A few minutes after Kellen disappeared into his room, Idalia looked in. She found Kellen's clothing strewn all over the floor, and Kellen asleep like a hibernating bear. She smiled faintly to herself and went to brew tea.

She was tired, but not tired enough to seek her own bed. There had been several present to share the cost of the Healing, and so the physical cost to her had been minimal. Normally, she would have also had a Price to pay . . . .

But not this time, apparently.

Idalia frowned. She'd never heard of such a thing before, but Wildmages didn't run to libraries of books setting down the accumulated lore of Wildmages past. For one thing, the Wild Magic itself was fluid and ever-changing, and the way things had happened in the past wasn't the way things would necessarily happen in the future.

As it seems I've just proven. Ah, well, if there are explanations to be had, I suppose I'll find them in the Books of the Wild Magic.

Once the water was hot and her tea was steeping, she went to her room and got out her three Books.

The Book of Moon, The Book of Sun, and The Book of Stars were the three Books every Wildmage possessed. The Books were magical in themselves, and once they had found their Wildmage, they could not be separated from him or her by any means save the death of the Wildmage. Nor could they be destroyed. In them was everything a Wildmage needed to know in order to set their feet on the path of the Wild Magic, and a lifetime was not enough time to master their contents.

Idalia sat in the front room and read, drinking tea and listening to the rain. Though she found comfort in the familiar pages, she found very little in the way of enlightenment about what had happened when she'd Healed Kellen. There was no gift — no magic — without payment. That was the way the world worked. All magic — whether the Wild Magic, the High Magick of Armethalieh, or the Shadow Magic of the Endarkened — had to be paid for, either in advance, with stored personal energy, or afterward, with a Mageprice. Any attempt to subvert that Balance led to disastrous consequences: it was just such a temptation that the Endarkened had offered to the Wildmages during the Great War — a temptation to which some of them had succumbed, that of power without price.

So why had she not been asked for payment?

If the question bothers you enough, ask, she told herself, putting down The Book of Stars. She picked up her cup of now-cold tea, frowning down into its bowl.

Subconsciously, she realized she had been waiting for something.

No, not something.

Someone.

Jermayan.

Surely he ought to have been here by now?

"Fool," Idalia muttered under her breath. She'd been sitting here like a maiden in a wondertale, expecting Jermayan to come to her just because she'd changed her mind — but after the thorough job she'd done of driving him away when she and Kellen had first come to Sentarshadeen, if there was to be a reconciliation, the first move in that dance would have to be hers.

She retreated to her room again, opened her desk, and penned a brief message.

There were times when it was distinctly advantageous to be a Wildmage, and this was one of them. She went out into her garden, and sent out a silent call.

It was a dove that answered it; she'd expected a pigeon, but a dove would do just as well.

Every magic had its price, even so tiny a magic as this. In this case, the messenger would set the price; she had specified in her call that her messenger-bird be one without a home-roost. And every bird wanted a home-roost, a place protected from danger, with food and water nearby. Especially with winter coming on.

She took the dove up on her hand and showed it around the tiny garden as if she was conducting the Queen herself upon a tour. The dove quickly indicated where she wanted Idalia to create a sheltered roost for her; Idalia agreed, and the bargain was struck. As the dove flew off, Idalia's note to Jermayan in her beak, Idalia set up a woven-straw dovecot in the preferred location, and created a feeding table out of a serving platter anchored to an upturned flower-pot, well-stocked with clean water in its own bowl and crumbled bread and chopped greens. She could add millet and corn later. She set small spells of protection to keep predators and unwelcome birds away. And then, she sat down to wait.

Jermayan arrived with admirable promptness. He was dressed in blue and silver, his waist-length hair elaborately braided with long silver cords that had a tiny teardrop of midnight-blue lapis at the end of each. They matched the larger drops of lapis that hung from each ear, his cloak-brooches, his rings, and the lustrous bloom of the deep-piled silk-velvet breeches he wore, breeches tucked into butter-soft high-heeled boots that swept extravagantly all the way to mid-thigh.

He was dressed entirely in blue except for his tunic, a pale grey heavy silk brocade oversewn with thousands of beads of crystal and moonstone in a seemingly-random pattern meant to mimic a shower of raindrops. The latest fashion among the Elves was clothing that looked as if it was wet when it wasn't. Idalia was impressed — the man had barely been here half a day and was already leading the fashion.

"Be welcome in my home and at my hearth," she said, meaning the words as she had never meant them before.

Jermayan shook out his cloak — wet with real raindrops — and hung it on the cloaktree, and set his rainshade — blue and silver, of course — beside it.

"Well met, Idalia. It is good to be welcome in the home of friends."

"Kellen is asleep," Idalia said, decoding the unspoken question with the ease of long practice. "The Healing went well, and he is restored to complete health; a good, long sleep and a few decent meals will complete the Healing, leaving him as hale as when he left here."

"That makes good hearing," Jermayan said. "Then he will be ready to resume his lessons soon. There is much yet for him to learn in the ways of a Knight-Mage."

And so little time for any of us!

