                   Who Hunts The Eagle
                         Prologue
            1385, Age of Ascent, Early Winter
    Kilian.
    He thought the word as his hands flipped knives 
through the air, as his legs went out from beneath him on 
grease and ice and then he recovered his balance with a 
few kicks or a transformation into darkness, as he thought 
of what he could do to counteract this or that sword trick 
though he had no great sword proficiency himself.
    Kilian. The Maimer. The great land Elwen criminal that 
he had been hired to track, supposedly. In reality, Doran 
knew that the kill was most important, as it often was in 
such cases. There was no indication that Kilian had any 
family he had not crippled for life or killed. There were 
no indications that anyone wanted him back.
    Except...
    As his mind shone and flipped through the facts, his 
body did the same, from one wall to another, the cloak 
that he wore trailing behind him. He landed and clung like 
a great dark bird, then nodded and removed the cloak. He 
did not plan to wear it. However, it could be considered 
as part of his plans. He rolled it up and tossed it into 
the pack that stood waiting on one side of the courtyard.
    Then he applied his fingers and climbed up the stones 
to the top of the walls, nodding as he did so. He could 
still climb well enough, though it had been years since he 
had put his skills into practice save for the journeys in 
and out of the Unknown Mountains.
    Except that Kilian was an avenger. He would almost 
certainly be running west, to reunite with those who would 
protect him. Doran had to reach him first, or things could 
turn into the political mess that the Moon-Touched League 
was always so concerned about.
    He dropped to the ground and stretched, noting as he 
did so which muscles pulled and which he would need to 
rest for a short time. He could afford to be in nothing 
less than top condition when he went after Kilian, but he 
would say what that was, and no one else.
    He was confident of his ability to stop Kilian before 
he got that far. Kilian had a reputation, of course. Any 
avenger did. Kilian in particular was famous for crippling 
his victims and leaving them to suffer for the rest of 
their lives or commit suicide, either one. He was also 
unusual for his choice of victims, usually female, but 
Doran knew that would not trouble him.
    That might have been the reason they asked for a male 
bounty hunter.
    On the other hand, it was far more likely that they 
had asked because Kilian had not gone against him or 
anyone like him before, and Doran had never failed a 
taking for years.
    Anyone like him, he thought, vaguely amused as he lay 
flat on his back and juggled knives with his feet.
    There was no one else like him. He would not wish to 
encounter one if there was, though he would wish another 
version of himself more happiness and luck than he himself 
had enjoyed.
    Enough.
    Concentrate on the taking.
    Doran had forbidden himself such thoughts long ago, 
but they insisted on creeping in. Not this time, though. 
The only things he could think about himself were the 
usual motive-checking, making sure that he had taken this 
task because he wanted it and not for any personal stake 
in the hunt.
    No. He had taken it for the same reasons as all the 
others: the money, and the need to stop some of the voices 
crying in the dark. He could feel it, from a great 
distance, when the victims of these killers died. Those 
screams troubled his sleep and increased the amount of 
death in the world, making it harder for him to numb his 
senses to it. 
    He had known that since he was young. He had never 
known a world without it. But when he had decided that he 
could earn his living using these skills that birth had 
given him, he had also determined that he would check on 
himself constantly, to be sure that he was not slipping 
into amorality- or morality- that someone like him could 
have no use for.
    No.
    The money was still the most important reason. Good. 
Doran scrambled to his feet and bent over at the waist, 
breathing through his mouth for only a moment before he 
switched to his nose. Then it was holding his breath as he 
dove into the small pool of water he had contrived to have 
drawn up, at considerable expense, into the center of his 
home. Training here had saved his life three times, and 
that made it worth the expense.
    Sometimes, he thought.
    He dove beneath the surface and stroked through it, 
noting absently that algae darted through it once again 
and that he should clean that tomorrow before he left. He 
swam in two complete circles, clearing his mind of that 
thought, before he turned it to the next.
    Kilian was formidable, from all the information he had 
received. Land Elwen prisoners were usually executed at 
once, or kept in the northern city of Velwenacron, where 
they could not pass the ancient artifact known as the 
Honor's Door until they were sincerely repentant for 
crimes in their souls.
    Kilian had escaped execution, twice. Placing him in 
Velwenacron had resulted in another escape. After a costly 
battle that had meant the lives of four Elwens and the 
crippling of twelve more, he had been retaken and placed 
in the Justice Hall of Rowan. Then someone had let him 
escape again, and escape he had, attacking the 
Councilmaster of Rowan, one of the Councilwomen, and the 
Captain of the Guards on the way. Rumor placed the Captain 
as only recently wakened from a coma caused by the cuts of 
Kilian's kerltirmad blade.
    It also placed another avenger with him, but Doran was 
not greatly worried about that. Kilian was the target. Run 
him down first.
    Permit nothing else to interfere.
    He fully understood that the Moon-Touched League had 
been forced to act on this because Kilian had crippled one 
of their agents, and because Rowan was wakening again from 
a centuries-long sleep and her Councilmaster, being too 
busy to chase Kilian himself, would need to be appeased. 
He also knew that the consequences if he succeeded could 
be grave for the avengers and other fellowships of 
professional assassins everywhere, even for the League. 
The League, therefore, would weigh short-term costs 
against long-term, political against professional. They 
would choose the political, and would attempt to find some 
solution to the problem while still going through the 
motions of trying to find Kilian. They would appoint 
someone to travel with him, likely to kill him.
    Doran burst to the surface of the pool, shaking water 
from his dark hair and equally dark skin, and smiled 
faintly to himself.
    He did not need to worry about that, but he needed to 
be aware of it. So, he was. He shook his head and swam to 
the side of the pool.
    The League did not like him, but then, they did not 
have to. They only had to pay him for his time, which they 
had, and prove that the killer they wanted him to chase 
deserved to be caught. Kilian had been causing Doran 
nightmares for years.
    Good enough.
    He scrambled out of the pool, stretched, then jumped 
back in again and made himself practice vaulting out, 
which would not make such a noise. Then he whistled, and a 
horse waiting patiently under an arch at the edge of the 
courtyard started and came to him, standing patiently as 
he added tack and removed it, and then practiced riding in 
all the various positions he could remember. It had also 
been too long since he practiced this particular skill, he 
thought as the mane whipped in his face.
    Rumor placed Kilian in the outer edges of the Forbge 
Forest at the moment, and Doran found that the one curious 
and worrying thing in the report. Herran Turnlong, the 
Councilmaster of Rowan, and Tandra Leafflower, his wife 
and one of the victims that Kilian had nearly killed, had 
gone there. Kilian had followed them... but as of two days 
ago they were both still alive.
    Doran dismounted in a rush that left him in a kneel.
    He would have liked to leave early to find out what 
the man had been doing there, but that would have to wait. 
He had to go the League headquarters first.
    He got up and snapped his fingers for the horse.




                        Chapter 1
                          Cyela
    "Land Elwens are almost never what they seem."
    -From Toa Tumblao Vlicai Zaina, or The Book of 
Doubtful Maxims.

    "Cyela Duchea?"
    She turned and nodded to the man who stood waiting for 
her. Elven, she noted with a small curving of her lips, 
and with the scar on his chin of a League marking fresh 
and new. The younger League agents, or at least those less 
fully fledged, had all the tasks their superiors would 
rather not perform.
    She should know.
    "That is me," she said, moving forward with a slight 
bow that shifted her tunic over her and around her and let 
her check that all her blades were in place.
    His eyes flitted to her chin, and he relaxed, his own 
lips tightening and then releasing as he stared arrogantly 
into her eyes. "You are awaited," he said, without any of 
the titles he would have used otherwise.
    "By whom?" Cyela could be more polite than he could, 
she thought. When the elf stared at her, she picked up a 
lock of her hair and brought it forward to examine it.
    "Do you think that I deserve my name?" she asked him, 
then smiled and dropped the hair. "I forgot, my lord, that 
elves speak no Primal on a daily basis, or any other 
graceful and elegant language."
    The servant's eyes flashed to the ground, and then 
back up again. "I am sorry, my lady," he said, stiffly and 
formally, and yet the apology she had desired. The 
assassin was inclined to let it go for the moment. "Kagads 
Oakwhisper awaits you."
    He did not even add the words "of course" that she 
could feel lurking on his lips, ready to fall. Cyela 
nodded and glided behind him as he made his way through 
the large, stone room towards the far door. She did glance 
around, once, with interest. She really had not been 
waiting for very long in this antechamber before the elf 
arrived.
    The room was large, as almost all the rooms of the 
League headquarters were, and its windows looked out over 
a panorama of the Mountains, stretching to let the 
sunshine flood in. The unusual thing was that they were 
made of glass, subtly tinted so that a rainbow of colors 
splashed on the floor. Cyela approved of that. So many 
elves preferred obtrusive stained glass that gave 
everything the look of someone bleeding and dying in the 
midst of war, or worse. Kagads did have some taste, one 
could say that for him.
    Although not very much.
    They came at last to the door, at the end of a small 
hall with smaller windows, that led to the office of the 
Lord of the League. The elf bowed to the door, as though 
Kagads could see him beyond it- well, he might, depending 
on how the mood took him- and then retreated. Cyela 
stepped forward, then turned and called after him. He 
whirled around to face her.
    "Yes, my lady?"
    "What is your Touch?"
