Inta's speech.
    Even though he was listening, and even though he was 
prepared to counter her objections with his own reasons 
the moment that she would shut up and listen for just a 
little while.
    Most of the other Council members looked as bored as 
he did. They paid attention only because Inta was 
addressing the emissaries from the Council of Arcadia, not 
them, and there could be questions and even insinuations 
that they had not paid sufficient respect to the 
ambassadors later on. They did not want to let that 
happen, so...
    They paid attention.
    "How did it advance them?" said one of the 
Councilwomen of Arcadia, giving Herran a hateful look. 
Herran looked without interest back, and she turned away 
with a disgusted snort. A tall, dark-skinned volcano Elwen 
woman named Cyana, she had taken an immediate dislike to 
him without any reason that Herran could see. He could not 
read the thoughts of those who had been born outside of 
Rowan. "Other than, perhaps, one of his goals was for us 
to see him collapse with a look of utter pathos on his 
face."
    "I felt it," the Councilwoman Siorta said quietly. She 
was cheernma, cheetah Elwen, and she scraped her nails 
thoughtfully back and forth on her left wrist as she 
turned to look at Herran. "He did suffer, Cyana. He didn't 
want to kill her."
    Inta moved quickly to recover lost ground. The 
passionate and idealistic youngest Councilwoman of Rowan 
was by no means stupid, though her passion sometimes might 
be indistinguishable from stupidity. "My ladies, my lords, 
that is not the point. The point is that he killed her not 
for justice, but to advance his own goals. He could suffer 
from the emotional magic of our people and still do that. 
He is quite capable."
    "He did what I asked him to do."
    Everyone turned to look at Lomona Deerfriend, who was 
sitting on the other side of the Chamber, and whom no one 
was quite sure how to regard. It was as if torture was 
catching, Herran thought. Or, at least, the foolishness 
that had led the young woman to wander right into 
Deureen's trap was.
    But it was no young woman who rose to her feet and 
stared at them, not really. A different soul looked out 
through her green eyes now, and she had taken great care 
to make sure that everyone knew that.
    "My ladies, my lords," she said. "I was the one who 
managed to tell the Council what had happened to me, the 
first one of Deureen's victims who had ever escaped and 
was able to do so. She was pursued and caught and executed 
by Council law- at my instigation. And Herran Turnlong did 
it because it is Council law and because I had asked. That 
is what matters, the surface of it, and my asking if you 
want to delve below that. Not who may have benefited from 
her death. I think that many people benefited from her 
death, but what incidental benefit may have fallen to the 
Lord of Turnlong...." She shrugged, her hands spreading 
and shoulders rising. "Does it matter? He did not do it 
for only that reason."
    Silence. The Council members looked at each other. The 
Council of Arcadia members looked at each other. Inta 
stood impatiently staring, waiting for someone to pay 
attention so that she could go on. At last she decided 
that everyone was trying to learn what the Elwen sitting 
next to them thought, and launched into the impassioned 
second half of her speech.
    "That is not the point, my ladies and lords. The point 
is that the Council would have voted to let Deureen go or 
allowed her to accept some lesser sentence, such as a duel 
with the Lady Lomona, if Herran Turnlong had not made the 
speech he did."
    Herran sighed. He had known that he would get into 
trouble for that speech, but it had been a last-ditch 
attempt to make them listen, given what he had found in 
the hold of her ship. He rose to his feet as eyes turned 
to him, sensing that at last he would be given a chance to 
defend himself.
    Or fail to defend himself successfully, as the case 
might be.
    "It is true," he said levelly, "that I asked for the 
execution of the woman known as Deureen. It is also true 
that I derive some benefit from her death. However, it is 
not the kind that the Lady Inta seems to imagine, that of 
money or lands. It is the knowledge that a woman I had 
come to regard as a personal enemy is dead."
    "I did not mean money or lands," Inta was quick to 
interrupt. "You know that, Herran. I meant that her death 
advances a political cause that you have always held dear, 
sometimes at the expense of Rowan and her own causes, 
which you are sworn to-"
    "I was just in the process of explaining that," Herran 
told her. "May I continue, my lady? I should provide you 
with better evidence to argue against me than you will be 
able to find."
    "Anything you say is suspect."
    "And anything that you say, my lady, is suspect, given 
that you have your own pet causes that you have never 
bothered to hide."
    Inta drew back, eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched. 
She had at first favored policies that would draw the land 
Elwen towns and villages around Rowan into the net of 
protection and influence the city was learning to cast 
after years of being asleep, but when she learned that 
many of their people living out in the forest did not want 
that, she had begun to favor preferential trade 
concessions for them.
    "Go on," she said tightly.
    "Thank you, my lady." Herran turned to face his 
audience again, noting as he did so that the only actively 
hostile eyes in the Chamber were Inta's and the eyes of 
the Councilwoman, Cyana. Still, the rest of the Chamber 
did not seem to contain much in the way of hard, 
intelligent listening, either. He wanted them to convince 
themselves, not to have to do it for them. But he did try, 
again.
    "The torturer Deureen was also a slaver," he said 
aloud into the silence that echoed back to him. "This I 
tried to say once before, and no one heeded me. In the 
hold of her ship we found thirteen captive curalli and 
thirty captive land Elwens."
    A babble of protest immediately started up, especially 
from the representatives from the Council of Arcadia, who 
did not take kindly to the search of a ship still on 
neutral water. Herran interrupted with a gesture. He was 
tired of all the silly games they played to keep him from 
talking about this.
    If they wanted to hear what he had done this for, they 
were damn well going to hear it.
    "So, yes," he said, when they had calmed down again, 
more in shook that he would dare to order them than 
anything else. "I have derived some benefit from her 
death. She will no longer threaten my people, and my pet 
cause, my lady, is well-served. She will carry slaves 
across the River Acrad no longer."
    "This is unconscionable!" The Lady Cyana was on her 
feet, her long silver hair tumbling down her back and her 
blue eyes gleaming coldly.
    Herran let his lips quiver. "If you mean your 
Council's position on slavery, my lady, then I would have 
to agree with you."
    Cyana ignored him, spinning to face the rest of the 
Chamber, but especially Lomona. Her voice was passionate, 
like voice after voice that this Chamber had heard 
defending slavery. "Slavery may not have been necessary 
once, but by now it is so deeply embedded into the economy 
of the western Tableland that more people would be 
destroyed by its destruction than would be freed. There 
are merchants, those who ride guard, those who make the 
slave chains and collars-"
    "And, of course, the fact that you have never been 
enslaved, my lady, and that members of the families of the 
Council of Arcadia can never be sold as slaves for any 
reason has nothing to do with this," said Herran mockingly 
from behind her.
    She spun to glare at him. "You know that-"
    "No, I don't, my lady."
    "My lord," she said, as if finally realizing that no 
one had addressed him by title and that that undercut her 
position more than a little, "you must understand. 
Ordinary Elwens are not at risk at all. It is only those 
who try to stop the slavers or do other things who fall 
into their hands."
    "And that justifies the continuation and expansion of 
the trade?"
    "No one said anything about the expansion, my lord. 
But yes, the continuation. It would hurt too many for us 
to stop now, and there are many farms in the south that 
depend on slave labor. And," she said, coming to what was 
the crux of her argument, "you must agree that Rowan has 
no right to tell anything but her own people what to do." 
She stared at him as her words died, echoing her real 
meaning: that he had no right to tell anyone what to do, 
but his own people.
    Herran smiled at her and bowed from the waist. "Of 
course, my lady. Understood. That has been the doctrine of 
my people from time before time. Now explain to me why the 
Council of Arcadia is different, and can protest the 
execution of a criminal condemned by the sworn and proved 
word of a Rowanian citizen."
    Cyana's mouth dropped open. "We are the Council of 
Arcadia," she said at last. "We have to represent the 
whole of the continent, the interests of all peoples, and 
therefore we have to have control over such things as 
this. We cannot allow you to impose your will on the 
slavers, or to-"
    "My lady, your own people live thousands of miles 
away, in Fhevu, which has no slavery, just like all the 
provinces north of us. Does that mean that you are willing 
to see this continue? Does it mean that you even know 
anything- enough- about politics in the Tableland to 
justify this?"