"I would offer you tea," Idalia said in a faintly-strangled voice, turning toward the stove that stood tucked neatly into one corner of the room. "And it would be interesting to know how Vestakia finds Sentarshadeen as well."

But Jermayan did not answer, and the silence stretched as Idalia set the kettle on the stove to heat, and rinsed and filled the Elvenware teapot with several measures of Autumn Spice tea.

Why didn't he say anything? If he were angry with her for any reason, he would not have come, so that could not be the reason. Could something have happened to Vestakia?

Darkness damn all notions of Elven propriety! If he didn't explain himself soon she was going to break down and ask him.

Idalia turned around — why was it so hard to face him, now of all times? — and found that Jermayan had not moved away from his position near the door. He was standing, watching her with that utter Elven stillness, his face expressionless. She forced herself to meet his eyes.

"Idalia, you once played our courtly games far better than this. Now you are as awkward in our ways as Kellen is," Jermayan said, very gently. "You have changed your mind. Perhaps you would show kindness to one who is your brother's friend and who has always . . . meant you well."

She forced herself to take one step away from the table, then another, noting with a distant measuring part of herself that her legs trembled. Why was this so hard? There was no place in a Wildmage's life for dishonesty and false pride. She had abandoned those things — she thought she had — years before.

And because that was true, she knew the reason now. She'd taken risks that mattered before. She'd hazarded her life and her safety. But not her heart. Before, she'd only offered up her life, or a Wildmage's honor . . . not something that, if everything went wrong, would leave her whole in body, able to mourn and suffer, without even the chill consolation that she'd done it all in the name of Service.

Because she was doing this for herself.

"Idalia?" Jermayan asked. A question. She felt her face quirk in an uncertain smile. She held out her hand.

His fingers closed over hers. Warm, when his touch had always been so cool before.

"Because — when you were gone — I realized that we're all going to die."

Jermayan's fingers tightened over hers.

"No, it isn't magic, not a vision, don't worry. Just common sense. You're an Elven Knight—"

She felt him relax. Looking up, Idalia could see that he smiled. She let him draw her closer.

"My heart, I have been an Elven Knight since before your grandparents met," Jermayan said.

"And I am a Wildmage," Idalia agreed. "And never in either of our lifetimes has Shadow Mountain begun moving so actively against our peoples. You know, and I know, we're going to war. Kellen destroyed the Barrier. Shadow Mountain won't stop because of that; if anything, it will accelerate their plans, whatever those plans are. Of all of the creatures of Light that the Shadow hates the most, the Wildmages and Elven Knights are at the top of the list of those first to be destroyed."

"Yes," Jermayan said, meeting her gaze steadily, "I fear that you are correct. And so you think I will die before you, and for this reason you are at last willing to hear the counsel of my heart."

No, Idalia thought, closing her eyes for a moment. But I think you will not survive me long enough to grieve overmuch.

"I think I have been foolish to throw away the chance for joy," Idalia said softly. "And I thank the Gods I have been given a second chance, Jermayan."

She went into his arms willingly, as she had not since the day she had first realized he loved her, and such felt a sense of peace and joy well up as she had never experienced outside of the Wild Magic.

"Then let it be so, Idalia," Jermayan said. "And if I do not share your optimism on the length of my life, it is no matter — I shall surrender upon any terms you set. Now be merciful in your victory, and grant one concession more: name the day upon which we may be wed."

Idalia only barely managed to keep from recoiling in horror from Jermayan's words. Taking Jermayan as her lover was one thing — that she had intended to do from the very first. But marriage . . . ?

Elves had given up their share in the High Magics long ago in exchange for peace and long lives, retaining only the use of the Low Magics which they used to create lives of beauty and ease for themselves. But they had had many, many years in which to learn to use the small magics they yet possessed in the most effective way possible, and some of them were very potent. Elves mated for life. None of the Elvenkind would offer marriage to someone that they did not recognize a soul-bond with, and when they wed, one of the purposes of the ceremony was to strengthen that soul bond with small magics, binding them together body, mind, heart, and soul.

If she married him, they would be linked. It was not impossible that Jermayan would have a certain amount of access to her thoughts — including, possibly, knowledge of the Price she paid to bring the weather down safely to Sentarshadeen.

And that was something she didn't dare allow.

"Not yet," Idalia said firmly. "A proper wedding takes time to plan, Jermayan!" she added, making her voice light. "You are no lowly little herb-tender, to expect to leap a broom with your chosen goose-girl and call it done! You have an obligation to Sentarshadeen and to your liege to create an occasion that all may treasure in memory!"

This time she blessed Elven custom for its intricacies. Jermayan would have to ask permission of the King and Queen, who would in turn have to debate this. He would have to arrange for the appropriate sort of wedding, and it would have to be a very public occasion. And by the time even half of that was accomplished—

Sentarshadeen might well be a city under siege, and such considerations as weddings would be forgotten.

"Time — and perhaps fair weather and dry," Jermayan teased. "And I do not doubt that we will find other things to beguile us during the moonturns of waiting. . . ."

He'd thought he'd heard voices.