    The man appeared startled she would ask, but blinked 
and replied after a moment. "Astral projection, my lady." 
Which might give yet another reason for his caution to 
show courtesy to Kagads even if he could not see it, Cyela 
thought as a fit of the giggles threatened to overcome 
her.
    "And yours, my lady?" he had said, when a moment had 
passed and Cyela's giggles had subsided.
    "Undiscovered," said Cyela cheerfully, laying a hand 
on the latch of the door.
    "But-"
    She looked back at him, eyes as large and innocently 
blue as cornflowers. But even an elf with none of her 
people's emotional sensitivity knew that what lay behind 
those eyes did not, of necessity, reflect the surface. 
"Yes? You wanted to say something?"
    "It seems strange that you would speak to Kagads if 
you do not have a Touch," said the man, working up the 
courage, after all, to speak the thought that she could 
feel in his mind.
    "It would," she agreed. "But I am a smoother, you see. 
I make sure the League's work gets done and that those 
like you have paved floors to walk on and glass to look 
out of. It's not nearly as glamorous as your tasks, I must 
admit. I don't get to go roaming in the astral world. But 
you need me, while I do not, of necessity, need you."
    The elf nodded, his eyes on hers, and then beat a 
hasty retreat. Cyela considered the possibility that he 
would try to spy on the meeting from the astral world, 
then shrugged. Kagads would almost certainly have foreseen 
that possibility and done something about it.
    ^Cyela!^ An impatient voice blasted into her mind. 
^Where are you and what are you doing?^
    She smiled and lifted the latch. "No need to shout," 
she said mildly as she opened the door and leaned against 
it. "And you should keep a better eye out. I don't want to 
kill you, you know that, but there are plenty of people 
who would like to."
    The elf seated behind the desk in the large, cushion- 
and tapestry-soaked room she now stood in started and rose 
to his feet. Then he grinned wryly and moved towards her, 
light on his feet as she was, his green eyes studying 
every move she made.
    Cyela let him, certain that he was looking with the 
eyes of his mind more than the ones in his face. That did 
not distress her. She had been known to do the same 
herself on occasion.
    Kagads relaxed at last and extended his hand to her. 
"Welcome," he said simply.
    Cyela just barely touched his hand; despite his 
lamentable incaution, he had impressed her as quick enough 
to shake a blade into his hand and pierce an enemy's wrist 
if he so chose. She had rarely seen him close at hand 
before, and now for the first time realized that the 
intelligence in his green eyes, as well as his dark hair 
against his pallid skin, were all different from what she 
had been told to expect.
    "From the Lord of the League, or from an elf?" Kagads 
asked tolerantly.
    "Both." Cyela smiled and moved to stand by the window 
on the other side of the office. "You must admit that it 
is not every day that a humble League assassin is called 
to the office of the Lord. I sought all viable information 
I could about you."
    "There is nothing viable. I make sure of that. And you 
are not just a humble League assassin."
    Cyela laughed. "Playing to my estimation of myself can 
be dangerous, my lord."
    "Please, my lady. We all know what you are- and what 
you have the potential to become."
    "Some of us do not."
    Kagads inclined his head. "I must admit that sometimes 
I have not been entirely forthright with the younger 
members of the League. I would like them to develop their 
Touches on their own, without thinking that they must work 
towards a particular one. That results in their 
cultivation of what are often no more than signs or hints. 
I think that it is best if you learn what you can do on 
your own."
    "I would agree, except that I am not one of the 
younger members of the League. I am an assassin."
    "An extremely competent one, who stood in the 
moonlight at Wheeling."
    "Please, my lord. Tell me for certain why you summoned 
me here."
    On his way back to his desk, Kagads paused and looked 
at her, eyes narrowing. "So. You have heard some of the 
rumors."
    "Who could not?" Cyela leaned back, letting the sun 
shine on her red-gold hair, letting her arms fall limp at 
her sides, letting all the Elwen beauty that could 
sometimes unnerve elves and sometimes not play on her 
face. "The death of Ferian Tantras has attracted 
attention. It has come to my ears that Kilian must die for 
his crime."
    "Yes." Kagads sighed and tapped his fingers on the 
desk, then recalled himself and stopped. Just because he 
works around people who reveal more of themselves through 
their minds than through any physical action does not mean 
that he can afford incaution, thought Cyela, certain that 
he was finally learning. "But it is more complicated than 
that, my lady."
    "Tell me, my lord."
    He motioned her to take a chair, belatedly, and she 
did, arms cutting holes in the air as she folded herself 
into the seat and lifted her brows.
    "Kilian is an avenger."
    Cyela waited for an endless span of time, then noticed 
his stare. "I am sorry," she said, curving her lips 
lightly again. "Why should that signify anything beyond 
his level of skill to me, my lord?"
    "Because of the implications it holds- or could hold- 
for anyone in anything remotely like his trade."
    "I still don't understand." Cyela kept her tone light, 
but her neck and shoulders tensed. She had thought, when 
she heard this rumor and understood that Kilian might need 
hunting, that the problem would involve his extreme skill 
and the difficulty in catching him. That inspired her. The 
only way for someone still unTouched to climb in the 
League lay through exploits such as this. She needed them, 
at least until her Touch came to her. "Surely the man 
responsible for the death of a League agent should be 
responsible for his crimes in court as well?"
    "Yes, but..."
    She waited, reading the emotions that spewed from him 
as another Elwen might read words on paper. Worry, 
wariness, anger, and amusement. An unusual combination, 
and she wished she could read the thoughts behind them. 
But Kagads, one of the rare telepathic elves, guarded his 
thoughts better than that.
    "There is more," he said at last.
    Really? Cyela thought, but kept her thoughts to 
herself.
    Kagads felt it anyway and flashed her a glare, then 
leaned forward, counting off points on his fingers.
    "The avengers, the Ver Peria, and the Enders- as well 
as our own assassins- all serve valuable, legal purposes. 
Yet killing, to the minds of the small, could involve 
some- morally uncertain questions. Our position, for all 
our power, is more precarious than you have ever known."
    Cyela nodded.
    "The avenger Kilian- Elfmother take him with Her to 
face the Keeper quickly; he never should have been born- 
is a rogue avenger. Yet the code he follows and trained in 
compels the avengers to protect him. Their one 
unforgivable crime is killing a child, and he has never 
done that.
    "So we have the avengers. We have the Ver Peria and 
others, including us, whose continued existence might 
depend on this precedent. If Kilian dies... it could turn 
unpleasant for us."
    "But if he does not?"
    "Then the murder of a League agent goes unpunished." 
Kagads sat back. "You can see the problems. We must set 
someone on his trail; apart from anything else, Ferian had 
friends who will demand it, including some of our best 
Summoners and Feeders. But we must think past the death of 
one to the larger picture and the continued existence of 
women and men like yourself, my lady."
    "I see the larger picture, my lord," Cyela murmured, 
pleased that his explanation was so free and sounded so 
real. If it was not real, it probably contained enough 
hints of truth that believing him would not hurt her. "One 
thing I do not understand."
    "Yes?"
    "If the larger picture requires making an effort to 
pursue Kilian but ultimately letting him go, why not send 
a League assassin with experience in this kind of thing? 
Or an incompetent one?"
    "Two factors. One, he attacked the Lord of Rowan and 
his wife, and several other important people in Rowan." 
Kagads paused to blaspheme again; Cyela waited, tapping 
her fingers on the inside of her wrist. "Rowan- we have a 
problem in Rowan. We have tried to settle that problem 
before through an agent and failed, most spectacularly. 
Their possession of classically trained psychic assaulters 
does not sweeten the porridge. Yet, for the moment, they 
have power, and we must take them seriously.
    "For another... Ferian's friends have already hired a 
bounty hunter. They will accept the companionship of a 
League assassin going with him in order to supervise and 
make sure that League rules cover his hunt. They will not 
accept a substitution."
    "Who is this man?"
    "Doran Deepen," said Kagads, and watched her, 
radiating warmth when she showed no recognition of the 
name. "A skilled bounty hunter, if a cold one, and highly 
proud."
    Cyela shrugged. She hated having to speak the next 
words aloud, as she suspected that he was keeping 
something else back from her, but when a leader did not 
speak the obvious... "A League assassin will have received 
more training and more practical experience than any mere 
bounty hunter."
    "Another problem."
    Of course.
    Kagads eyed her. "At the moment, my lady, you are 
being considered for the order-keeping position on this 
mission, but that could change- at any time, and for any 
reason."
    Cyela sat back and kept her arms hanging at her sides. 
"Of course, my lord."
    Kagads grunted at her repetition of her thought aloud, 
but let it go for the moment. "Doran is- not an ordinary 
bounty hunter. Not elven, and not land Elwen."
    "I have fought other kinds of opponents before, my 
lord."
    Kagads smiled at her. "A half-churni, half-zorkro?"
    Cyela could not hide the interest that kindled in her 
eyes, even as they widened and she sat back in her seat. 
Half death Elwen, half darkness Elwen. Half life-force 
feeder and half soul-eater. "No, my lord. I must admit 
that I had no idea such things existed."
    "Only one does. And, of course, Ferian's friends had 
to hire the damn thing to track his killer."
    Cyela chuckled with the Lord of the League for a 
moment. "You want me to go with him?"
    "Yes. You must- do as you think best. This situation 
has a delicate balance on all sides, as you know, and you 
will have pursuit, interference, unwanted advice, and any 
other thing you can imagine from the interested parties. 