    "My lord, you are treading on my toes," she snarled, 
her eyes narrowing.
    "The Council's toes," said Herran. "At least I am 
honest enough to name my real enemy. Why not admit it, 
Cyana? You came here to stop the expansion and exercise of 
power by Rowan and her lord. Not to protect the power of 
the slavers. At this point, I could pounce on humans, and 
you would scramble to protect them. You do not want to see 
Rowan gain ground in the Tableland, that is all. Not to 
mention-"
    "Herran. That is enough."
    Herran turned, eyebrows up, to regard Inta. "Really. 
And what do you have to say?"
    "That you should not have said so much," said Inta, 
her face flaring and her words ones that should have been 
whispered, not shouted in the middle of the Council 
Chamber like this, any more than his should have been. "My 
lord, you cannot afford a war. Rowan cannot afford a war, 
and we are already close on this one. You know that. Don't 
do this."
    "If the Council of Arcadia forces me into a war, Inta, 
I will take it."
    Herran turned to the Council delegates and smiled. 
"Well? You have been here almost a dance. What have you 
decided to say?"
    They glanced at each other again. Then Siorta and one 
of the male Council members, a quiet half-alalori, half- 
land Elwen who had spent much of his time in Rowan staring 
in unabashed awe, rose to their feet. Siorta pushed Cyana 
into her seat with a gentle pressure of claws and turned 
to face him.
    "We-"
    Someone began pounding on the bronze door that led 
into the Council Chamber from the right.
    Herran gestured, and Daemon and another guard 
unobtrusively moved over to find out who it was and send 
him away until a later time.
    "We find no evidence that you are planning to extend 
your power," said Siorta, and glared Cyana down when she 
would have said something. Then she turned to face Herran 
and bowed her head a little, like a cheetah about to 
spring, her bright blue-green eyes fastened on his. "But 
if we find the slightest evidence, we will move against 
you. At once."
    "Why?"
    "To preserve freedom and peace in Arcadia," said the 
half-alalori, speaking for the first time that Herran had 
ever heard him speak.
    "Rowan was more powerful than this only a few Ages 
ago, and then you never made half the fuss that you have 
made about me."
    "It is different now, lord," said Siorta, who never 
seemed to lose her temper except with Cyana, who was still 
staring at him and muttering words of murder under her 
breath while fingering the sword that hung at her waist. 
"This is a different time. If Rowan were to reach after 
power now, it would disrupt a great balance of power and 
destroy many lives, as Cyana has said." Her clear glance 
clouded with contempt for a moment as she glanced at her 
fellow Councilwoman, and then cleared again as she looked 
at him. "You should know that the whole of the continent 
hangs on a thread now, in many ways."
    "Why?" Herran was concerned with Rowan and the 
Tableland, but he had his spies in the other provinces. No 
one had reported to him that things were unusually tense 
anywhere else, or even as tense as things were here in the 
Tableland.
    "It is complicated, and some of it is Council business 
which I cannot explain in any case." Siorta gestured 
vaguely, while Cyana looked smug. "But, my lord, we 
believe that the cause of freedom in the Tableland is 
precious and must be defended at any cost. If you reach, 
your hand will be cut off. This is not a threat, but a 
warning. Not something that will happen, but something 
that could happen if you insist."
    Herran nodded calmly. "As you wish. What I don't 
really understand, of course, is why you are willing to 
give up the freedom of some individuals to the slavers, if 
you are so concerned about liberty."
    Siorta sucked in a pained breath and lowered her eyes. 
The man beside her patted her shoulder in a comforting 
manner and said, "You cannot really compare the freedom of 
a city to do what needs to be done to preserve the 
livelihood of her people and the freedom of someone in a 
slaver's cart, my lord. You do many things in the name of 
your city that no one who was not in your unique position 
would be allowed to do to."
    "True." Herran let them see that he knew that was true 
and was not particularly concerned about it. "Still. What 
makes you think that these other cities should be free to 
enslave my citizens, and me caged, unable to do anything 
about it?"
    "You would take more," said Cyana.
    "For once, she is right," said Siorta, when he looked 
back at them. She seemed to have recovered from her 
involuntary wince over the flaw in her argument, and 
looked at him once more with calm, clear eyes. "We can 
trust the rulers of the other cities more than we can 
trust you."
    "Translation: You fear them more than you fear me, my 
ladies, my lord."
    Tense silence as Herran turned his back and paced down 
from the tiers of seats where the Council members sat to 
the floor, and onto the dais where Deureen had stood for 
sentencing. It had the best acoustics in the Chamber, and 
someone standing there could hear everything said to him, 
valuable when that one was a criminal who needed to know 
every nuance of the accusations leveled at him. 
    And anyone who spoke there could be heard all over the 
Chamber.
    "You fear me," said Herran, turning around so fast and 
speaking so hard that they flinched. Only Siorta did not, 
and for the first time, her eyes reflected a touch of 
uneasiness. "What I do not understand, my ladies, my lord, 
is why. I have proved that I am not power-hungry. I have 
proved that I can hold three positions and they will not 
interfere with one another. Now I seek only to end 
something that is an abomination in the eyes of the stars, 
and should be in the eyes of Elwens. I do not understand 
why you fight me so much on this, when you did not on 
giving white plague to the humans, on-"
    "There is such a thing as preserving a balance of 
power that becomes more important than any Elwen, or even 
any one city," said Siorta, interrupting him yet again and 
flexing her claws in his direction.
    Herran found himself oddly disappointed. He supposed 
he had thought she was confident enough of her position to 
let him finish.
    He did not approve of his enemies' tactics. Instead of 
facing him through superior reason or cleverness, they 
would not let him finish, would not let anyone else have a 
chance of agreeing with him. It was a sloppy way to play 
the Game, in his opinion, if only because someone among 
those they were forbidding to listen was certain to catch 
on sooner or later.
    But he let it go for the moment, not wanting to 
continue his speech until they would listen to him 
honestly and of their own free will. Let it never be said 
of him that he would descend to their level and not listen 
to what someone had to say.
    And he did believe that Siorta, unlike Cyana, was 
sincerely committed to her beliefs and opposing him for 
reasons of principle. He nodded and motioned for the 
cheetah Elwen to go on. When she looked at him as if 
inviting him to ask a question, he did. "Does that mean 
that the balance is Rowan against everyone else in the 
Tableland, my lady?"
    Siorta shook her head. "It is much more like a mosaic 
than like a scale, my lord. Not a simple matter of 
counterbalancing a heavy weight with one that can prevent 
it from escaping control, but balancing every stone in the 
design with every other. Every color must be in place. No 
part can be allowed to dominate, or the design will be 
ruined."
    "I have never heard of this way of looking at it 
before, my lady, or of measures like this being taken 
against any other city."
    "No other city has threatened the balance."
    "As severely, you mean, or you would not have worked 
out means of dealing with it." Herran, eyes narrowed, 
regarded the cheernma thoughtfully while a blush came and 
went in her cheeks. "Go on, then. Tell me, my lady, just 
what you propose to do about what I am doing."
    "Forbid it, of course."
    "How?"
    There was silence in the room again, and this time 
silence with a greater thread of consternation running 
through it than before. Lomona and Inta were not the only 
ones who looked uneasy, though they were the ones most 
trying to catch his eye. Herran ignored them both, looking 
at Siorta, honestly interested in just what it was that 
she might say.
    "We can threaten trade sanctions, my lord. Hopefully 
we will not have to carry them out, of course. There are 
also ways of closing the River to you and making sure that 
those of the Tableland peoples trading with you now find 
other sources and other markets."
    "In other words, threatening them."
    Siorta shrugged. "That is part of the work we do. We 
are the Council of Arcadia. It is our duty- and our only 
duty, as we are not responsible to any one city or group 
of Elwens- to watch over peace and freedom in the 
provinces. You are dangerously close to shattering both of 
those ideals."
    "I was under the impression, my lady, that the slavers 
already had."
    Silence in the Chamber yet again. No one could 
understand why he kept forcing this towards the end of a 
dangerous confrontation, or at least a potentially 
dangerous one. The Council of Arcadia and Rowan had never 
been at armed odds yet, but everyone knew they could be.