Kellen awoke, disoriented by the unfamiliar sensation of sleeping on a soft mattress, and in a warm dry bed. For a moment he couldn't remember where he was, or how he'd gotten here, but then the memories slipped into place. Sentarshadeen. Home. He felt better than he had in sennights. No bruises, no torn half-healed muscles. And his hands—his hands. For the first time in far too long, he could feel his hands as hands and not numb lumps, or masses of pain. He stretched, luxuriating in the feeling that there was nothing, whatsoever, wrong.

He'd definitely heard voices.

And he was hungry. Hungry enough to eat — if not Valdien, then something of approximately the same size as Jermayan's warhorse, and he wouldn't really care how thoroughly it was cooked, either. He knew it was the aftereffect of the Healing Idalia had performed on him, but that didn't make him any less hungry. He only hoped the larder was well stocked.

He belted on the heavy over-tunic he'd worn home, too hungry to stop and look for the bedrobe he remembered seeing, and slid back the door into the common room.

Jermayan and Idalia were there.

Both of them.

Together.

And from the look of things, they had definitely settled their differences.

Kellen retreated quickly, feeling his cheeks grow hot, and slid the door shut a shade too forcefully, leaning against it. His hunger was momentarily forgotten.

He felt himself growing hot with embarrassment. He stared around the room, and as he did, he saw a bowl of fruit and a carafe on the bedside table. He walked over to it, discovering that there was not only fruit, but a plate of cheese pastries covered by a cloth. The carafe contained cider.

See? Kellen told himself, sitting down on the edge of the bed and biting into a pastry. There's food here. You don't need to go out there.

In fact, he thought he might not ever go out there again. . . .

There was a faint rattle as the door slid open again.

"You can come out now," Idalia said, stifled laughter in her voice. "It's safe. I promise. And we wouldn't want you to starve to death in here."

Kellen got to his feet, setting the remaining half of the second pastry back on the plate and brushing crumbs from the front of his robe. He thought of all the things he could possibly say, and decided not to say any of them. They were all simply too horribly embarrassing, especially with Idalia looking at him that way and obviously trying so hard not to laugh.

"I wish both of you all happiness," Kellen said instead. He was surprised — both to find that he meant it, and that it was exactly the right thing to say.

The following evening a formal banquet was held to officially welcome Kellen and Jermayan home to Sentarshadeen.

Kellen spent the day preceding it indoors. He had a choice, or so Idalia told him that morning. He could stay inside and not go out. By Elven standards of etiquette, that would mean he was not officially "here", and no one would bother him.

Or he could go out. But once he crossed his doorstep, he'd be fair game, and though the Elves were notoriously — and unfailingly — polite, they also lived to gossip, and he would probably be the center of more attention than he liked.

"What about Vestakia?" Kellen asked. He'd just as soon avoid the attention (he'd rather avoid the banquet as well, though that didn't seem to be possible), but he didn't want to abandon Vestakia on her first day in Sentarshadeen. Though Andoreniel had agreed that she should be permitted to live here, that was a far cry from being accepted by everyone.

"Vestakia," Idalia had answered with a wicked smirk, "will be spending the morning — the entire morning, and possibly most of the afternoon — receiving a new wardrobe from Tengitir, who announces that she has waited her entire life for such a challenge as Vestakia represents. You know, I do believe that if the Prince of Shadow Mountain were to appear before her, Tengitir would demand that he take off his clothes and step into the light so that she could best determine what colors and fabrics suited his skin," Idalia added, bemusedly.

Kellen laughed. Having been dressed by the Elven seamstress himself — Tengitir's specialty was in designing clothing for the non-Elven — he thought that was almost possible.

"Afterward — if there's time before the banquet — Jermayan and I will take her around Sentarshadeen a little. To show her the city — and to show her to the city as well, of course. The sooner everyone sees that there is nothing to fear from her, the better," Idalia added.

"And if there is anything wrong in the city, she'll find it."

"Yes," Idalia said. "I'd thought of that, as well."

So with one thing and another, Kellen spent the day at home, mostly by himself. Idalia seemed to have a great many errands to run, going in and out all day, returning more often than not with mysterious parcels which she wouldn't let him unwrap.

"Time enough for that later, little brother," was all she would say. She seemed cheerful enough, and Kellen was glad of that. When they'd first arrived in Sentarshadeen, she'd seemed so . . . grave. He preferred this Idalia better. It made it easier to pretend that in destroying the Barrier they'd solved all their problems, though Kellen knew they hadn't. They'd only bought themselves and the Elves some time — though how much time, and what form the next attack would take, was something he doubted even Idalia could guess.

To distract himself from the unavoidable banquet — though the son of the Arch-Mage of Armethalieh certainly had a certain amount of experience with formal banquets, this would be the first such event Kellen had attended among the Elves — Kellen spent the day cleaning and polishing his sword and armor, having found that his gear had been delivered to the house the previous day. Not that it really needed doing — someone had obviously been at it before him — but it gave his hands something to do, and settled his mind.

When he'd finished that, he got out his Books, and turned to The Book of Stars.

The Book of Stars was the most esoteric and puzzling of the three books. The Book of Moon was the simplest, containing basic cantrips and the building blocks of spells. A budding Wildmage could begin working Wildmagery within minutes of opening The Book of Moon.