But if you can handle the situation successfully- which 
might be anything from killing Doran the moment he kills  
Kilian, to slaying Kilian yourself- then you will find 
yourself- much closer to an Opener, shall we say?"
    The assassin smiled and inclined her head. "Thank you, 
my lord. I understand."
    That much closer to having her Touch revealed by a 
League member Touched for such a task, rather than by 
quadruple moonlight alone.
    Kagads rose to his feet, and Cyela stood as well. "I 
think that you can do this," said Kagads, reaching across 
the desk to grip her hand. "I understand that you have a 
low position and all the resentments associated with 
that." Of course he could understand that; he could see 
them in her head. "But I assure you, perform as your 
intelligence and wisdom indicate, and you will not be 
disappointed in our generosity."
    Cyela smiled. "Of course. The darkie- will he know 
that I am come to kill him?"
    "No."
    Cyela nodded and bowed to the Lord of the League, then 
swept out of the room.
----------------------------------------------------------
    So now she lounged on a rock, leaning against a higher 
one, her shoulders braced but relaxed, her hands flipping 
a knife over and over again as she watched the road. With 
any luck, he would think she was the usual sentry and she 
would have a chance to study his unguarded behavior before 
revealing herself.
    A half-churni, half-zorkro.
    Interesting. Rare, certainly. She had never heard of 
another one. She wondered how hard he would be to kill. 
She knew that the magical abilities of both kinds of 
fullbloods made them dangerous to fight, but she was also 
aware that he would have half that magical ability, at 
most. Halfbloods always did.
    And even if he could fight... 
    She was a League assassin. He had no idea who and what 
would meet him.
    The sharp clacks of hooves roused her from a half- 
daydream in which she saw herself dancing with a man whose 
face she could not see, celebrating her promotion to full 
League membership. She had been told by telepathic message 
some time ago that this next traveler was him. She rose to 
her feet and assumed a guard stance.
    The hoofbeats stopped.
    Cyela paused, then forged ahead like the sentry she 
was playing and called out, "Who goes there? Who treads 
the domain of the Moonsworn?"
    "Someone who knows that you have caused death in the 
past," a calm, dark voice answered back. "Much of it. I am 
trying to decide if I can bear to come near you or not."
    "You can sense the death I have caused?" Cyela 
demanded, forgetting the role in her curiosity. She had 
thought it was a stupid idea, anyway, she convinced 
herself within two moments of abandoning it. "How can you 
do that?"
    "One of my many talents."
    "Come around the corner," said Cyela, bringing back 
the role again. No mere bounty hunter had the right to 
question her like this. And he could not read her 
thoughts; he would not be able to tell that her interest 
in him had a different purpose than the regard of a 
sentry. "I must see you."
    "I suppose you must. You will want to know what kind 
of creature can sense death."
    Cyela frowned, wondering about something in the 
phrasing of that that did not seem quite right, but then 
forgot it as he came around the corner.
    Well.
    Seeing him did make up for the lack of taste she had 
endured in the League headquarters for the past three days 
while awaiting news of her mission and then his arrival.
    His dark skin fairly glowed, and he regarded her 
gravely, without smiling, from beneath a dark cowl that 
did not tame the black hair spilling halfway down his 
back. Braids, and still it looked wild. He wore all black, 
not caring about what he looked like- which would be a 
pity- or simply understanding that someone as dark as he 
was could get away with it. He was as tall and lean as the 
few death Elwens she had ever met. The League united all 
kinds.
    His eyes were the most arresting feature, and yet 
somehow she noticed them last. Glowing, strong, as golden 
as the sun and more so, with a seemingly transparent, 
sunlit surface over a vault of deeper gold. Shadows lived 
in that gaze. Yet, if she could call such a thing 
beautiful, such a man beautiful, she would have called him 
beautiful.
    She found herself stepping towards him, extending a 
hand with a smile of fascination, before she thought about 
professional distance or anything else. 
    He reached out a gloved hand to catch hers and bowed. 
"My lady," he said, giving the courtesy without her asking 
for it- the only one since she had arrived who had done 
anything like that.
    More charmed than she should be, she smiled at him and 
said, "My name is Cyela Duchea. Yours?"
    "Doran Deepen."
    She laughed. "I can believe it, with those eyes."
    For which she received a puzzled look. "My lady?"
    "I know- or at least, I have met- some of your kin. I 
do not know that it is ever proper to say that I have 
known a death Elwen."
    To her surprise, he narrowed those striking eyes and 
jerked his hand away from her. "If we might go to the 
headquarters, my lady?"
    "Why do you react like that?"
    "I have no kin, my lady."
    She gaped at him. "Of course you do. The Deepens- and 
you are of churni blood, obviously- and the golden eyes... 
all the Deepens have golden eyes."
    "I know nothing about death Elwens."
    "By choice, or by-"
    "I know nothing about them." Doran lifted his head and 
looked up the trail, towards the League headquarters, 
which he would only be able to see from here by craning 
his neck or even standing up in the stirrups. "I am 
expected. Are there any other questions that you want to 
ask me, my lady?" He looked back at her, his eyes narrowed 
but waiting.
    Cyela tilted her head. A puzzle. She could read almost 
nothing beneath the surface, as if he existed only on the 
surface, or as if he really was settled as he pretended. 
The anger had rippled across his surface and gone as 
quickly as it had come. "My lord?" she said, just to keep 
up the pretense a little while longer. "I received no news 
that I should let you through." She wasn't supposed to do 
that.
    She thought.
    Doran reached into a pocket and pulled out a sealed 
letter that he gave to her without speaking. Cyela took it 
and balanced it in her hands. It bore the League's seal of 
a circle split by a wavy line, the symbol of Salsi, the 
winter moon who was believed to grant them most of their 
powers.
    Kagads's seal.
    Why give him a letter if hiring Doran was merely an 
unwanted imposition?
    "I understand, my lord," said Cyela after a moment, 
and gave the letter back to him. "I will escort you, 
however. One cannot be too careful."
    "Of course, my lady."
    She did not understand him- she started to arrest the 
thoughts, but then realized that he could not read her 
mind, that she was free to let them run- and could not 
understand that. So, an assassin would not guess all her 
targets correctly. She might have to revise an initial 
estimate of her prey. But to have no estimate at all was 
something that had never happened to her before.
    She turned and began to pace beside his horse. Doran 
barely paid attention to her, watching the road and 
clucking to the horse occasionally, but glancing over when 
she stumbled.
    "My lady?"
    "A pebble," said Cyela, dropping the game of courtesy. 
She had other things in mind.
    Doran shrugged, nodded, and looked away again. His 
face never changed, and neither did the emotions- or 
rather, lack of emotions- she could feel coming from him. 
This... was odd. This was beyond odd.
    For the first time in years, she felt a tremor of 
doubt. Three mornings ago she had felt tension, but no 
doubt. She did not doubt that the League would send 
someone after Kilian, and she did not doubt that she could 
resolve the situation.
    She needed to know more, she decided at last. 
Obviously, someone had told her something wrong, or 
someone had lied to Kagads. Stars, he might never have 
seen the man before. That was probably it.
    "Doran," she said, to get his attention.
    "My lady?"
    "Why do you wear gloves?" The soft wind blowing around 
them was cold, and it was early winter, but death Elwens 
were said to be half-dead themselves, permanently cold, 
and he should have borne and even reveled in the 
temperatures.
    Doran blinked, and then looked more closely at her. 
"The Lord of the League did not tell anyone else of my 
coming, my lady?"
    "No." She could say that truthfully. She was the only 
one he had told. That would not sound as a lie to Doran's 
ears even though she was answering a different question 
than the one he had asked.
    "I wear gloves, my lady, so that I do not kill someone 
else when I touch him or her." His words drifted on the 
wind, soft and unaccented. He spoke Aril as if it was his 
native tongue. Stars, it might be. Who knew what kind of 
life he had had, if he had not grown up among the death 
Elwens? "My bare skin making contact with an intelligent 
being- I have the magic of both my kinds two times over, 
my lady. If I touch someone else Elwen or elven or even 
human without something between my skin and his, he turns 
into dust and blows away."
    Cyela realized her mouth hung open. The first time she 
had ever done that, she thought, shutting it with a smart 
snap. "How can you have that?" she asked. "Halfbloods have 
magic weaker than their parents'."
    "Not always, my lady."
    She waited, and then realized that he would give no 
other explanation.
    "Why is it different with you?"
    "I don't know, my lady."
    This continued to circle on the same endless track. 
Every other time she had made the effort to speak to her 
prey before striking, she had learned something about 
them. But this time, she could not get deeper. And she 
still did not know if that meant a lack of depth, all 
surface on this one, or if he guarded himself with walls 
she could not breach.
    She had to find out soon.
    She might not, she reminded herself soberly, have much 
time to learn his actions, his motives, what made him 
speak or laugh or sing, before she had to kill him. The 
decision, or even the order from Kagads, could come at any 
time.
    She thought.
    "You must have some idea."
    Doran glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "My 
lady, I assure you that your superiors in the League have 
all this information at their disposal. They would not use 
a bounty hunter unless they knew all about him. I have 
worked with the League in the past, my lady, and have 
never threatened it. I assure you, I can work with anyone 
else, follow League rules, offer civil conversation, and 
do anything else that they may require me to, all the 
while accomplishing my task. My lady."