    No one could understand why he wanted to encourage 
that.
    Because they were used to looking for the motives and 
rules of the Game, of course, Herran thought. And he was 
not playing by those any more.
    "Of course," said Siorta at last, and he could feel 
how carefully she was picking her way, "that is true to 
some extent. They do violate the freedom of some 
individuals, but not of whole cities."
    "And peace? They also threaten peace, my lady."
    "How so?" Siorta's eyes narrowed until they looked 
like the eyes of a cat caught in strong light as she 
stared up at him.
    "When the families of their victims come after them to 
claim the victims' freedom, or blood price if their loved 
ones are dead- how is that different than what you think I 
am doing, my lady? The slavers cause numerous small wars 
every day, and down the years more people have died in 
them than could ever die in a conflict between Council and 
Rowanian forces. What makes you think that my desiring an 
end to slavery, my lady, is something that must be 
prevented at all costs?"
    "The balance-"
    "My lady. Spare me that. If you will not tell me what 
it is, save through words of mosaics and other small and 
pretty pictures that do not really explain anything, then 
I will be forced to go on what I know. And from what I 
know and can see, it seems that the Council of Arcadia has 
a vested interest in seeing slavery continue."
    The silence this time lasted only for a moment before 
being interrupted by a hiss of drawn breath and then a 
babble of shocked voices. Of course, almost everyone in 
the room thought that; it was obvious from Cyana's 
comments and from even the rational, star-minded Siorta's 
defense of it. But you were not supposed to say it aloud! 
everyone in the room silently accused Herran.
    Herran smiled, and said nothing, keeping his eyes on 
the Council members- of both Councils- and filling his 
mind with memories of a caravan that had been on its way 
to the Council of Arcadia once, filled with Elwens and 
unicorns and humans they would have used in breeding 
programs or done stars knew what else with. The slavers 
had also captured a dragon, and that could have started a 
war that would have set the whole of the Tableland ablaze. 
They had risked breaking a centuries-old covenant for the 
sake of their own greed.
    He had let that pass then. Not now, not today, when he 
was fully aware that he was the most powerful Elwen in 
this room.
    "Of course," said Siorta at last, "my lord, we have a 
vested interest in seeing peace continue, and destroying 
the slave trade would be one of the very best ways to get 
rid of that peace."
    "I am sure you do not want me to say why you really 
want provincial peace to continue, but do not mind the 
small conflicts among the slavers."
    She looked at him without flinching. "I fear nothing 
that you can say."
    "My lady? Really? Then you do not fear the accusation 
that you do not want Rowan to do anything because you 
cannot stop her, but the slavers match your plans and your 
expectations, and so you can control them?"
    True uproar now. Lomona was shouting something that 
was probably political advice. Inta was trying her best to 
convince everyone that the issue of slavery had never been 
mentioned at all, that they were hearing things, or were 
supposed to believe that. Cyana was on her feet with her 
fists clenched, certain that he was deriding the Council 
of Arcadia and she had the right to challenge him to a 
duel. The eyes of the young Councilman, Perel, who was 
Inta's dearest friend and her most hated rival both at the 
same time, were glowing; he had always believed the 
Council should assert more power than it should, and he 
supported everything that Inta opposed lately on general 
principle. He was yelling that everyone needed to be quiet 
and listen to the Councilmaster.
    Sodiest Lafoxbane was the only quiet one in the room, 
and his dark eyes fastened on Herran with an expression 
that would have unnerved the Councilmaster if they had 
been alone. As it was, he was in a room surrounded by 
guards and those who might dislike him but would not want 
to see him dead. All of those Elwens would guard him with 
their lives. And his predecessors had spent a great deal 
of time turning the Council Chamber into a room where he 
would not feel or be threatened for any reason.
    He yawned in Sodiest's direction, and then looked up 
as Daemon came towards him, walking unnoticed through the 
tumult, even by Sodiest.
    "My lord. Keren Deerfriend is at the door, and refuses 
to go away."
    Herran sighed. Keren was his good friend, but at the 
same time the young Elwen was too much like wildfire to 
let loose in this situation that needed to be strictly 
controlled.
    "Tell him that I will see him later."
    "I already did, my lord. He wants to see you now. Or 
perhaps 'speak to you before the whole of the Council' 
would be a better way to put it."
    "I see."
    Herran thought a moment, and then sighed again. He 
could not see any way of sending Keren away. Even leaving 
him out there was dangerous. He would almost certainly try 
to break in during a sensitive moment.
    And he was a Rowanian citizen, and did have a perfect 
right to petition the Council, according to the Council's 
own laws.
    "All right. Escort him in."
    "Too late," said Daemon, diamond eyes focusing beyond 
him, and Herran turned, already knowing what he would see 
and that it was too late to do much of anything about it, 
though he could try.
    Keren Deerfriend walked almost unnoticed through the 
sea of shouting Elwenity, his head up and his eyes shining 
fiercely. Normally the emotions flowing from him would 
have been enough to gain him attention. Lomona did shut 
her mouth and turn to look hard at her brother, and 
Sodiest glared at his foster brother, as he always did. 
But that was all.
    Keren was going to try something more dramatic, Herran 
knew even before he lifted a hand.
    Herran could have commanded wards that would have 
dampened any magical manifestation the young man could 
make, but he would not do that unless Keren showed some 
sign of doing something violent. He held a hand ready just 
in case, but watching in real interest as the raised hand 
clenched into a fist.
    From that fist reaching tendrils of fire took form. 
The heat and light certainly did garner attention, and 
most of the Council members watched open-mouthed as the 
fire writhed into a tower that climbed to the ceiling and 
then spread along it, a billowing, red-gold, upside-down 
sea.
    "If I might speak..."
    Most of those in the Chamber knew Keren at once, and a 
few fainted.
    Keren chuckled at that, but the only sign of it was 
the flare in his eyes, some of the gold specks on the dark 
background shining more brightly than the others. He 
looked around the room in a sweeping motion. No one 
opposed him, though Cyana had evidently found the same 
thing to dislike about him as she did about Herran and was 
glaring fixedly. He shrugged at her, and turned to look at 
Herran.
    "My lord," he said, "I have come to make an 
announcement that no one can mistake. I am sorry to take 
up your time this way, but it will be valuable for all of 
you to know of this."
    Starhell.
    Herran had expected one of Keren's rants on the 
subject of slavery, which he was enough of a fanatic to 
have killed thousands of slavers over. But not this. It 
sounded like a rational and well-thought-out speech, and 
one of those could have the power he was heir to as the 
grandson of the greatest Councilmaster in living memory. 
Herran would have stopped him had he known something like 
this would take place.
    But it was too late now.
    Keren began by pacing back and forth, the sea of fire 
that covered the ceiling twitching in time to his 
movements. His face barely hid scorn as he swept his gaze 
over the Council members staring back at him. 
    "What do you expect to see?"
    They stirred and looked at each other as if they did 
not know what to make of his question.
    "What do you expect to see when you look at slaves?" 
Keren asked. "Animals? Algae? Even humans? Choose whatever 
you think most disgusting, most revolting, and most 
capable of spreading the contagion, and then think of 
slavery linked to it. You all think slaves are like that, 
whether you know it or not. You all see slavers as some 
kind of healers saving you from that plague, and that is 
why you defend and praise them. It keeps you from having 
to think about where some of the things you like and feel 
really come from."
    "Slavery provides livelihoods!" said Cyana, who was on 
her feet again despite the determined efforts of Siorta 
and the half-alalori man to drag her into her seat. "You 
knows that. I know who you are now, and you have killed 
enough of them to know that. Some Elwens need to live, and 
if it is at the expose of others, that is just the way it 
is!"
    Keren smiled. "At the expense of someone else's life 
is one thing. That is a price many of us are willing to 
pay. But at the expense of someone else's freedom? I don't 
really think so."
    "How dare you think that just because you believe this 
gives you a choice- that you can kill them and never come 
to harm because of it!"
    "I believe that I can come to harm," said Keren, his 
voice the soft sound of a lion moving through tall grass. 