The Book of Sun contained some information about spells as well, but was more occupied with why spells should be cast than how, and often with whether they should be cast at all, since the Wild Magic was a magic of Balance, and often things tended to slip back into balance without the Wildmage's help.

The Book of Stars seemed to be about the underlying principles of the Wild Magic. Idalia had once told Kellen that studying it helped the Wildmage become a better Wildmage, although Kellen had never been able to see how, as nothing he'd read in it had ever really made a lot of sense to him. She'd said he should study it anyway, so Kellen had.

It seemed to make a lot more sense now that Kellen knew he was a Knight-Mage instead of a regular Wildmage.

The Book of Moon said that "The Knight-Mage is the active agent of the principle of the Wild Magic, the Wildmage who chooses to become a warrior or who is born with the instinct for the Way of the Sword, who acts in battle without mindful thought and thus brings primary causative forces into manifestation by direct action."

When they had discovered that this was what Kellen was, Jermayan had told him that a Wildmage and a Knight-Mage's gifts lay in opposite directions; that while a Wildmage reached out to all the world, a Knight-Mage's gifts turned inward, so that he could not be turned away from his course once he had chosen it. Because of that, Kellen's abilities in Wildmagery would never be as strong as Idalia's, but Jermayan also said that a Knight-Mage could withstand forces that would destroy a regular Wildmage, for the Knight-Mage's true power lay in endurance and the alliance of his knightly skills with his Wildmagery.

It all sounded very fine, but kind of unsettling, and while Kellen had a lot more confidence in his Wildmage skills — especially now that he wasn't measuring them against Idalia's — he knew he still had a lot to learn about this knight business. And he'd better learn fast.

Fortunately, he had Jermayan to teach him.

He wasn't surprised to find that The Book of Stars seemed to make a lot more sense now that he knew what he really was. For the first time, the words in the tiny hand-written book seemed to be speaking directly to him, as if the long-gone Wildmage who had copied it out from his or her own Books — why? Kellen still sometimes wondered, and as part of what Mageprice? — were here, and speaking directly to him.

Only when you cease to try, will you achieve. Only when you cease to seek, will you find. Only when you are emptied, will you be filled.

If that wasn't exactly what finding the Way of the Knight-Mage was like, he'd eat his boots. It gave him a kind of comfort, to know that whatever might come to pass, it was somehow within the sphere of the Wild Magic. And that he wasn't an idiot because he couldn't make sense of what the Book was telling him.

And for the first time, he wondered if all copies of the three Books were the same. Oh, probably the Book of Moon was, and maybe the Book of Sun—but what about the Book of Stars? Because what was in his book certainly wouldn't apply to Idalia, would it? Was every copy of the Book of Stars suited only to the Wildmage who was supposed to read it?

"Kellen? Come back to the world, little brother."

Kellen startled at the sound of Idalia's voice, disturbing Greymalkin, who had insinuated herself into his lap as he read. The cat yawned and stretched, stalking slowly from his lap.

Kellen blinked up at his sister, surprised to see how far the light had failed. He'd been sure he was still reading, but now he saw that it was too dark to make out the words on the page.

"Which Book?" she asked.

Kellen closed the worn leather volume and brandished it in explanation. The small gold star glinted faintly on the spine. Idalia raised an eyebrow and smiled, saying nothing.

"Time to have a bath and get dressed. It's going to take you a while to climb into all your finery," she said teasingly.

Kellen sighed, getting reluctantly to his feet. His experiences with formal dress when he had lived in his father's house had not been pleasant ones overall, and he doubted he'd show to advantage in a roomful of costume-obsessed Elves, who seemed to live to dress up in ever-more-elaborate outfits. One of the oldest Histories in Armethalieh said that "the Elves have elevated mere living into a form of Art," and that included clothing, of course. Even if his own outfit for tonight had been designed to take into account the shortcomings of clumsy short-lived humans — and since Tengitir had certainly made it, it undoubtedly had — among the Elves, he'd look like a turnip in a rose garden.

Just as out of place as he had back in Armethalieh.

"Bath," Idalia said firmly, taking him by the shoulders and turning him in that direction. "I'll lay out your clothes while you do that. And hurry up, because I still have to wash and change myself."

Kellen headed for the bathroom — he could get his robe while the tub filled. He felt a little better, knowing that Idalia was going to be there, and just as overdressed as he was. He could hardly imagine what she'd look like in high Elven finery.

#

And by dusk, he knew.

Idalia was wearing a dress — Kellen's first reaction was to laugh, but he didn't; she would have slain him on the spot — whose main color was the same violet as her eyes.

On second look, there was no reason to laugh. He'd never seen Idalia in a dress before. In fact, after what little she'd told him about her childhood, he'd thought she wouldn't be caught dead in one, but somehow, it didn't look . . . unsuitable. There was nothing ornate or frivolous about it, just clean simple practical lines, as businesslike as a good sword.