    Something touched his voice again, pride, but again it 
vanished. Kagads had said he was proud, Cyela reminded 
herself, again falling back on what she knew as nothing 
else seemed to work. Yet...
    Where was the rest of it?
    Why in the name of the stars could she sense nothing 
about him? Why did all the emotions he expressed seem to 
be less passionate than those she would feel from a fat, 
content human businessman? Yes, death Elwens were 
reserved, but not this much- and darkness Elwens were 
relentless in their wickedness. This made no sense.
    "What is it they know about you?" she asked. They 
continued walking towards the League headquarters. She 
knew they would have to go there after all; the letter 
meant that Kagads would have to see him in person. Not at 
all what she had anticipated. She had thought he would 
know that she would work with him, and they would leave at 
once.
    "That I was born of a death Elwen mother and darkness 
Elwen father; that I killed my mother as she birthed me, 
and my father as he picked me up; that a churni woman 
named Lida Deepen raised me until I was fifteen; that I 
have become a bounty hunter since then and been one most 
of my life. That is all to tell. I have the skills and 
magic that make me a good hunter, my lady. That is all."
    He spoke, still, with no obvious passion. Cyela, 
perplexed and growing bored of feeling that way, gave in 
to the temptation to try and incite some in him. "That 
seems a sorrowful and poor way to have lived a life, my 
lord."
    Then she listened with emotional ears, ready to pick 
up something, even the slightest trace stirring of 
emotion. Longing for companionship. If she could, she 
would pretend friendship. It was easier than most 
suspected and would ensure that he would be less likely to 
fight when she approached him for the kill, something that 
could be important with this one...
    Nothing. No stir. Doran hitched his left shoulder in a 
shrug. "It is the way I have lived mine, my lady. I have 
never known any other, and I therefore cannot compare it 
to any other."
    This was unreal.
    Cyela dropped into silence as they walked the rest of 
the way to the League building, Doran slipping off his 
mare to walk her over the more difficult parts of the 
path. Let him think she brooded or simply sulked over his 
rudeness. He would not know. He seemed self-absorbed to 
the point of silliness.
    She did try to sense his thoughts, and had no luck.
    In reality, her mind shone and raced and flipped, 
seeking out other things that would let her find a way 
into his mind and soul. Not so much the heart, though that 
might help. But she suspected that he would not notice 
friendship if offered.
    Professional competence, though...
    Maybe.
    "Why did you accept the League's offer?" she asked, as 
they rounded the final bend in the trail and he paused to 
look upwards. For a moment she thought he was impressed, 
and then realized that he was lifting a hand to see into 
the sun. She did indulge in a short fit of sulking, then, 
to herself.
    "They are paying me well, my lady. And I can feel 
death, as I told you. Someone like Kilian disturbs the 
little sleep I can get, my lady. I would like to see him 
brought down."
    "If you do not believe in the League rules..." She had 
thought that he at least did that. Perhaps this was her 
road in, to stun him with the depth of her own loyalty. 
"Why do you want to accept the supervision of the League 
in this matter?"
    "Because they hired me, my lady."
    Baffled again, she retreated. And now some League 
members poured out into the courtyard to meet him, and 
some of them were Ferian's friends. She excused herself 
politely and went in search of someone who knew him who 
was also her friend.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "I don't know him that well."
    It had taken some time to find Herene, and Cyela 
rolled her eyes. "I know that you have a class to teach, 
Herene, and you know that I know nothing about him. A 
favor, or whatever you want. Just tell me something that I 
can use."
    "It's not like that, Cyela." Herene leaned against the 
wall and stared at her innocently, scratching a little at 
the League marking on her chin. "You know it isn't. You 
have done me favors in the past for which you have asked 
nothing. I just don't know much of anything."
    Cyela eyed her narrowly. Herene was a tall jarum, a 
fox Elwen, with ruddy skin covered with short, ruddy fur, 
pointed ears, and green eyes that danced with mischief for 
the hell of it. No one looking at her would think that she 
was the best Feeder- the opposite of a telepath, someone 
whose contact with a mind would destroy it- in the League, 
and sometimes used her gift for the hell of it, or that 
she was insanely loyal to the League. But Cyela knew her, 
knew her sort, and trusted her.
    As far as trust could go.
    "All right," said Herene at last, throwing up her 
hands and sighing. "You should know, though, that I do 
this under protest. I think that you have potential, and I 
would hate to see you waste it doing something stupid 
based on information that I told you."
    "If I destroy myself doing something stupid, it's no 
one's fault but my own. You know that, Herene."
    "I suppose I do." The fox Elwen paused for a moment, 
her eyes unusually still, staring out the window, and then 
turned back. "I could show you best if I touched your mind 
to show you."
    Cyela drew a knife in spite of herself, and then let 
out a breath. "Don't frighten me like that."
    Herene grinned smugly. "You should have seen the 
expression on your face."
    Cyela relaxed then, remembering the words as she 
tucked the knife back out of sight and raked her fingers 
though her hair, laughing as well. "I know. I'm sorry. 
This prey has me on edge, that's all. I can't learn 
anything about him from talking to him. It's frustrating."
    "Doran Deepen is like that." Herene wandered to a 
window that overlooked a courtyard near the center of the 
building, then motioned Cyela to join her. The land Elwen 
woman did so, looking down just as Doran came into the 
place with a League member walking guard on either side of 
him.
    "What do you want me to do?" The voice drifted to her, 
just as calm.
    "Those are Poisoners," said Cyela, recognizing them.
    "Yes, I know," said Herene.
    "But he isn't afraid of them?"
    "No." The fox Elwen slanted a glance at her. "I told 
you. He is hardly afraid of anything. I couldn't convince 
him to do things he didn't want to do when I was working 
with him. I couldn't convince him to do things that would 
cut corners and save the League a little cost, either. He 
knew the right thing to do, and in the name of the stars, 
he was going to do it."
    "A bad case of idealism, then?" Cyela asked hopefully. 
That was something. That was more than something. That was 
one of the best doors she could hope for. If he only 
projected his calmness... if deep down in his heart he did 
believe in something and badly wanted someone to share 
that with him... she could move in just as soon as she 
convinced him that she shared those beliefs. She might as 
well set up shopkeeping in his soul. In seconds, if she 
played it right, she might have him. It was the way she 
had captured her third-to-last victim. She had had him in 
the palm of her hand for a dance before the League decided 
it wanted him dead- and she had known him only fifteen 
days when he died.
    "No," said Herene, and Cyela sighed. It hurt to give 
up that dream.
    Not that she was frightened, of course. He could do 
things that she could not, but he did not have the 
understanding of Elwens that she did, and he did not have 
the ability to believe in something larger than himself, 
as she did. He had all but told her that his motives were 
money and sleeping well at night.
    "I can do that." Doran had been speaking to the 
Poisoners, and she had not paid much attention. He sounded 
confident, but bored. "Only say when, my lords, and I will 
do as you like."
    Cyela shook her head. Perhaps he secretly desired 
slavery? She had tracked someone else like that once, but 
luckily the League had called her off the trail before 
Cyela would have had to kill her. Killing the woman- 
giving her what she wanted- would have made the assassin 
feel small.
    She watched as the halfbreed stepped away from the 
guards and then jumped into the air. His feet did not 
touch the ground again. He transformed into a cloud of 
darkness, foaming around the courtyard like heavy smoke, 
slow but tenacious. No blade could strike him in that 
form. She should know.
    She had fought darkness Elwens before, and knew their 
tricks, and knew that the one time she had been forced to 
fight one who had taken darkness form, she had escaped as 
much by luck as by skill.
    "Wonderful," she muttered. "That will make him twice 
as hard to kill."
    "Harder." Herene was looking at her almost 
protectively. "Please, Cyela, I mean it. I want you to be 
careful."
    "I know that."
    Still... it might be best if she killed him quickly. 
Not out of fear. Not if the situation did not justify it. 
But if it did, and she had the time and the opportunity, 
she would do it at once. He should not be able to command 
the magic of both bloods.
    It did not happen that way.
    The darkness reformed, on the other side of the 
courtyard. Doran stood still, his eyes on the Poisoners, 
waiting for the next command. All of them knew that he 
could escape at any time that he wanted. Cyela shook her 
head and drew a breath as she considered his daring and 
the thought that she would probably be saddled with 
settling the consequences of such daring. Another reason 
to be wary.
    "Now kill with your gaze," said one of the Poisoners.
    "No," said Doran. "I will kill only my intended 
target, my lords. You do not have him here, and I will not 
kill until I reach him, just to demonstrate it for you. I 
create more of a stink when I do that."
    "The Lord of the League wants to make sure that you 
can do what we hired you for."
    Cyela frowned. He did? Of course, he had probably 
trusted her with more than those two low-ranking League 
members down there. They didn't know that Kagads was only 
sending him because Doran was too difficult to get rid of 
any other way.
    "I can do it, my lords. I can demonstrate it on 
something else if he wishes- an animal. But I will not do 
that to an Elwen." He paused, then smiled a little, the 
first time Cyela had seen him do so. "I will not kill a 
League agent inside League walls, my lords."
    Cyela chuckled, and shook her head. "I suppose that he 
does know the laws, if he deals with us often enough," she 
said when Herene glanced at her.
    "Yes, he does. That is another thing to be careful 
of." 