"What I do not believe should be allowed to happen is that 
those who think of and defend slavery as a natural process 
should be allowed to enslave and torture and never come to 
harm."
    They stared at him, and Keren gestured. The sea of 
flame on the ceiling parted, and Herran found his eyes 
being drawn up along with every other pair, unwilling but 
fascinated watchers of whatever it was that Keren chose to 
show them.
    Only Herran knew that the images were likely to be 
untrue- or, at least, if they were true, they were highly 
likely to be exaggerated.
    But everyone else watched with rapt trust as the red- 
gold flame parted to show a slavers' camp. Though 
everything was done in vivid, glinting shades of orange 
and scarlet, everything was realistic otherwise, down to 
the suffering on the faces of the men and women, the 
unicorns and the Elwens of other races, clipped to chains 
in the cages.
    Two of the men who guarded the cages abruptly turned 
and began to beat an obviously pregnant woman who stood in 
one of the cages for no apparent reason. She fell to the 
ground, trying to protect her baby, and then jerked and 
fell limp. Blood flowered across her belly.
    "They don't do that." Cyana's voice was small and 
lonely against the well-done thumps of boots landing no 
the woman's back and belly.
    "Really?"
    "Of course they don't! If slaves are to be captured, 
they should be well-treated so the slavers will get a good 
price for them."
    "They have freedom to take and kill, to torture and 
sell, whomever they like," said Keren, his voice as cold 
as the thumps of the boots. "As long as they do not get 
caught doing it. There are always more where those came 
from. Why should they not do whatever they like to those 
they take? According to your logic, my lady, they deserve 
whatever they get in any case, being the stupid and the 
unlucky."
    The slavers backed away from the woman and left her 
lying there, and the flames closed down over the image, 
leaving many of the land Elwens in the room horrified or 
even silently weeping.
    "You see?" Keren spun around, his eyes wild and his 
silver hair flying behind him, his face ablaze with blood. 
Above him, the fire danced and swayed wildly, as though 
agreeing with him. "You see what will happen if this 
continues? We will lose a vital part of what makes us 
Elwen. Vital. As long as our people suffer and die and we 
do nothing about it-"
    "It is necessary!"
    "Why should the lives and work of slavers be 
considered more valuable than the lives and freedom of 
slaves?" Keren asked passionately. "My lady, why! The 
slavers were the ones who caused this situation in the 
first place. They can be the ones to climb out of the pit 
they dug!"
    Most of the Rowanian Council was crying out now, and 
all of them were in support of Keren even if they were 
not. Sodiest's gaze and Lomona's remained the same, but 
they were not members of the Council and their words would 
not carry the same weight.
    Duanni, a Councilwoman who had long supported laws 
that would not only let humans through the Gate and give 
them trading concessions with Rowan but would stop the 
slavers from targeting them, scrambled to her feet and 
appealed to Herran. "My lord, you can stop this! You want 
to stop this. You have your support from us now. Ask. We 
will do anything." Her gaze went back to the flame, and 
she shuddered convulsively. "None of us wants to see 
something like that happen, ever again, and closing our 
eyes will not insure that we do not have to see it. It 
will not make it go away."
    Herran glanced at Keren in time to see the contented 
little smile that danced on his lips. That confirmed 
Herran's silent suspicion that Duanni had seen a human 
woman being beaten instead of a land Elwen, and that 
probably everyone had seen what he or she most wanted to 
see in the vision.
    "We can start right here." Keren's voice crashed into 
the rising tide of support, turning it his own way. "We 
have some of those who would support slavery, who probably 
have owned slaves or told slavers it was all right to keep 
hunting in lands they controlled, right here!" He gestured 
to the Council of Arcadia members, and everyone turned to 
look.
    Someone- Herran thought it was Keren, but he was not 
sure- was going to throw a ball of fire in the next 
moments, and the Council of Arcadia members had left their 
guards outside the Chamber.
    No. This he would not allow.
    Herran made the gesture that would stop any violent 
magic, and the sea of fire that Keren had let roam over 
the ceiling flashed once and disappeared, confirming that 
that would have been the weapon. Herran shook his head. No 
matter how much evidence he saw of Keren's temper and his 
sometimes uncontrollable rages, he kept hoping the young 
man would show the mettle that he knew lay in him, his 
undeniable ability to lead.
    But not this way.
    "My lords, my ladies," he said, catching the flash of 
Keren's betrayed gaze but forsaking it to look around the 
room, "I am willing to use violent means to end slavery, 
but only if diplomacy does not work." He faced Siorta and 
bowed slightly. "My lady, you seem rational enough, when 
you listen instead of trying to prevent me from speaking. 
Will you listen to a proposal to resolve this as 
peacefully as we can?"
    The cheetah Elwen, who had looked ready to Shift, 
glared at both Cyana and Keren, and then looked at Herran. 
"Of course, my lord. What do you want? Or want to know?" 
Her voice was steady, even though her gaze wavered back to 
her enemies now and then.
    "What will the Council of Arcadia do immediately if I 
decide that I need to go to war in order to protect my 
people from slavers?"
    "Trade sanctions and sending people like me to try and 
resolve the conflict would come first," said Siorta. "The 
least violent measures."
    Herran nodded. "That is what I thought, my lady." He 
glanced out over the Council Chamber, trying to remind 
everyone who looked at him of a lion who had just awakened 
from a nap. He looked lazy, but could charge the moment 
something triggered his temper.
    "Listen to me," he said quietly. "I am willing to go 
to war only if the situation warrants it. Rowan will not 
be the instigator of war in the Tableland." He turned and 
faced Keren. "And neither will her citizens. From this 
moment forward, Keren Deerfriend, I forbid you to kill a 
slaver unless you have proof that he has done something to 
a citizen of Rowan or to a citizen of a city or place that 
Rowan protects or is allied with."
    Keren flushed silver with rage. Actually, he had been 
halfway there already. "My lord?" he choked. "You would do 
this? You would betray everything that I have ever 
believed in, all the beliefs that we have ever shared, for 
the stars' sakes-"
    "I mean it, Keren."
    Keren was still for a long moment. Then he lifted his 
head and stared at Herran. "There is nothing that you can 
do to force me, my lord."
    "I will put you in the Prison, then, if that is really 
the way you feel."
    Again, the flush of rage. Keren was more helpless and 
bewildered than anything else, Herran knew. His long-time 
friend was acting against him, for a reason that Keren 
would not think good enough, and he could not bring 
himself to come up with a course of action that would do 
something about that.
    "I do not want to go to the Prison," he said at last, 
still trying to find some way out.
    "I am trying to end slaughter in the Tableland- 
senseless slaughter," said Herran. Though he did not speak 
loudly, his position and the silence that had once again 
fallen made every word slam home with the impact of a 
striking arrow. "That includes the slaughter of slavers 
whom you decide to execute on the basis of a whim, Keren."
    "You have never condemned this in the past, my lord."
    "In the past, violence was the only way we had to 
fight them. Now it is not."
    Something about the way he said the last words lit 
Keren's curiosity and intelligence on fire, and he stared 
at Herran for a long moment as though he was considering 
it. But in the end, all he could see was the end of 
slavery that he had already decided was not only a 
desirable goal, but also a goal that could only be 
accomplished by violent means.
    His eyes flared, then cooled. "My lord, I will not 
leave the city for a few dances, but when I do, I will 
find slavers."
    "I will not hold you to that promise," said Herran 
softly. "So long as you remain in the city, I will be 
content with your word."
    Keren turned and left the Council Chamber without 
another word. Herran dropped his hand and turned to face 
the Council of Arcadia members. 
    "My apologies for any offense he may have caused you. 
He is young, and Deerfriend, and famous enough by now that 
he is used to having others obey him. He will not cause 
any more trouble."
    "You have offended us," said Cyana, still fingering 
her sword. "It has gone a little far for you to apologize 
now."
    "I was asking questions that you were not answering, 
and you were not even letting me speak when you asked that 
I do so," said Herran, with a shrug. "I think that I have 
the right to be a little blunt under the circumstances, my 
lady." He smiled reassuringly. "I know that you fear this, 
my lady, but be assured, I have no desire to end slavery 
in the Tableland by violence. The Council of Arcadia need 
not be concerned."