But it wasn't plain, any more than an Elvenware bowl was plain. The shimmering violet silk glowed like glass, as if it were somehow lit from within, and was accented by insets of dark bark-brown velvet almost the color of her hair, velvet that somehow had a furtive, iridescent glimmer of the same violet rippling along the surface of it wherever the light struck it. There were insets along the collar, at the shoulders, and inside the full outer sleeves. She looked—elegant. He hadn't known she could look elegant.

"I'll be tripping over my skirts all night," Idalia muttered, stalking across the room to glare into a mirror, but Kellen knew she wouldn't. They only seemed to touch the floor, but that was a clever illusion. The hem was actually uneven; it didn't touch the floor at all, and was several inches shorter in front than in back.

"You'll be fine," Kellen said soothingly. "And you look —" he sought for a word that would convey what he thought. "— dignified. Amazing, actually."

"So do you," Idalia said. She slid a pair of ebony and Elvensilver combs into her hair — her only jewelry — and turned to regard Kellen critically.

He'd been relieved to find that he hadn't needed help dressing after all. His costume (he really couldn't think of it any other way) was not very much more elaborate than Idalia's — and fortunately, the sheer, body-hugging styles that the Elves favored for themselves were nowhere in evidence in Kellen's own garb.

There were a few notes of the same sea-green that was the accent color for his armor — he guessed he'd better get used to the idea that the Elves thought of it as his official color now — in the very plain heavy silk trousers and long-sleeved tunic that were the bottom layer of his outfit. But over those went a long sleeveless vest that fell to mid-thigh, closed all the way to its high neck by a double row of tiny silver buttons that had taken him ages to do up. It was made of a sheered velvet in a leaf-pattern — parts were sheer, and parts were thick velvet, and Kellen couldn't quite decide what the color was. Silver? Gold? Brown? All of them?

Eventually he gave up. It looked okay over the green, anyway, making the silk undertunic (where it showed through) shimmer in a silvery — definitely silvery — way.

Over that came a long full-sleeved robe that fell to mid-calf, in a green so dark it was almost black. It was a kind of cloth he'd never seen before, soft like wool, and smooth, but faintly iridescent. It was lined in dull gold satin, and belted with a wide — and very long — sash in a slightly brighter shade of green than the overrobe. That had nearly been his undoing, until Idalia had taken pity on him and showed him how to wrap and tie the sash properly.

Low boots, of a reassuringly normal-looking pale gold calfskin, completed his outfit.

"I don't look bad," Kellen agreed. And I don't feel silly, he realized with relief. Nobody was asking him to wear earrings, braid jewels into his hair, or paint his face, or do any of the other things the Elves did when they got themselves done up for some festive occasion. Now, just as long as nobody asked him to make a speech . . . .

"Except for your hair," Idalia agreed. "Come over here."

A few minutes with a comb, and Idalia had pulled Kellen's mop of light-brown curls back into a short twisted braid at the nape of his neck. It felt reassuringly normal — it was the way he wore his hair under his helmet, after all.

"There. Presentable." She craned around and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "You'll definitely do. I'll just get our raincapes and rainshades, and we can be off. Don't worry — they're bespelled to keep the rain off — and I actually think it's slackening a bit this evening. Not stopping, of course, which is just as well," Idalia said.

"Where are we going?" Kellen asked, thinking to ask for the first time.

"The gardens at the House of Leaf and Star. There's no other place large enough to accommodate the guest list — and the unicorns will want to watch — from a distance, of course."

"Outside? In the rain?"

Idalia snickered at Kellen's expression.

"Under canvas — or silk, actually. Relax. Everything that should be dry, will be dry. You look like you're being sent to an execution, not to a banquet."

All things considered, Kellen would rather have gone to an execution.

The formal gardens of the House of Leaf and Star were subtly beautiful, like all the creations of the Elves: the natural world raised to an impossible pitch of perfection.

He'd never seen the gardens, but then, he hadn't been in Sentarshadeen long, and had gotten most of his tour of it courtesy of Sandalon, who'd shown him the things that Sandalon thought would interest a human stranger . . . which had not, obviously, included his parents' gardens.

Kellen looked down, realizing that at some point, without noticing, he and Idalia had gone from the streets of Sentarshadeen, to a wide slatted wooden path laid across the meadow (just for tonight, Kellen thought, and the grass would certainly recover with all this rain) to a path of white gravel.

This must be the garden, then.

Tonight it was filled with more lanterns than Kellen would once have been willing to bet were in the entire city of Sentarshadeen. Before the rains came, it had been necessary to keep the lights of evening inside such lanterns from starting any accidental fires in a city made tinder-dry by drought. Now it was only necessary to keep the flames from being drowned by the rain. But the Elves — who accomplished far more through clever engineering than humans had ever done through magic — made it look effortless.

Some of the lanterns shone through tall gauzy windbreaks set up to blunt the force of the blustering, rain-heavy winds, turning them into tall softly-gleaming rectangles of color. Though they seemed as insubstantial as kites, Kellen doubted they'd fall if the wind blew ten times as hard, though they quivered when the wind struck them. Kellen suspected they were meant to.