    Cyela paused. "You know why I am going, then?" she 
said delicately, glancing out of the corner of her eye at 
the other woman.
    "Of course. I asked for Doran in the first place. 
Exasperating as he can be, he does know how to finish his 
prey. And he does obey League rules. He just tends to 
forget them in his enthusiasm. If you go with him to 
remind him..."
    "I understand," said Cyela, and then let her mind race 
back over the words she had spoken to see if she had 
revealed anything of her real purpose. She did not think 
so, but could not be sure. And Herene might know the 
truth, and just be defending herself against an assassin 
who, for all she knew, might have been told to act against 
anyone who found out accidentally. 
    Sometimes, the League's secrecy worked against it, she 
thought.
    "I will remember everything you tell me, everything he 
does," she said at last, feeling that should be safe 
enough.
    "Good. I understand the man you go to track is 
formidable, and Ferian's murderer-" her hand tucked into 
her wrist at that, while her eyes and mind flashed a 
welter of emotions "-but do not forget the man traveling 
at your side, either. He will do what he has been paid 
for. At any cost, either to himself or to you."
    "He would try to kill me?" That was something else 
Kagads had not mentioned. She had a list almost as long as 
her carim knife by now.
    "No, no." Herene shook her head, her eyes fastened on 
the courtyard, where Doran was now creating clothes and 
rope and a sword out of darkness to show them how it was 
done, that he had all the gifts of his kind. "But he might 
decide that your safety does not matter in the middle of a 
chase. He might bound out of control without warning you. 
He walks another world, Cyela. I do not know much about 
him," she reiterated, in the face of a skeptical glance, 
"but I swear to you, he does. He lets himself wander into 
death and darkness as he works to catch these Elwens, all 
so he can sleep. And if you did earn his ire, something no 
one I know of has ever done... there is no telling what he 
might do, if he brings this much intensity to the simplest 
of tasks."
    Cyela shut her eyes and shivered. "I am not that 
convinced of my own invincibility, that I need it pounded 
into my head like a drug into a mule, Herene. I thank you 
for the warning."
    "Of course."
    Cyela did not miss the narrowed green eyes as she 
opened her own eyes. It was only for a moment, and then 
Herene looked down again. But Cyela was confident the 
woman had received the message she meant to send, and 
would carry it to Kagads.
    A message of weakness. A false message.
    Meanwhile, she watched the man who would likely be her 
first target, all the while thinking idly that someone who 
ran through his tricks like a trained dog might know what 
to do here but not in combat.
    Something to test, perhaps.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "My lords."
    Cyela bowed from the doorway, seeing the surprise 
shine briefly in Doran's eyes as he turned to regard her. 
Frustratingly brief, as always. The dart of a cloud across 
the sun.
    She restrained herself from staring, instead looking 
at the Lord of the League. Yet her mind reminded her 
perfectly and relentlessly of the Deepen death Elwens she 
had known. How in the name of the stars could he not 
realize what he was? That look in the eyes had been such 
pure Deepen.
    "Come in, my lady," said Kagads, motioning. She came 
in and took a seat, also at his motion, wondering if he 
was so polite for her sake or for Doran's. The man 
appreciated courtesy.
    There. That was something she knew about him. She 
failed to see, though, how she could use it to gain 
entrance to his soul and confidence.
    She shook her head and focused on the things that 
Kagads had chosen to say to her, his voice light and 
unthreatening but enough to make her pay attention 
nonetheless. Stars, that was why she paid attention. She 
might miss something more threatening if she did not 
listen when someone spoke in a low voice.
    Maps. Probable routes. Money. Towns to avoid, towns 
that rabidly searched out and flushed League members, or 
sometimes worse. Everything else she wanted to know, and 
that Doran showed some interest in, leaning forward and 
meeting Kagads's eyes.
    Churni who did that could kill.
    Cyela shook herself from her thoughts and looked back 
in time to see the elf drop a fat bag on the table. It 
clinked, and she smelled steel and silver and pyrite. 
    "Half of that is your fee," he told Doran, who nodded, 
and showed no great impulse to go digging through the 
coins or count them. "A quarter is yours," he told Cyela, 
turning to look at her. "Another quarter is weapons. Small 
ones only, and all that the armory could spare. I hope you 
will find them useful." He paused, then smiled grimly. 
"Perhaps I should hope that you will not have to use them, 
though."
    "I am sure that whatever you wish, my lord, will 
befall." Doran did reach out and pick up the bag now, 
opening it and counting silver and pyrite by touch, taking 
more of the pyrite coins for himself. Of course. He did 
not brush against the weapons, gloves or no gloves. He 
looked up at Kagads. "My lord, what about a horse for the 
lady? You did not speak of that."
    "You will have horses from League stables along the 
way, my lord."
    Doran nodded and stood, tossing the rest of the bag to 
her. "Good enough, my lord." He slipped the coins into 
various places about his body, something that made Cyela 
narrow her eyes speculatively. Who would bother to rob a 
death Elwen? Or try? And that was what he would appear to 
most eyes. That might indicate excessive caution, 
therefore, and that might indicate...
    Kagads spoke again. She wrenched her gaze away from 
Doran and looked at the Lord, gritting her teeth and 
telling herself to remember that he was only her target 
the moment she did not know how to handle the situation 
otherwise. She might have learned more about Kilian 
instead. He might still need to die.
    "I wish you luck, and I wish you the best of luck 
following League rules," he said, his eyes on her. She 
nodded, a little. His eyes went back to Doran. "I 
understand that you have caused a minor breach of them 
already, with a refusal to demonstrate your killing talent 
in the courtyard."
    "My lord, I do not show off such things lightly. They 
are gifts, and magic at that. Nothing to be lightly used. 
I will, of course, show my lord their effects if he 
wishes. You are paying me."
    His formal, graceful, stylized speech rolled off his 
tongue into the air like a diving peregrine falcon. Kagads 
shook his head. "I could bring someone in here, and you 
would kill her?" Disgust laced his words, and his eyes 
flashed.
    "If you do not wish someone to die, then do not bring 
someone in here, my lord."
    Cyela put a hand beneath her mouth to conceal a 
desperate snicker. Kagads flashed her a glance, reading 
the thought, and she put her hands up, this time in 
defense. What did he want her to do? They had tried to 
trick the halfbreed into doing something he did not want 
to do, and he had turned the tables on them by being as 
mercenary-like as possible.
    It was hard not to laugh.
    But she did show the thought that she would not allow 
herself to be swayed from loyalty to the League, in part 
because she did not understand him, and watched Kagads 
relax and nod a little.
    Did he really think her that shallow?
    Time to show him, and all the others who might have 
kept information from her or did not want her going for 
reasons of their own.
    "My Lord Doran," she said, flicking her voice over the 
title.
    He blinked and turned to look at her. "Yes, my lady? 
Do you not have enough coin?" He patted the collar of his 
tunic where he had hidden some as if he thought to 
retrieve it from there.
    Cyela concealed the snap in her voice. He might take 
delight in confounding her. She was not about to give him 
any satisfaction. "Have you ever heard the phrase about 
hunting eagles?"
    "I know several, my lady." Steady, calm voice, steady, 
calm eyes that were the legacy of a wild and powerful 
magic and deadly danger, and how in the world could he not 
know that? "Which one would my lady be speaking of?"
    "Several?" Curiosity flooded over her again and out 
into words.
    Kagads watched her with narrowed eyes. She had guarded 
her intentions well, and she did not think he could read 
her thoughts.
    "Yes, my lady. For example, one speaks of never 
killing an eagle because to do so is to take glory away 
from the world. Another begins with the line that I 
believe you mean here. 'Who hunts the eagle-'"
    "I know it," she interrupted. "'Who hunts the eagle 
had best know how to fly, lest she take an arrow in the 
wing, not the eye.'"
    She could feel his hesitation, though probably no one 
not land Elwen would have noticed it.
    "What is it, my lord?" Perhaps courtesy was the way in 
after all. It could not hurt to try.
    "I have heard the phrase differently, my lady," he 
said politely. "Less poetic. More pithy. You startled me 
by quoting a different one."
    "Let me hear it."
    "I would not stain your ears-"
    He was unreal. "Tell me," she said, almost gritting 
the words out, her eyes fastened on his, ignoring Kagads's 
open frown across the way. He could not tell what she was 
doing, then, and that bothered him almost beyond bearing.
    Good. His behavior of late had bothered her almost 
beyond bearing.
    Doran held her eyes as if she had become real to him 
for the first time as he recited, "'Who hunts the eagle 
had best know how to fly. Who hunts the killer had best 
know how to die."
    Silence, and her stomach sank as her fingers clenched 
on the arms of the chair and her mind sang it through as 
everything from a silent warning to what it seemed to be, 
an innocent quoting of phrase.
    Her confusion satisfied Kagads, and concealed the last 
remnants of her thoughts about her real intentions. He 
turned to Doran. "My lord, I wish you better luck in your 
hunting of eagles than that."
    Doran shrugged with his right shoulder. "My lord, I do 
not really think that it applies here."
    "Why not?"
    "Kilian is no eagle," he said softly, and then stepped 
towards the door. "It will cost the world nothing to be 
rid of him, my lord." He looked towards her. "I will meet 
you in the stables, my lady."
    He vanished out the door, nearly, she thought, 
outrunning the posted guards.