    "But you will end it."
    "Of course."
    "I cannot allow that," she said, shaking her head and 
clenching her hand more fully on the hilt of her blade. "I 
must fight you."
    "Just as there is a distinction between me and the 
city, my lady- just as there are those in the city who 
will not want to see slavery end- there is a distinction 
between you and the Council. Because you are offering to 
fight me, does that mean that the Council will intervene 
in my affairs?" He looked at Siorta.
    "If you cause war or try to take the freedom of other 
cities away," she said plainly.
    "That is all I wanted to know." Herran smiled. "My 
lady, you need not look so worried," he added lightly as a 
shadow appeared again in the clear blue-green eyes. "I 
will end slavery in the Tableland and the other five 
provinces that have it- but I will not do it by violence 
or even coercion unless they give Rowan cause for war 
beyond endurance. Deureen did that, and the result was her 
execution. If others do it, the result will be war."
    "In that case, the Council of Arcadia will have no 
choice but to stand back."
    "Yes."
    "What you propose is impossible," said Cyana flatly. 
"You cannot end a trade- a trade that many like and have 
need of- without resorting to violence or coercion. 
Everyone knows that."
    Herran laughed outright. "My lady, you have some fear 
of me." She opened her mouth to object, eyes burning 
hotly, and he interrupted. "I do not mean personally; I 
mean politically. You fear me because of the enormous 
extent of my power. And yet you think I could not end 
slavery without resorting to war or enslaving the slavers? 
That is a frankly insulting assumption, and if you insist 
on dueling me now, I will at least feel insulted enough to 
go through with it."
    Cyana sputtered, but Herran noticed with wild inner 
amusement that she also took her hand from her sword. "It 
is impossible!"
    "Why?"
    "The sword or the chain- if those are broken, what 
other methods will you use? You have spent years talking 
to them, and to no effect."
    Herran felt his eyes narrow, and a purr all but invade 
his voice. Stars, he loved this, the moments when he could 
honestly say something like this. "The Game, my lady. 
Everything is in place, and if you do not believe me, all 
you need do is wait. By the end of this year, Arcadia will 
be free of slavery, I have decided that."
    "And because you speak, it is to be?" she said 
sarcastically, not responding to the other parts of his 
claim for the moment.
    "You could say that."
    Siorta interrupted before Cyana could set a time and 
place for the duel. "My lord, you use intrigue? That will 
mean coercion and manipulation, and again, the Council's 
sanctions and diplomats."
    Herran had to smile at her earnestness. Really, she 
did believe in what she was doing, in the cause of 
continental peace no matter how ridiculous that was. She 
had made a mistake in sacrificing freedom to peace, but 
she was earnest.
    "My lady, there are other parts of the Game, and if 
you sit back and wait, you will find out what they are. I 
promise you that everything I do will be done either 
because others want me to do it, or because it is a 
response to something someone else did- something that 
demands a response. I have been planning this for a very 
long time."
    "You can't do this," said Sodiest, more a blurt than 
anything else.
    "How do you know?" said Herran, turning towards him. 
"I haven't done anything yet. You don't know whether it's 
anything illegal or not."
    "But the means that you have used to reach this point 
must surely be illegal."
    "Why?"
    "No one could have all these pieces of the Game in 
motion unless he had done something illegal," said Sodiest 
stubbornly.
    "So you might believe," said Herran, sweeping his gaze 
out to meet that of everyone in the Chamber. The flat 
black gaze the younger man wore even while making his most 
passionate arguments was unnerving and tired him. "So all 
of you might believe," he continued, his voice rising. 
"But I will do this. Before the end of the year, there 
might be war. But I swear to you that Rowan will be the 
defender, not the aggressor." He allowed his lips to part 
in a smile that at the same time might be taken for a 
bloodthirsty snarl. "If the slavers want a war, they shall 
have one. But it will be a just war. That will be one of 
the differences."
    They just stared at him, not knowing how to respond. 
None of them had ever seen someone do this before, or even 
imagined it. Herran faced them calmly, not defending 
himself, not making the kind of whining excuses that 
Elwens often did when they reached for power. That was one 
unusual thing.
    The other, he could see from their faces and feel from 
their emotions, was that they really did believe that he 
was capable of doing this.
    And that meant that half the battle was won.
    Herran let his tensed body relax, his voice rise and 
then fall a little as if he was finished after this. "My 
ladies, my lord, I hope that you know I do not want to 
kill Elwens. However, I do not want to be killed either. 
That is one of the reasons that I want to put an end to 
slavery. And the reason that I will stop anyone from Rowan 
who thinks that because I oppose slavery I will reward 
those who kill slavers," he added, when Duanni opened her 
mouth to say, he knew, something like that. "Either side I 
stand against. Violence in any cause save that of lawful 
defense is not acceptable."
    "So say you," said Sodiest.
    Herran met his eyes calmly. "Yes, so say I," he 
agreed. "You are free to leave the city, my lord, and go 
somewhere else where the laws suit you better, if that is 
your desire. I will certainly not prevent you."
    A low chuckle ran around the Chamber. Most of the 
Council members knew how Herran and Sodiest regarded each 
other, and as few of them had any sympathy for the causes 
that Sodiest stood behind, they took Herran's frequent 
dismissal of him as entertainment.
    Sodiest turned and looked up at Lomona, who looked 
back at her foster brother without saying anything. He 
turned and left the Council Chamber then, walking with 
measured steps that seemed to give the threat he could not 
give to Herran's face without being arrested at once.
    Herran turned back to the Council and bowed his head a 
little. "My lords, my ladies, if you are ready, I think 
that we might return to vespermeal in the company of those 
we love. Their company is better than the company of those 
we admire, no matter how much we might enjoy that."
    They laughed, and then the Council meeting was over, 
as simply as that.
    Though not for Herran.
    Three women and one man walked towards him as he 
descended from the dais to the floor. Herran silently 
checked Daemon's silent move to ward them all off. He 
would have to speak to at least two of them, even though 
he suspected that in the case of those two it was more 
likely to be a waste of time.
    The first one to reach him was Councilwoman Inta, as 
she had been the one standing closest to the dais. She 
held his eyes and then asked in a quiet, disarming tone if 
he was mad.
    "I don't believe so," said Herran. "Why would you 
think that I was?"
    "You turned this discussion away from what it should 
have been about."
    "Which was?"
    "That Deureen did not deserve to die."
    Herran studied her curiously. "I don't really 
understand why you are defending her, my lady. For one 
thing, she is dead, and you cannot make any difference in 
any case. For another, she at one time must have captured 
a citizen from the villages and tortured him or her to 
death. Why so defensive?"
    "I realize what it must look like," said Inta. "But I 
believe that she was unjustly accused, and that you 
derived too much personal pleasure from her death."
    "The pleasure was well compensated for by the pain, as 
I believe you know."
    She jerked her head, but did not take her eyes off 
him, and paid no attention whatsoever to Perel's attempt 
to interrupt. "My lord, you know that you wanted her to 
die, and if you had not spoken as you had, she likely 
would not have been executed."
    "No. The Lady Lomona-" Herran turned to another woman 
standing nearby "-would have dueled her, and I think the 
Lady Lomona would have won."
    Inta sighed. "I don't want to see the city pulled 
along in the wake of a personal vengeance," she said 
bluntly. "How do you know, my lord, that the death of 
Deureen Alostara was not just such a personal vengeance, 
and the fact that she was a slaver is not being used to 
propel the city into a doomed attempt to destroy slavery?"
    "Because I know myself, because the city would never 
let me, as her avatar, get away with such a thing, and 
because I think that you heard me mention that I have been 
planning this for years. Deureen was a convenient 
catalyst, and a woman I wanted to see dead because of the 
suffering she had caused. That was all."
    Inta's eyes had tears in them. "You did see her as 
just a tool, then, after all."