Inside the curving walls of windbreaks, the air was nearly still, and the flames inside the artfully-scattered lanterns — some suspended on tall posts, some nearer the ground — burned steadily. But the towering windbreaks were walls only, not roofs, and Kellen was still glad to have his rainshade and cloak for protection. He'd gotten his fill of being wet on his return from the Barrier, at least for awhile.

But the other purpose for the windbreaks, besides sheltering the lanterns, was obviously to protect the dining pavilions.

Unlike the place in which he, Jermayan, and Vestakia had first been received — if not entirely welcomed — these were little more than canopies suspended on poles. Every one was a different color, and the lanterns attached to the poles and suspended inside lit them like a summer garden. Even in the rain, the entire garden was lit as brightly as the common room of Kellen's house, and very little of it was really open to the falling rain. Servants took their cloaks as they arrived at the edge of the garden, leaving them their light and elegant rainshades. The garden was already filled with Elves, their rainshades making them look like fabulous flowers.

"Like it?" Idalia said, gesturing around.

"Everyone's already here," Kellen said uneasily. "Are we late?"

"No. The honored guests arrive last. And of course, having spent all day putting this together, they certainly expect you to take some time to admire it before the banquet begins. Let's look around."

Idalia put her free hand on his arm and led Kellen forward. He didn't see much of the garden as it normally was — but he did see a lot of dining pavilions, and oiled-paper lanterns, and people he knew. All of Sentarshadeen was here tonight indeed, and he and Idalia stopped several times to speak politely to people that Kellen knew from the time he'd spent on the work crews watering the forest, and to several of Idalia's friends as well.

All the time his sense of dread grew. Everything seemed so quiet, so . . . formal. He wouldn't be able to get through this evening without making some terrible error. He knew it.

"We'll be sitting over there, under that green awning," Idalia said, when their slow meander finally brought them within range of the canopies.

In the back of his mind, Kellen had been wondering where everyone was going to sit. Under the tents, obviously, but surely there weren't enough tables and chairs — not to mention plates and cups — in the city to host a banquet for its entire populace? Unless the Elves had built them all — but in two days? He sort of thought that would take greater magic than they claimed to possess.

He glanced around.

He was surprised to see that what was under the awnings wasn't large long banquet tables — such as he would have seen in Armethalieh, but instead an assortment of tables in various shapes, sizes, and woods. All harmonious, of course, in the Elven fashion, but certainly not giving the impression they'd all been built for the occasion. In fact . . . .

He was sure he recognized some of the furnishings. Surely that table under the rose-colored canopy was from the House of Leaf and Star? Yes, he was sure of it. He'd eaten dinner at it his first night in Sentarshadeen, alone with Ashaniel, Lairamo, and Sandalon.

Suddenly Kellen realized why the tables and chairs — and the tableware as well — was a harmonious assortment instead of an harmonious whole. It might be held in the gardens of the House of Leaf and Star, but the tables and chairs were from nearly every home in Sentarshadeen.

Andoreniel and Ashaniel weren't giving this banquet. The entire city was.

Kellen felt himself relax at last. He realized he'd been thinking of tonight in Armethaliehan terms — of this banquet as an event meant to crush spectators and participants with its magnificence and to inspire them with thoughts of their own unworthiness to attend it. But if Elves thought that way, the House of Leaf and Star would be a cold and forbidding palace, terrible in its majesty, not just (when all was said and done) a big house.

No.

When the Elves said that this was a welcoming banquet, that was exactly what it was. Their ways might be strange, and their code of etiquette difficult for a human to understand or to follow, but that was what they meant. It was what they truly meant, without lies or double meanings. For all the garden's daunting and ethereal beauty, tonight had far more in common with the party the Centaurs and farmers had held back in the Wildwood to bid him and Idalia farewell than it did with anything that might ever occur in the Golden City!

"The Elves are like no other people in the world," Idalia said quietly, watching his face. "You read the Histories, back in the City? Where they talk about the Other Races? Do you remember what they say about the Elves?"

"That they make living into Art?" Kellen asked.

"Oh, there's that," Idalia said, shrugging. "But it also says they lie."

Kellen turned to face her, outraged.

"I was surprised," Idalia said, so I went to an older, unexpurgated version — the one in the locked case in Father's library. There, it says that Elves never lie — and never tell the truth."

"Not much better," Kellen muttered, but then he thought about it. "Never lied" — he couldn't remember Jermayan, or any of the other Elves he'd met ever lying to him. But told him the truth? The whole truth, the way he thought he wanted it, as fast as he wanted it?

He had to admit he hadn't gotten that, either. And maybe still didn't have it, even from Jermayan, who was his friend and teacher.

"Maybe fairer," Kellen said grudgingly. Not much though.

"Elves are different from humans," Idalia said. "Very different. They live much longer, they have a different way of looking at the world than humans do. I am not saying you shouldn't trust them — you'd say I'd gone crazy, and you'd be right to say so. But don't expect them to think like humans, because they just won't." She stared off into nothing for a moment. "When you live as long as they do, you take your time about everything, and you wait for everything to come in its proper time. So, for instance, an Elf will never tell you the whole truth all at once; he'll wait for the right time to tell you bits of it, until, in the end, you've come to see the shape of it for yourself. Which is the point, for them — that you should come to see and understand a truth for yourself, and not have to be told what it is. Now, give that a lot of thought, and you'll begin to see how they live their entire lives."