    Cyela turned. Her eyes met the brilliant green ones of 
the elf, and he shrugged and then nodded a little, to let 
her know that he had not planned that and did not know 
what to make of it.
    "What were you trying to do?" he added.
    Her mind was settled again, her intentions concealed 
where he could not find them. "I'm not sure," she lied 
easily, slipping to her feet. "Seeing what he would do 
more than anything else. He is a hard one to understand."
    "See that you do, my lady."
    Cyela nodded. Of course.
    She did not mention the fact that elves could be 
confused by the same things as Elwens, that he certainly 
had been, and that she was smiling and he could not see or 
feel it.
----------------------------------------------------------
    She found him in the middle of the stable, stroking 
the neck of the dappled gray mare he had ridden in and 
talking with one of the men who had brought her in about 
the poor quality of horseflesh everywhere save in the 
League stables. He glanced up at her, said a quick but 
civil farewell to the groom, and then swung up onto the 
back of the mare and trotted towards her, gesturing 
towards another saddled horse.
    "Your steed awaits, my lady," he said, his voice as 
quiet and smooth as always, those eyes looking past her 
almost as soon as they looked at her.
    "Of course."
    He appeared surprised at her tone, flicked his eyes to 
her, and then away again.
    Cyela let the snappishness flood out of her as she 
took her horse and fussed over her saddle and bridle, 
nudging the mare to make her release air when she used it 
to swell her belly as Cyela retightened the girth, and 
then scolding the grooms about how they should check that 
next time, and she did not want to fall from the horse and 
spill on the ground. By the time she actually mounted up, 
she felt much better. The servants had chosen well. The 
horse was a dark red-gold breed that would carry her 
strongly and steadily to the next post, and would even 
show her off if she played it right.
    "My lady?"
    Doran was near the door of the stables, looking back 
at her. She snorted under her breath and trotted up to 
him. She could not believe him so eager to follow this 
trail.
    "You seem to have few morals yourself," she said. "Why 
do this?"
    The servants seemed interested in his answer, but she 
looked back and glared, and they moved out just at that 
moment anyway, so that their greedy ears did not take it 
and store it in their just as greedy minds.
    "My lady? I told you." Puzzlement again, a glance at 
her and away. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the 
sunrays that slanted into them again briefly, then dropped 
it as they rounded a corner leading away from the League 
headquarters and the sun turned behind them.
    "Does the sun hurt your eyes?"
    "No, my lady. I will not slow us on this hunt, I swear 
I will not."
    Cyela gave it up again and looked at the much more 
interesting tossing pommel of her saddle as she thought. 
She would have to do something soon to keep from going mad 
with boredom.
    A thought came to her, and she looked up, piecing it 
together until she was sure before she spoke. He might not 
show any reaction to what he would consider stupidity, but 
the consequences if she did not speak could be worse than 
that. He had to think that she was an expert. That would 
make him less likely to attack her.
    "There was a reason they asked for you to track an 
avenger." She spoke softly, but had no doubt that he would 
hear her.
    "Yes, my lady." His voice was soft, absent, his eyes 
half-slitted, she saw as she glanced sideways at him. "You 
know the great strength of avengers."
    "To walk unseen, unfelt, unsensed in any way," Cyela 
replied, nodding. Then she dared a little further. "But 
you can overcome that with your churni powers of sensing 
his life."
    "No, my lady. Avengers are trained to guard against 
the powers of death Elwens as well."
    All right. Perhaps she could convince him that she did 
not know enough to be a threat. That was hopeful. "Then I 
must confess I do not understand," she said, with what she 
hoped was endearing confusion. "How can you sense him, 
where others cannot? It would have made more sense to hire 
a full-blooded churni."
    And then she caught her breath. For a moment, 
something had skipped across the surface of his mind and 
his eyes like light skipping on the surface of a pond. 
Amusement. Laughter, bright and strong and true.
    When he looked at her, there was no smile on his face. 
It did not look as if smiles ever touched it, she thought. 
Seeing it from a distance, she would have thought it made 
of some inflexible dark stone that would not wear down 
inside a thousand years. "My lady, I have amplified 
magical abilities. I believe I told you that."
    Yes, he had, and she had let it slip her mind, still 
not wanting to believe it.
    But she was traveling with him now, and could not 
afford any more of that self-delusion. Even if he did not 
kill her, it might come down to trusting his skill in 
battle or knowing what he could and could not do, so that 
she could threaten someone else with him. Best to know the 
limits now.
    "What is your strength, then? Or do you know?" she 
added, the slightest tone of sarcasm coloring her voice, 
remembering his earlier claims not to know anything about 
death Elwens. She was convinced that he had learned to 
practice that lie, though for what reason she did not 
know.
    "I am told, my lady, by the woman who raised me and 
others that my churni abilities are about twice as strong 
as normal. I am not sure about the zorkro ones. I have 
never had contact with a darkness Elwen. I would imagine 
the proportion to be the same. That would be consistent, 
my lady."
    When she fell silent, he glanced over at her. "Is 
something wrong, my lady?"
    "You can call me Cyela," she said flatly. She shook 
her head and tried to comprehend that. It helped to look 
at a small patch of scratchweed they had just passed, one 
which had managed to struggle through a crack in the rock. 
She closed her eyes and shook her head, seeing it 
withering over and over again in her mind's eye, just from 
close proximity to Doran.
    This would be the greatest challenge she had ever 
faced. The League had better Open her Touch after this.
    "Of course, my lady."




                        Chapter 2
                          Kilian
    "The only evil thing in life is to regret."
    -Attributed to Laetha Sundrell, Elven Assassin.

    "Are you sure you don't want to ride further? The snow 
gets deep from here. The trail dips into a small ravine, 
and, well-" The man whose name he had not bothered to 
learn shrugged helplessly. "The snow is never all cleared 
from it. Even if they could do it, more would just fall 
the next day."
    The man he had transported to this point smiled 
quietly and shook his head. "Thank you. I must follow this 
trail, however."
    "Going west?"
    "Going home."
    The carter was silent a moment, and then nodded his 
head, his eyes aflame with something like longing. "That 
is something I would like to do. I hope that you make it 
all the way there."
    The land Elwen straightening his boots and body-cloak 
looked up curiously. "Is there danger on the trail ahead? 
Other than the snow?"
    "Not that I know of. But the Forest will try to bend 
you to its will. It always tries. It can't stand the 
thought of land Elwens walking free through it."
    He was silent a moment, and then laughed. "I do not 
think I need to worry about that."
    "I can believe that." At the inquiring, violet-eyed 
gaze, the carter explained, "From your eyes, I think you 
have seen and survived worse."
    "You're right. I have." The land Elwen dug into his 
pocket and pulled out a silver coin that the other man 
caught deftly. "Thank you again, and have luck. May the 
stars, of either color, and whatever gods you worship look 
down kindly."
    "You, as well." The man bit the coin, then tucked it 
into a pocket and waved a farewell as he turned his back 
and drove down the trail that led parallel to the one his 
passenger was taking. "Luck walk with you."
    "Farewell."
    Kilian waited, head tilted, until the cart had pulled 
safely away, and then turned and began walking down his 
own path. It almost immediately plunged steeply downward, 
and he paused to lace up his boots to the next hole. Snow 
would leak in otherwise.
    He smiled slightly as he stood up, more pleased than 
inconvenienced. Such a trail as he left would be followed 
by no one. He had grown to take such things for granted, 
but here, in this part of the Forest, he did not want to 
use more avenger magic than necessary. He did not have to, 
though. Nature would do it for him.
    He lifted his head, studied the tiny, crystalline 
specks floating down, then smiled again and began walking. 
Foot before foot. It was not the hardship that his friends 
so often thought it was, nor the agony that the carter had 
made it sound. So easy. So simple. Such simple and easy 
things had been denied to him so often in his life that he 
had learned to take them when and where he found them.
    He trudged on, skipping over the odd snowdrift here 
and there, taking shelter briefly in the overhang at the 
beginning of the ravine when the wind kicked up more snow 
than he could comfortably bear. He dreamed of fire and hot 
food the while.
    And perhaps- a bath? Would that be too much to ask? he 
thought, smiling up at the stars beginning to peer through 
the branches. Some of the cities around here- and 
particularly Melrallar, the closest and largest- could 
afford the considerable expense of drawing water up from 
deep underground, he was sure.
    That that had at least partially influenced his 
decision to head for Melrallar was something that Kilian 
would have had no trouble admitting, if asked.
    But no one asked. There was no one to ask. He was 
walking through the southwestern part of the Forbge 
Forest, far from the great curalli cities of Blackness and 
Deepdark, far from anything but the scattered cities of 
his kind. No sane land Elwen ventured into the Forest 
after nightfall.
    He soon saw why- the first time he had seen curalli on 
his journey west, for all that he had received warning 
after warning from those who had condescended to give him 
transport, shelter, or anything else. Food he had to hunt 
for himself.
    As he came out of the ravine, kicking off some snow 
that had, after all, crept past the tight lacings of his 
boots, he saw shapes darting off to the sides. They moved 
without sound across drift and slush and ice alike. The 
shadows and trees themselves seemed to bend to cloak their 
passage.
    Kilian stood still a moment, reaching out with his 
mind and eyes, counting. Twelve, thirteen... fifteen, he 
thought, and began the count again. The number soared, 
finally stabilizing at or near twenty.
    And he did not have his kerltirmad.