    Herran met and held her eyes. There were times he 
envied her that idealism, but at the moment, it really was 
doing little other than getting in the way. "Inta," he 
said, addressing her by name as he rarely did, "I 
understand that you have not been in the Game long enough 
to learn the hard shell that many of us have. I admire 
that about you on occasion. But she had caused pain to a 
Rowanian citizen just recently, and would have gone on 
causing pain to many more. I should not have let her live 
just because she was Elwen and alive. That would have been 
akin to the way that the Council of Arcadia continues to 
support slavery. It would have meant that some Elwens had 
the right to torture and capture and kill, but the city 
has her hands tied in the same matter."
    "But you're descending to her level."
    "You fight poison with poison," Perel managed to 
interject. "You don't allow the poisoner to remain free, 
with a nice pat on the head to show how much you like 
him."
    "There should have been another choice!" Inta hissed 
at him. Yes, this was one of the days when she was 
exasperated with him; she did not even smile. "Not 
execution, or sentencing her to a duel with one of her 
victims that even I know she would not have survived." She 
bowed a little in the direction of Lomona. "There should 
have been, my lord. She could have been imprisoned for 
some years, for example."
    Herran shook his head. "You know that wouldn't work." 
Elwens caged away from starlight slowly sickened and died 
in a death far more grotesque and horrifying than anything 
even the Render could offer.
    "I know," Inta whispered. "But there must have been 
something you could do."
    "Tell me if you think of anything," said Herran 
sincerely. "For now, though, I am committed to this 
course. And yes, Deureen was an excuse and not an Elwen to 
me, save at the end. I had no reason to consider her as 
anything but an enemy of Rowan."
    Head bowed, Inta walked away. Herran watched her go, 
then looked at Perel.
    "And you, Councilman?"
    Perel was watching Inta go, his dark eyes filled with 
quiet satisfaction. "Just wanting to make sure that you 
did not blame yourself for something the Council would 
have decided without your speech," he said, turning back 
to Herran for only a moment.
    "And now you will go after her, and comfort her as you 
usually do?"
    "Of course," Perel said, sounding surprised at 
Herran's weary tone. "What else did you think that I would 
do?"
    Herran sighed. "Sometimes this farce becomes childish. 
Why not admit that you love or hate each other, and let it 
go at that?"
    "Because it is both. and this provides us the best way 
to keep it that way."
    Perel hurried after Inta, and Herran turned to Keesa 
Firehair, the other Councilwoman who had come after him, 
wondering what she wanted. She had an opinion on most 
things, but it was fairly rare that she would come to him 
as openly as this.
    "My lord." Keesa bowed. "I am willing to ride in the 
forefront of the army the moment that you decide you need 
to raise it."
    Herran had to smile. Sometimes his friend, sometimes 
his enemy, once Councilmaster of Rowan herself, and an 
unparalleled commander in war, Keesa would make an 
excellent choice to lead a Rowanian army. She had done it 
before, after all, against humans and curalli both. But in 
this case-
    "I do not know if there will be an army."
    "There will be." Keesa's golden gaze, usually as hot 
as her hair, was tranquil. "I applaud your effort to avoid 
war, but you know that one will rise. It is the way of the 
world."
    "I will consider it. You will certainly be my first 
choice if one does arise."
    Keesa bowed and withdrew.
    Herran resisted the urge to glance after Inta and 
Perel, whose voices were rising in a fierce argument as 
they almost always did, and instead turned to look into 
the face of Lomona Deerfriend. "My lady? What would you 
have of me?"
    "I would like to speak of it in your private chambers, 
my lord."
    Herran felt his eyebrows rise. It was rare that any 
citizen of Rowan exercised his or her right to petition 
the Councilmaster, save in cases of justice. And Lomona's 
pallor and uncertainty, as contrasted with the way she had 
swooped on Deureen, seemed to argue that this was not a 
matter of justice.
    He glanced at the sun slanting through the windows and 
gave a carefully hidden grimace. He had wanted to be home 
by now. It was one of the rare times when his daughter 
Teffulia, now in full training as a priestess of Suulta, 
would be allowed out of the Temple to visit her family. 
But from the look of Lomona, this could not wait.
    Or perhaps that was his own mind, the crystal mind as 
he called it, telling him that he would regret it if he 
did not listen to her.
    "Come with me," he bade her, and headed towards the 
far side of the Chamber, with his guards falling around 
both of them like a protective cloak.
    Lomona began to talk in a low, hurried voice before 
they had even left the Chamber, as it turned out, but she 
was making excuses and apologies, not really speaking of 
the meat of the matter. "I am sorry, my lord. I feel 
awkward asking for this so soon after the last great favor 
that you did me, but-"
    He cut her off with a hand gesture. "You have a right 
to ask me for whatever you want, my lady. That does not 
mean I will grant it."
    Her eyes flashed to him for a moment, and then lowered 
as she nodded. Herran had offered her a rebuke and support 
at once, and she was intelligent enough to recognize it.
    Still, she continued to excuse herself until they 
reached the office where the Councilmaster conducted 
business, with its magnificent view of the city and 
virtual absence of other luxuries. Herran directed Lomona 
to the only chair, and did not object when Daemon stood 
behind him, near the window. The guards took turns 
standing in the room, usually, and this was not Daemon's 
turn, but he was the best, if the young Deerfriend lady 
decided to try assassination.
    So many things to worry about, Herran thought with a 
slight quirk of his lips, so little time.
    "My lady," he said, inclining his head to Lomona. "If 
you would begin?"
    "Yes." Lomona's hands clenched in her lap. "I would 
like to ask, my lord, that you prevent my brother Keren 
from leaving Rowan."
    "On what grounds?"
    "That he will cause a war if he is allowed to leave, 
my lord."
    "That is a serious charge," said Herran. "Particularly 
since he gave me his word that he would stay in the city 
for a few dances."
    Lomona's mouth, which had opened, closed, and she 
studied him narrowly, having to realize that she could not 
just object on grounds that he was Keren's friend. Keren 
had publicly given his word that he would not leave Rowan, 
and that meant she would have to be a little more careful 
than she normally would.
    "But he will cause a war," she said. "And while I do 
not mean to imply that his word is less than silver, I 
know that he will dash off the moment he hears of slaves 
being captured and transported through the Tableland. You 
know he will. He has done it before."
    "I will keep a watch on him, as I always do. But I 
cannot prevent him from leaving the city unless he tries 
to do it with the express intent of causing a war, or 
before the time he gave me."
    "You must!"
    "Why?" said Herran. "What does this have for you in 
it? Why are you suddenly so concerned?"
    "I am concerned for Rowan's safety, my lord, of 
course. All good citizens are."
    Herran stared at her with eyes narrowed, and the 
bright buzz of her thoughts that he normally heard as only 
part of the larger whole intensified and cleared in his 
head until he could read them, more or less. They were 
only surface thoughts, and still more emotion than 
anything else, even words, but it did give him some idea 
of what she wanted.
    "What does your brother have to do with this?"
    "I just told you-"
    "Not that brother. The other one."
    Lomona's face drained of color, and she rose to her 
feet. "My lord, again I must warn you against letting your 
emotions become involved. I know that you do not like 
Sodiest because of his enmity against my brother, but-"
    "And because he has tried to kill me, and Keren, and 
never given satisfactory reasons why."
    "My lord! It was never proven that he did that."
    "True. I am merely saying that I have no reason to 
trust you, and telling you why."
    "You had no right to invade my thoughts as you did."
    "As you have no right to plot against your brother, or 
ask that he be restrained without cause." Herran rose to 
his feet as well, moving in front of the window so the 
light would surround him and gleam with molten, dazzling 
brilliance off his golden hair. "And we could sit and 
argue rights until the end of time, and get no closer to 
the end of this argument. Tell me why you want him 
restrained, Lomona. Give me one good reason beyond 
Sodiest's hatreds and fears, and I will do it. Otherwise- 
no."
    "Rowan's safety."
    "You have not proved that."
    "What does it take? His written intent to go beyond 
the walls and commit murder?" Lomona slammed her hands on 
the desk that separated them. "My lord, I know that he 
does not mean to. But it will happen unless you take steps 
to prevent it. You are the only one who can explain the 
necessity to him, the only one he will listen to without 
using fire."
    "Not to mention the only one who can do it legally. Or 
did that not enter in to the plans you made?"
    "My lord-"
    "Tell me one reason beyond the ones you have offered."