"Why didn't you tell me all this when we first came here?" Kellen asked curiously. Surely all this good advice would have been a lot more useful then?

Idalia smiled crookedly. "You wouldn't have listened. We weren't going to a formal banquet then. And you weren't meeting the entire city population on more-or-less equal terms. Oh, there's Jermayan and Vestakia."

She pointed, turning, cutting Kellen off from any chance for a reply.

Kellen turned, spotting Jermayan and Vestakia coming up behind them.

Jermayan was dressed pretty much as Kellen was — the long belted robe seemed to be a standard sort of evening fashion — though Jermayan's robe was practically transparent, and so were both undertunics. Kellen felt his face get a little flushed. Not that Jermayan didn't have the body for such an audacious outfit, but still!

But Vestakia . . . !

There was no possible way to conceal the fact that she looked like a Demon, so Tengitir had obviously decided to make a virtue of what could not be ignored.

Her gown left her neck and shoulders bare, and her deep rose skin sparkled as if it had been dusted with gold. It probably had been, in fact, because there had been subtle patterns painted on her forehead in gold, in imitation of some of the filigree diadems worn by some of the Elven ladies. Her eyes lad been accentuated with lines of black and gold on the lids, making them look bigger and somehow more innocent.

A wide band of gold and red embroidery held her cherry-black hair away from her pointed ears, exposing both them and her tiny golden horns, and a band of the same material decorated the neckline — if you could call it a neckline — of her long-sleeved dress, holding in the folds of shimmering gold brocade that were gathered in to a tightly-pleated waist before sweeping out into a full skirt that was gathered up at the sides to reveal an underskirt the exact shade of her skin.

"You look amazing," Kellen said.

Vestakia smiled shyly, ducking her head.

"Come on," Idalia said, looking at him oddly. "I'll escort Vestakia around. You and Jermayan . . . mingle."

#

"Is she— I mean, it would please me to know that Vestakia is going to be all right," Kellen said, catching himself just in time. He barely avoided hitting Jermayan with his rainshade, but Jermayan handled his own with as much grace as if it were a sword.

"Idalia will see to her comfort," Jermayan said. "And certainly, no harm nor insult has come to her yet."

"Good," Kellen said. About then, his brain caught up with the rest of him and he realized why Idalia and Jermayan had gotten him away from Vestakia so quickly.

He'd been so stunned at the sight of her in that dress that he'd just stared, but now, thinking back . . . .

No. No thinking. Not about that, or anything like that. Not for a year.

He'd sworn a vow of chastity and celibacy to Shalkan in exchange for the unicorn's help in getting away from Armethalieh and the Outlaw Hunt. And it didn't matter whether or not Shalkan was his friend. If Kellen broke that vow, Shalkan would have no choice but to exact the penalty for breaking it.

And Kellen didn't want to break his vow.

But Vestakia—

No.

Kellen tipped back his rainshade — Jermayan ducked gracefully out of the way — and took a deep breath of the cool moist air. It had been easier when he'd been sick and drugged. A lot easier.

"I need a great favor from you. You have to explain for me, Jermayan," Kellen said, though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to say. "You have to let her know why I can't—spend as much time with her as I want to. I don't want her to think I'm avoiding her."

Although that was exactly what he was going to be doing, at least for awhile, at least until he could get all this straightened out in his own mind. Maybe Shalkan would have some good advice for him — not that he'd be seeing Shalkan here tonight, of course. Unicorns were notoriously uninterested in the company of the non-chaste, and even Shalkan's tolerance had limits.

"I will," Jermayan promised. "And remember — she is not unfamiliar with the obligations a Wildmage must undertake. As for you, you will be far too busy to worry about the matter. After the Council Meeting tomorrow morning, come to the Knight's Hall, where we will continue your training—"

"That will be—" Wait a minute. Council Meeting? There's a Council Meeting? And I'm supposed to go? Without success, Kellen attempted to come up with a polite way to indicate he wanted to know more about that. "It would be most gratifying to hit you now, Jermayan," he finally said.

The Elven Knight smiled. "You may attempt the exercise tomorrow afternoon. In the morning I believe you will be accompanying Idalia, to advise Andoreniel and Ashaniel upon the best way to deal with . . . the problem."

The Elves almost never spoke the words "Shadow Mountain" aloud, as if to say them might be to summon the Endarkened — and from the very little Kellen knew of Dark Magic, that might even be true.

So he was going to the Council Meeting . . . and Jermayan was not.

"Idalia goes because she's a Wildmage . . . and I think she's the only Wildmage anywhere around near here. And I guess I go because I'm a Knight-Mage," Kellen finally said.

"Tomorrow, perhaps we may know if you are correct," Jermayan said. "But these are grim subjects for a night of celebration! Come, and I will bring you to that which will lift your spirits."

They passed among the canopies and among the lanterns. Jermayan moved purposefully, but not so swiftly that Kellen did not have opportunities to appreciate the beauty that surrounded him. There was probably no "best time" to see the garden; like every work of the Elves, it was undoubtedly designed to present a different aspect at every hour and season, and even at night and in the rain, it caught and held Kellen's attention.