    Grimacing regretfully, Kilian dropped into a crouch 
and reached down to shake his boots off. He breathed 
easily, in rhythm with the footsteps coming towards him, 
the only sound he made even as he hit the heel of the 
boot. How had the moisture and cold gotten down that far 
inside?
    "What are you doing here?"
    Kilian looked up. A curalli stood over him, five and a 
half feet of dark silver skin and dark eyes and hair. And 
malice, of course. No curalli complete without that last, 
Kilian thought as he gave the boot one last final smack 
and leaned back to put it on.
    "Walking," he said.
    The shadowed Elwen acquired a look that said Kilian 
would be sorry for the tired tone he affected. "And where 
are you going?"
    "Melrallar."
    The curalli laughed soundlessly, good humor restored. 
Kilian, a little annoyed, wondered why that should make 
him smile so. And did he have to? He had not taken care of 
his teeth, and his breath was anything but pleasant as he 
leaned over the avenger.
    "They have not asked for you," he almost purred. "They 
do not need you."
    "What?" That made even less sense than the mouthings 
of curalli usually did.
    "We let them have their merchants, even their trappers 
and miners," the curalli explained, as if Kilian was a 
slow child. "They do not need stray paleskins wandering in 
and strengthening their numbers."
    "You fear them?"
    The curalli narrowed his eyes. "We fear what they 
could do. The Forest has not had time to bind them to its 
service as yet." He lifted a hand, and a short blade 
smeared with caelcol, a virulent green poison, appeared in 
it. "Lie still, now, and we will make this painless. You 
have offered no harm to us or to our trees. It is simply 
business that you have to die. Politics. The larger kinds 
of things."
    "I know all about those," said Kilian without moving. 
"I accept it."
    "Good," said the shadowed Elwen, startled and pleased, 
apparently to have found a land Elwen who understood 
without straining that he was going to die, and apparently 
preferring dignity to a useless struggle. "I am glad you 
do. I will try to make this gentle." He knelt and reached 
out, holding Kilian with a firm grip, as he headed the 
knife towards his face with the other hand.
    Kilian struck first, a blast of fire that welled up 
and out through his eyes and left the other Elwen's face a 
mass of burned and burning flesh, more melting by the 
second. He cried out sharply and fell backwards, pawing at 
his face, his voice quickly rising into cries of agony 
instead of terror.
    The other curalli did not come forward for a moment, 
all of them frozen by the sounds of those cries. Kilian 
used the chance to pick up the knife and rise to his feet, 
turning to face them.
    Then two sprinted out of the trees, and more over the 
lip of the ravine behind him.
    Kilian concentrated on the two in front of him. One 
kick, then another, and they were done, grasping their 
groins and crying out. He killed them with swift thrusts 
of the knife and then turned and regarded the two behind 
him. They were circling behind him, wary, even as more 
poured forward to join the fight. He did have a poisoned 
blade, after all, and one could not be too careful with an 
Elwen like that, as they should know full well. They 
circled and dodged and threatened, seeking a way to kill 
him without getting hurt themselves.
    He struck again with his land Elwen magic. The fire 
was not strong- for that he would need rage, and he felt 
only annoyance- but he turned the snow to steam and let it 
boil around them, cooking them in seconds. They had been 
standing in the middle of a large drift. Then he turned 
around, fell into a crouch, and let them come.
    They did not disappoint him, separating with harsh 
calls in the Melli tongue, which he did not know as well 
as he should. It had been a long time since he had fought 
his people's traditional enemies, and too soon for them. 
They had expected him to react like a typical land Elwen 
and rush forward in the grip of the hatred that ran in the 
silver blood of his people.
    But that was so boring, and without any proper sense 
of style.
    He pivoted and kicked out instead as the first woman 
dared to come to him, catching her across the throat and 
flinging her a good distance, into a bank from which she 
could not rise easily even if she was still alive. The 
others stared. Land Elwens were not normally that strong.
    Kilian looked back. He was an avenger. He had trained 
for twelve centuries to become so, and then trained hard 
and worked hard since then. What did they expect?
    Not that they would see that. No, they could not look 
beyond the pale skin and silver blood that proclaimed him 
a land Elwen.
    "Come on," he said, when they hung back further. "You 
are wasting my time."
    The curalli were caught. They could not really 
believe, even now, that a land Elwen could do this to 
them. And they were on their home ground, and there were 
more of them than there were of him.
    And, above all, they had the honor of their companions 
to avenge. Kilian could read all those thoughts as they 
occurred to them, and he sighed and spread his hands, 
kneeling a little.
    "If you must..."
    He jumped forward again. Another kick in the groin, 
and a man folded over, revealing the woman behind him who 
had been about to shoot a crossbow. She shot anyway, hands 
quick and steady, but Kilian snatched the quarrel from the 
air, kicked the weapon out of her hand, and then caught 
her and swung her around in front of him. He had one hand 
on her throat and one on her waist. He needed no blades, 
though he had some in his sleeves. All of them understood 
the threat well enough.
    "Leave now, or she dies," he said to the curalli, 
struggling to sound serious. In reality, he wanted to 
laugh. Why didn't they strike at him now, when only one of 
their kind was vulnerable, instead of all of them? In the 
name of the stars! He was glad that he was not curalli and 
did not suffer the same kind of exaggerated loyalty to his 
own kind that they did.
    "Let her go," said the foremost of the curalli, a tall 
woman with piercing green eyes who moved forward a step at 
a time, her footfalls soundless in the snow. "You have no 
quarrel with her."
    "No more than with all of you," Kilian agreed. "But 
she would have killed me, just like the rest of you- even 
though, as your now-dead leader pointed out, I have harmed 
no curalli and no trees. Leave. Then I will let her go, 
and that is the end of it."
    "No!" cried out a young man from the back of the pack 
as the woman hesitated, seeming to consider it. "He will 
kill the rest of us! I know him!"
    "Do you?" said Kilian, turning his head and staring.
    "The trees said that there was an avenger in the 
Forest," the man responded, coming forward to stand beside 
the green-eyed woman as moral support. He cast her a 
glance, touched her shoulder, and then looked back at 
Kilian. "Only an avenger- a land Elwen who was an avenger- 
could kill like that."
    His voice held a grudging tone of admiration that made 
Kilian want to laugh all over again. Did they really 
consider themselves superior to him when they admired what 
he did so much?
    "I didn't know that the trees had reported my 
presence," he said instead.
    "Yes, they have." The young man's gaze hardened again. 
"Btu they also said not to trust you. We could not leave 
you alone with Shelnina. You might rape her, for all we 
know."
    The young woman Kilian held- Shelnina- tried to drive 
an elbow into his ribs.
    Kilian clenched his hand on her throat while shifting 
his other, the one that had lain on her waist, in a motion 
too fast to be followed. He took her arm and wrenched it 
behind her, twisting and then dislocating the shoulder 
when she would not stop. She sagged in his arm, making 
small sounds of pain.
    "That was an unwise decision," Kilian told her, and 
then looked at all of them. "She will have to die for what 
she has done, but the rest of you can leave if you depart 
now. Last chance."
    The green-eyed woman gaped at him. "Are you mad? I 
would never leave my daughter."
    "Your daughter?" They did look alike, Kilian thought, 
if one had an eye for such things and if one cared to 
notice them.
    "Yes."
    "You should feel privileged. Just for you, I will let 
you see what happens to her. This is not something I grant 
the families of all my prey," Kilian warned her, and then 
bowed his head and tore Shelnina's throat out.
    He flung the corpse from him so that no blood would 
cover his clothes, grimacing as it spurted into the snow 
and made it steam. In the name of all the stars, which of 
the creators had had the bright idea of making curalli 
blood white? Did they have any idea of how awful it looked 
on that dark silver skin?
    They stared at him, horrified and angered- and 
fascinated. They could deny it all they liked. He smelled 
it on them.
    Shelnina's mother reacted first, sprinting forward and 
at him. Kilian put out a stiff-fingered hand and struck 
her in the throat. Her voicebox splintered and snapped, 
and she fell to her knees.
    A kick, and she was dead, and her sword was a fine 
enough make that he accepted it. Then he spun into the 
middle of them.
    Nothing they did could stop him.
    He should know. It had been a long time since he had 
fought curalli, but that did not matter. He knew them, as 
he knew most of the races of Arcadia, and they depended on 
fighting skills they learned while fighting for their 
lives and on their superior numbers. They could not hold 
their own against a solitary, skilled, trained killer. He 
ripped through them, and the last two or three tried to 
fade into the Forest. 
    Spitting blood, he followed them. He had warned them, 
and this was past the last chance he would have given 
them. He had to do something about them, now, had to prove 
they could trust his word, and could have trusted it if 
they had they taken the chance to depart. He did not lie 
and would not start now.
    They moved ahead of him, invisible in the shadows, and 
he went invisible himself as well. They could not see him, 
smell him, even feel him if they brushed against him. The 
power of an avenger, he thought as he appeared briefly to 
the staring eyes of one curalli and stabbed him through 
the throat.
    Avengers became visible when attacking. It was part of 
the trade he had always appreciated. The terror of the 
victim as something came out of nowhere, and then that 
thing being the last thing that he or she would ever see-
    It had a great appeal. Whoever had thought of that had 
a sense of style.