    "I have had a care for Rowan's safety, I have helped 
to bring about the death- the lawful death, not the murder 
my brother practices- of one of her enemies, and you will 
deny me this?"
    Herran narrowed his eyes, and if she could not see the 
expression because of the sunlight, she could feel the 
enmity that surged from him in waves. She froze, staring 
at him.
    "Make no mistake, my lady," he said softly. "I do not 
play the Game the way. Because I have done things in the 
past that reward those who have proved faithful and good 
friends of Rowan does not mean that I can be coerced into 
doing so."
    "You are drunk on power, if you think that you are the 
only one who can make decisions that matter in the city, 
my lord."
    "I would never think that," Herran said, his eyes 
following her every movement as Lomona stepped backwards 
to the door. He knew that Daemon was doing the same thing, 
though not for the same reason. "I am, however, one of the 
only ones who can make decisions that are lawful and rest 
on the will of our people. You might want to consider 
that."
    "What is right is not always lawful."
    "If it is not, it should be." Herran leaned forward, 
making sure she could see his face. "My lady, you will 
have your chance just like all the others who have ever 
threatened me. You will be allowed free rein until you 
commit a crime that has solid evidence behind it. Then 
nothing will save you from being punished for it. In a 
way, I trust all my people- but once I have proof of a 
breach of trust in hand, it ends there." He broke off and 
shrugged.
    "How could you-" Lomona said, and bowed her head. "I 
am just recovering from torture-"
    Herran laughed at her. "Too little, too late," he 
said. "I know the strength of the Deerfriend blood; I know 
your brother- your true brother- and your sister. I know 
that if you were sane and well enough to stand there at 
the execution today and thank me for killing the woman who 
tortured you, you are well enough to bear the thought that 
your brother might cause a war."
    "You will punish him if he does?"
    "Of course."
    "But then there will still be Elwens dead," said 
Lomona.
    "That is as may be. I think you know, from the way 
that I oppose slavery, what I consider most important in 
the world, more important even than life. I will not move 
against him until he does something."
    Lomona turned on her heel and left, all grace and 
pride and fire as Keren had been earlier. The almost meek 
woman who had stood and watched the woman who tortured her 
die might not have existed.
    Herran sighed and collapsed into the chair, shaking 
his head at Daemon. "I assume that there is no one else I 
need to speak with?"
    Daemon stared at him until Herran looked up, and then 
spoke concisely. "You need rest. I think you were up until 
almost dawn this morning, and then the speeches that you 
made, and the execution-" He shook his head slightly. "You 
need it. And your daughter is visiting her parents. You 
need to see her."
    "That doesn't change the question I asked."
    A shadow of a smile touched Daemon's face. "No, my 
lord. Nothing else that needs your immediate attention. No 
one who will not understand that even the Councilmaster of 
Rowan needs a few hours to himself."
    Herran nodded and stood. "Good." He almost left the 
room without thinking Daemon would follow, and then 
started as the guard came up behind him. "Sorry," he said, 
when Daemon promptly peered into the shadows for a threat. 
"I'm not used to having guards even now."
    "Perfectly understandable," said Daemon with a 
straight face. Herran had gone nowhere without guards in 
the last two hundred and fifty years. 
    But old habits died hard.
    Including, Herran thought, his decision to leave all 
the Council business behind in the Council building and 
make his way home at all speed to see his wife and 
daughter for the first time in days. 




                        Chapter 2
                   The Stars' Children
    "The elves and humans fear Elwens, I think, not so 
much for the damage they cause as the glory they are- 
something that strikes me at once as both incomprehensible 
and understandable. They are afraid of something 
beautiful. But they are not Elwen, to be seduced beyond 
compare by beauty beyond compare. And if they see glory 
they do not possess, what does that say about them?"
    -Attributed to Erfrase, Alfar Poet.

    "What do you want me to do about it?"
    "I don't know." Keren's voice was half-wary, half- 
weary. "I came to you because I thought you should know, 
because you would have been angry with me if you did not 
know." He flashed the smile that was briefly the smile of 
a friend to a friend, not an idealist to a friend who 
could no longer be trusted, before his face turned remote 
again. "But I have no proof, which, from what I understand 
of the way you look at the law lately, is the standard you 
need to judge it a crime."
    Herran sighed and stood, turning away to stare out the 
window. "I did not mean the words the way you heard them," 
he said, without turning back. "What I meant is- what help 
do you need? As a friend?"
    "You are not a friend. Not now."
    "Do not confuse politics with friendship," said 
Herran. "You can separate yourself from the things you 
care about. Do it, Keren, or I can do nothing for you, not 
now."
    "I cannot separate myself. I have never been as good 
at that as some Elwens I could name."
    Herran turned, and whatever was on his face made Keren 
flinch and lower his eyes- not in horror, not in fear, but 
in shame, an emotion Herran had not been sure the young 
Elwen could still feel.
    "I meant what I have said thousands of times before," 
he said quietly. "I am not the city. I am not even the 
things that I care about. And I believe that is a skill, a 
talent, a gift, not the source of horror you seem to think 
it is."
    "If you want to help me, let me go to them, and help 
them." Keren's voice was fragile.
    "I will help them. Not by the sword, and not by the 
chain, as one of the Councilwomen of Arcadia put it. Not 
by either of those, Keren. Because it is all the way you 
know does not mean that it is the one I should follow. You 
knew that before you came here. Why did you even ask that? 
It is unfair, to ask that I let you go to murder when you 
know that I believe it murder, not justice as you do."
    "How many slaves will die while you hesitate? The end 
of the year is not good enough. They will die, they will 
be beaten, evil things without number will happen to them. 
If you want to help them, free them."
    "For years, you have done that. What dent has it made, 
Keren? What has it accomplished, save the deaths of some 
slavers and the gratitude of some captives? What I am 
doing now will eventually end slavery. Give it a few 
months, nothing more than that. Not the years that you 
have been struggling without end. Surely that is not so 
long to wait?"
    "You are sacrificing those who may be taken prisoner 
now to the ideal."
    "And you have sacrificed thousands of lives to your 
ideal," Herran whispered harshly.
    For a moment, they stood there, pyrite eyes boring 
into black eyes flecked with gold. Herran felt no tremor 
of uncertainty as he gazed at Keren, for the first time in 
a long time, no idea that he should feel that. Yes, he 
admired Keren's dedication as he admired Inta's or 
Siorta's. But that did not mean that the dedication was 
necessarily the right course.
    Particularly not when it was blind and fanatical as 
Keren's admittedly was.
    "You don't understand," he whispered stubbornly.
    "Perhaps not," said Herran, folding his arms. "I 
invited your sister to explain this to me yesterday, and 
she could not. But she was speaking from the opposite 
side. Tell me what you think."
    "I- they died because they had done something wrong. 
It was more like the execution that you performed 
yesterday than anything else."
    "Agreed."
    Keren glanced up, blinking back angry tears, the first 
time that Herran had ever seen them appear in his eyes. 
"If you understand, if you agree with me, how can you 
protect their lives? It is a betrayal of those they have 
caused so much pain to."
    "Because execution is a last resort. And too often, 
you did not give those whom you acted as executioner upon 
a fair trial." Herran moved to the other end of the room, 
and opened the door.
    Keren's desperate, lashing voice stopped him.
    "You won't do anything? Not even let me leave Rowan at 
the end of the dances I promised and commit the crimes the 
slavers have committed on their flesh?"
    Herran turned. "I will not be able to stop you then. 
But until then..." He shrugged.
    Keren stared at him, eyes narrowed, and then 
understood. "You think that you will be able to end 
slavery in that time."
    "Before high summer, yes."
    "But why tell them the end of the year?" The relief 
that had flooded Keren's face was replaced with a curious 
indignation. "Why tell me the end of the year, if you did 
not want to worry me?"
    "because you would not have believed me. Now you are 
ready to do so."
    "You are a cold-hearted heart-reader," Keren accused 
him after a moment.
    "Granted."
    "Why are you doing this?"
    Herran rolled his head on his neck. He knew that Keren 
meant to ask why he was doing this in this way. But he 
answered the question as it had come out. He was sick of 
arguing this with Keren when he had other things to do and 
Keren would not listen to reason in any case.