    He finished at last, and stood in the middle of a wide 
circle of blood, shaking his head regretfully. The Forest 
would certainly be on alert after this. He would have to 
walk into Melrallar cloaked in his avenger power after 
all, just when he had thought that he would get away 
without using it.
    Then he paused, and turned his head to look to the 
north and east. No... it was more directly to the north.
    He could feel the odd tremor he always got when 
someone was trying to use magic to locate him, not knowing 
that such a thing was not possible. But this was stronger 
and more serious than usual.
    For a moment, the conviction touched him that this 
killing was more serious, something more to regret, than 
usual.
    Kilian shrugged and dropped the curalli sword in the 
snow. The make was so fine that it might be recognized, 
and he could not clean all the blood off in time to sell 
it by the time he reached town. He would walk unseen for 
the next little while, that was all.
    The moment he vanished, so did the tremor. Feeling 
much better, he resumed his walk, making his way back to 
the trail over an utter litter of bodies that he counted 
out of habit. They were all still there.
    Good.
    Kilian hated it when he left enemies alive behind him. 
He was not worried about the pursuit, knowing that was 
impossible, but he did not like failing in the killing he 
had trained so long and hard for.
----------------------------------------------------------
    "What's that between your teeth?"
    Kilian glanced up, smiling at the young server who had 
interrupted her rounds of the other customers to come and 
ask him if he wanted anything to eat or drink. "Do you 
usually begin conversations that way?"
    The woman shook her head, large dark eyes still 
fastened on his mouth. She looked at least part curalli, 
which she probably was. His people in this part of the 
Forest were less land Elwen than they liked to think they 
were. "No, and I'm sorry if it offended you. It's just- 
you smell like curalli blood."
    Kilian spat out a little of Shelnina's blood self- 
consciously. "I suppose I do at that. Can you tell the 
innkeeper that I would like a bath as soon as the water is 
hot?"
    "Of course. And to eat?"
    Kilian considered. "What kind of fish do you have?"
    "Very little at this time of year, my lord. The 
streams are mostly frozen. But we have some imported from 
the Waste and the south."
    "What kinds?"
    "Dylmin from the Waste and-"
    "Dylmin," said Kilian happily, handing over the five 
silvers he knew he would have to pay, not caring in the 
least. "I love that kind."
    The woman bowed and accepted the money. "And what to 
drink, my lord? Wine?"
    "I think the fish is cooked in enough of that!" Kilian 
smiled as she laughed. "Water, please. Cold and deep. 
Melted snow if you can get it."
    "One obsidian for that."
    Kilian pressed over a silver. "I need the change," he 
said, when she looked a question.
    She nodded, took the coin, and scampered away with it. 
Kilian at last had the time to relax and look around the 
eating room of the inn.
    It was not that large, but it was comfortable, 
everything that Tinor had told him it would be and more. 
Small, soft tapestries woven of shimmercloth, that moved 
and shifted and opened small magical gates into a 
different world, covered the wooden walls. The cracks were 
laid so thick with pitch and magic that no cold or snow 
could find its way in. And the perfume drifting in the air 
was just enough to cover the scent of the pitch without 
becoming distracting in itself. Kilian was willing to bet 
that they had experimented with that, making it just 
right, making it so that anyone who wandered in would be 
comfortable, Elwen or elf.
    Not that there were any elves here right now. Land 
Elwens sat around tables made of wood or steel, as his 
was, talking to each other and pushing coins or food back 
and forth. All had some purpose, he thought, a little 
amused and a little fascinated. Everyone had a deadly 
serious look on his face that clashed with the perfume and 
the soft, measured ringing of hidden bells, the fall of 
plashing water and the tapping feet of the servers as they 
went back and forth. Well, he did not intend to let them 
spoil his own mood.
    He leaned back in his cushioned chair and closed his 
eyes, half-dozing. It would take some time to prepare the 
dylmin, but he was willing to wait. It was years since he 
had tasted it.
    A sound roused him, and he looked up. It sounded like 
the young server's voice. Perhaps she had come back to 
tell him the fish would be ready after all, sooner than he 
had expected?
    Instead of her, he saw a woman who could have been her 
sister- dark hair and eyes, skin that seemed to hesitate 
between pale and dark silver- rising from a table, and 
glaring at the man who still sat at it, reaching out a 
hand pleadingly to her.
    "How dare you." Her voice was quiet but furious, 
somehow more noticeable than the shout she had given 
before. And yet no one else seemed to notice. Everyone 
else was concentrating, Kilian noted with a slow turn of 
his head, most studiously on his food and perhaps, after 
all, the slow, soft sound of the music.
    "Arete, please-"
    "How dare you. I never promised you anything. For you 
to ask me to marry you-" She shook her head. "You should 
know better than that."
    "It is not an evil proposal. We have known each other 
years. I just wanted- I didn't want to bed you, for stars' 
sakes." The young man's cheeks flared brilliant silver, 
and he had trouble speaking the words. "Or I wanted to do 
it in the confines of marriage. We have both waited years, 
Arete."
    "You know that I don't want to marry you."
    "I didn't know that."
    "You should have. You should have realized so much 
more than you did." Arete shook her head slowly, and 
looked down at the heartbroken young man before her with 
the air of a judge passing a sentence. "I have to leave. I 
see there is nothing more I can do here. You did assume 
that I would want to marry you, as ridiculous as that 
sounds. There is nothing more to say."
    "Did you- did you love me at all? Care for me? 
Anything beyond friendship, as you said once?"
    "I never cared for you at all. You should have known 
that."
    Her voice was filled with complete and utter 
indifference. She turned and left the inn without looking 
back. The young man slumped over the table and began to 
cry.
    No one else paid any attention.
    His face heating, Kilian waved down one of the servers 
and asked her for a cup of wine to be placed on the young 
man's table, at the same time asking her for the story. 
She shook her head and looked over at the other table with 
a frown that mingled pity and bafflement.
    "I don't know, my lord. Arete and Jaladon have known 
each other for years, as he said. I thought they loved 
each other. Everyone in town would have been ready to 
swear to it."
    "But her saying he should have known-"
    "I don't know." The server swept her hand through red 
hair, eyes fixed on Jaladon. He could see compassion 
warring with hunger to know. "I really don't, my lord. I 
suppose- curalli blood? The mercenary side of her finally 
showing through?" She shook her head and turned to meet 
his gaze with bright honey-colored eyes, gold over deep 
brown. "I have no other explanation."
    "She was in love with him until tonight?"
    "Everyone thought so, my lord."
    Kilian pressed a silver into her hand. "Take the wine 
to him, and tell him that I would like to speak with him, 
if he feels like speaking."
    The woman's eyes softened. "That is mannerly of you. 
Did you lose a love of your own, once, too, my lord?"
    Kilian nodded, his eyes still fixed on the sobbing 
Jaladon.
    "I will do it at once, my lord."
    He let her have a glimpse of his smile and went back 
to sipping at the water that had arrived while his eyes 
were closed, staring into space.
    He heard a sound beside him a few moments later and 
turned to see Jaladon regarding him with eyes as golden as 
the girl's. They turned a darker brown when he realized 
that he did not know Kilian, and that the man could not be 
someone come to pity him, turning puzzled as he stared.
    "Why did you buy me the wine?" he asked, sitting down 
on the other side of the table without being asked. KIlian 
did not mind that. For the moment, he wanted to entertain 
this young man, capture his confidence, and earn his trust 
and give him back his trust in himself.
    Stars, he thought, staring into the dark-golden eyes 
and seeing the devastation there. Someone should.
    "I wondered what had happened," said the avenger, 
leaning back and meeting the eyes that raked over him with 
frank interest with the same frank interest. "I have had 
the same experience myself. You might say that I collect 
the stories." He smiled a little. "And try to keep the 
same mistake from happening to anyone else."
    "I do not need your help."
    He made a move to rise, and Kilian caught his wrist. 
"I know you don't. But I would like to speak to you. If 
you would tell me just a little, it would be your choice 
whether to accept my help or not."
    Jaladon hesitated, then nodded and sat back down. 
Kilian hid his gentle smile. He had guessed aright. 
Jaladon just wanted someone to listen to him, as Arete had 
not, even a stranger.
    "I don't really understand it, myself," said Jaladon, 
staring down at the fingers that toyed with the stem of 
his wineglass. Kilian caught the eye of a server and 
flashed silver, silently asking for more wine for the 
other man. Jaladon, gloomily contemplating the depths of 
the liquid still in the glass, did not notice. "I knew 
that she was unhappy of late, almost bored. But this... 
it's almost as though she just wanted the surface things. 
The jokes we shared. The laughter. The inns we visited and 
the hunts we made together. But not any of the deeper 
things, the things that would have bound us together, the 
things that made me value her and made me ask to marry 
her."
    "Sometimes people only want the surface," said Kilian. 
"Sometimes they want the deeper things. It depends on the 
kind of Elwen one is. But you thought Arete was one of the 
deeper ones?"
    "Of course. I would never have fallen in love with her 
otherwise."
    Kilian made a little conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry. 
I'm not insulting your intelligence. I just like to know. 
To understand."
    "How is your story different from mine?"
    KIlian sighed. "I had someone I thought was in love 
with me, too. I know I was in love with her. But it turned 
out that she wanted different things. She took a little 
different course than your Arete, though. She almost 
killed me trying to take it."
    "What happened?"
    "She died. I mourned it, even though it was lucky for 
me that she did."
    Jaladon nodded and dropped his eyes. 