    "I am doing this because I want slavery to end. The 
same thing you do. You might consider that."
    He shut the door behind him.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Herran's hands clenched on the edge of the table and 
he bowed his head, trying to control his breathing. He was 
tempted to close his eyes, but that would not help. The 
woman standing on the other side of the room would still 
be there.
    "Look at me." He had never heard her voice so low, nor 
so edged with fury, before this. It was the tone she used 
to command reluctant Guard recruits who did not want to 
believe that they could spar with her, should spar with 
her, or would want to spar with her.
    The accusations she was leveling against him made less 
sense now, now that he thought about it that way.
    Herran Turnlong lifted his head and looked into the 
eyes of Tandra Leafflower, the Captain of the Guards of 
Rowan and his wife.
    In her black eyes, poorly hidden, shone love and 
worry, but the anger was uppermost. She set her own hands 
on the table that until only a few minutes ago had 
innocently held their dawnmeal and leaned forward with an 
intent stare.
    "You can't do this."
    "Lack of ability or lack of freedom?"
    Tandra snapped her mouth shut and moved around the 
edge of the table towards him. Herran lifted a brow and 
stepped back, out of reach. She won every argument where 
he allowed her to touch him. It had taken him years to 
learn that, but he finally had.
    "It is neither," she said, and her soft voice almost 
made him give in right there, but years of planning held 
him firm. "Oh, Herran, it is not that I think you cannot 
do it, or that you will be prevented from doing it by me 
or anything that I will do. But no one can do this. I do 
not want to see you break your heart or kill yourself 
trying. You have come so close to killing yourself in 
struggle after struggle these last years." Almost 
imperceptibly, her face hardened. "And now it makes you 
bring the Game into our home."
    "As you bring the Guards and the voice that you use to 
control them into our home," he countered, and then leaned 
back and watched for her reaction.
    She blinked, then looked at him harder, seeming 
seriously embarrassed. "I do not mean to do that," she 
said. "I try to separate who I am there from whom I am 
when I come home. I do not think that you do. You live in 
this world so well that you see everything that way, even 
when you are not struggling with the Council or the 
Council of Arcadia."
    "At the moment, you are opposing me. Is it really any 
wonder that I would see this in the context of the Game, 
and try to figure out a way to win?"
    "I am your wife."
    "I know that."
    "I love you."
    "Some of those who argue with me are convinced they 
love and admire me, as well," said Herran. He stared into 
her eyes and sighed. He hated it when they argued, not 
least because it almost never happened save when he was 
convinced that he was right- so convinced that it was hard 
for him to give any ground at all. "Listen," he said, his 
voice softening. "I have been planning this for a long 
time. It has involved no risk so far. The moment that it 
does, we can talk about it again. But not right now. All 
right? I really do have to go to the Council building now. 
The delegates from the Council of Arcadia will be leaving 
today."
    Her face glowed with conflict as she stared at him. "I 
am less worried about the danger to your life than I am to 
your soul."
    "My soul?"
    "Yes. You know perfectly well what I am talking about, 
Herran. You throw yourself into this, so well that things 
are accomplished, yes, but you also endanger yourself. If 
this does not work, I do not want to see what it will do 
to you."
    "It will work," said Herran with quiet confidence.
    "I have never heard you sound so arrogant before this. 
It worries me."
    He clasped her shoulders and put a hand under her 
chin, tilting it up so that she would have to look into 
his eyes. "I understand the impulse that makes you want to 
protect me," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her 
cheek. "I feel the same way towards you, almost too many 
times to count. But we can't let it rule us. In anyone 
else, this would be called sureness of plans, and you 
would wonder what I was planning and why I was so excited 
about it, instead of wondering if I could do it before you 
even knew what it was."
    "You give so much of yourself," Tandra whispered, and 
suddenly, instead of her staring into his eyes at his 
instigation, she was holding his gaze and apparently 
attempting to climb inside his head with him. "You give 
too much of yourself, I think sometimes." Her hand rose to 
caress his hair. "I know that I encouraged you to become 
Councilmaster again, but if I had known that it would be 
like this..."
    He could not back down any more, and so again he tried 
to soften the mood with a smile. "You rarely complain 
about my intensity when you experience it in other areas 
of our life."
    Tandra blinked, then smiled, responding to his 
implicit plea to let it go for a moment. "True. And I 
can't delay any longer, either. I have to go." She 
embraced him briefly; they both knew that too long would 
turn into a desperate hold neither of them would want to 
let go. She backed away, stroking the sword on her hip as 
she stared up at him. "You will be careful, and come home 
this evening, to eat and sleep?"
    "And see you. Of course."
    She nodded, still staring at him as if she thought she 
might never see him again, and then turned her back and 
left the house abruptly.
    Herran drew in a deep breath. That had been close. He 
glanced at the food on the table from their interrupted 
dawnmeal and began to pack it up to take it along with a 
deep sigh. Daemon would know if he did not. 
    He had barely walked out of the house himself when the 
wards warned him of someone- two Elwens- not far away. He 
stopped and shifted his arm so that a knife would come 
flying out of his sleeve if anyone tried to surprise him, 
and then waited, now and then sniffing the air 
suspiciously.
    Two atagarni appeared then from around the trunk of a 
tree. They had been standing there to be carefully out of 
sight from the house's windows.
    Herran relaxed and nodded to them.
    The pair of snow Elwens came towards him slowly, 
studying him warily all the while. Like the curalli, the 
shadowed Elwens with whom they lived side by side in the 
Frigid Waste and warred constantly, they had developed a 
healthy paranoia that enabled them to survive the province 
of the snows, and that did not drop easily even when they 
were dealing with a longtime ally.
    Both of them had stark white hair and skin that would 
not tan no matter how much time they spent under the 
summer sun, and they exuded an aura of cold that Herran 
could feel growing stronger the longer they approached 
him. The man had golden eyes, the female green. Other than 
that, they were almost identical, from the cut of their 
pale, light clothing, to the inscribed golden bracelets on 
their wrists.
    Herran eyed the bracelets with a smile. They were a 
lord and lady of the ablasi, then, the snow Elwen 
government so alien that he lost track every time they 
tried to explain it to him. This was the first time any 
lord or lady of the snow Elwens had come to him. He had 
been concerned about that at first, but he knew it was a 
good sign that they had done so now, a sign that they were 
ready to begin the serious action he had asked them to 
consider earlier.
    They were real Elwens now.
    "As the snow flies," he said, as they came nearer, and 
only then did they really relax.
    The woman nodded to him. "This is Cinaros, and I am 
the Lady Sudablia," she introduced them.
    "Herran Turnlong." He did not claim any title, as was 
common for male snow Elwens, but stayed relaxed and alert, 
looking at both of them.
    Cinaros spoke at last, after moments of careful, last- 
minute watching on both sides. "You are still committed to 
giving us what we asked for?" They spoke in locutions even 
when there was no around to hear, and Herran, respecting 
their paranoia and knowing he could stand to have a bit 
more of it himself, replied the same way.
    "Yes, I still am. Are you committed to doing what I 
asked you to do before the sun of high summer comes and 
makes this part of the world uncomfortable for you?"
    Sudablia nodded, her green eyes sparkling now. "My 
lord, you speak like a curalli," she said, and the title 
indicated that she meant it as a compliment, and not an 
insult. "But in this case, our weakness will be your gain. 
We will both have what we want, and you will have it much 
more quickly than you originally planned."
    "Yes."
    Cinaros drew a silver-handled knife from his belt, and 
slid it from the sheath to expose a blinding white blade, 
nearly as pale as his own skin. "My lord," he said, with 
grave formality, the title coming from his lips an even 
greater compliment, "hold out your hand, if you will, and 
wait for the knife."
    He did, and did not flinch as the cut was made, hot 
silver blood welling up and stinging the skin. Cinaros 
made a similar cut on his own skin, his silver blood as 
bright but colder, and let it fall on the grass.
    Herran tilted his hand, careful to make sure that the 
first drops of his own blood joined the blood smoking on 
the grass, not falling outside the colder silver puddle or 
missing it completely.
    Steam flared where the two bloods joined.