But the garden was not what Jermayan had brought him to see.

In a corner of the garden — not quiet, precisely, because there was a rowdy game of chase-and-catch going on, but secluded — there seemed to be a party-within-a-party going on.

"Children," Kellen said quietly, stopping at the edge of the smaller garden.

"The children of Sentarshadeen," Jermayan agreed.

They were not alone, of course. There were other Elves there — servants, companions, older brothers and sisters, perhaps even their parents. Kellen recognized Sandalon, and a moment later the young Prince spotted him and came running over.

"Kellen!" he shouted happily.

The game stopped instantly — Kellen had the sense that the others had been entertaining Sandalon — and everyone looked at him.

Oh, this is awkward. If dealing with adult Elves could be embarrassing, the potential problems in dealing with Elven children — far more direct than their elders — could be mind-boggling.

"Uh . . . hi," Kellen said.

"We've been waiting for you! Everybody wants to meet you! This is Alkandoran," Sandalon said, pulling Kellen firmly into the midst of the group. "He's nearly as old as you are, Kellen!"

Kellen found himself face-to-face with a boy who — and he saw no reason to assume Sandalon was mistaken — must be about his own age. Alkandoran was dressed in a tunic and leggings and sleeveless vest, but without the long robe and belt of his elders. He was willowy and slender, androgynously pretty, and almost painfully determined not to gawk at the human stranger.

"I See you, Alkandoran," Kellen said, bowing slightly. He was pretty sure he knew just how Alkandoran felt.

"I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage," Alkandoran said, bowing in return.

"And this is Tredianala," Sandalon continued.

Tredianala didn't just look uncomfortable. She looked terrified, as only the very shy could be in the presence of strangers. She was much younger than Alkadoran — maybe ten? Twelve? — and dressed in a knee-length tunic over full trousers. Kellen was reminded of some of the shyest Otherfolk, the ones with whom you might share a forest for years, but never see.

"I See you, Tredianala," Kellen said softly, carefully not looking directly at her. "It pleases me to meet a friend of my friend."

"I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage," another girl boldly said, without waiting for Sandalon to make the introduction.

"I See you—"

"Merisashendiel," Sandalon supplied cheerfully. Kellen turned toward the child, feeling as much as seeing Tredianala make her escape back behind the adults.

Merisashendiel looked enough like Tredianala to be her twin sister — they were dressed in similar costumes — but there all resemblance ended. Merisashendiel regarded him with frank interest, as if she was bursting with questions that she intended to ask then and there.

But she was enough older than Sandalon to know better than to do that, at least in front of strangers.

"I See you, Merisashendiel," Kellen said, bowing very low. She giggled, regarding him with speculative approval, then swept into a full low curtsey, watching him all the time.

Kellen grinned. That one was going to provide her parents with more than a few sleepless nights in a few years, at least if Elven ways were anything like human ones.

The byplay was entirely lost on Sandalon, of course. And would be for some years yet.

"And here is Vendalton."

When Kellen had first arrived in Sentarshadeen, he'd found Sandalon playing alone along the dry riverbed. And Ashaniel had said that Sandalon was often lonely. He'd assumed, at the time, that that was because Sandalon was the only child in Sentarshadeen, but it made just as much sense if these were all the children in Sentarshadeen. He wasn't all that good at judging the ages of Elven children, but Vendalton seemed to be easily twice Sandalon's age. A five-year difference in age might not matter later, but it was a huge gap now.

"I See you, Vendalton," Kellen said.

"I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage," Vendalton said. "Sandalon said that you slew a . . . something evil."

"With the help of my friends, I destroyed the Barrier that was keeping the rain from falling on Sentarshadeen," Kellen said, choosing his words with care. "Everyone helped, and even so, it was very hard. It also could not have been done without the magic of my sister, in which all of Sentarshadeen participated. So you see, it was all of us together, as a whole, and not any one individual that broke the bonds of evil. I was only the channel through which all of our effort flowed."

Sandalon and Vendalton stared hard at each other, and Kellen wondered what long-running argument he'd just resolved — or made worse.

Jermayan cleared his throat significantly, regarding Sandalon.

"But she can't talk!" Sandalon protested.

"Nevertheless, I am sure she will wish to meet Kellen, if her nurse will permit," Jermayan said gravely.

"Of course I shall, Jermayan," a new voice said.

A woman stepped into the light, holding a bundle in her arms. She stopped a few feet away from Kellen and set it down on the grass.

A lady.

A very young lady.

Quite the most enchanting young lady Kellen had ever seen in his life. He fell instantly under her spell, and went down on one knee to greet her properly.

"And this is Kalania," Jermayan said, a smile in his voice.

Kellen didn't know how old Kalania was, but it was obvious that walking was a skill she had only lately begun to master. The tiny Elven child regarded him out of grave dark eyes, firmly clutching the hand of the slender woman dressed in rose velvet who knelt behind her.

"Come to me, sweeting," he coaxed. "You can do it." He wondered what it would be like to grow up in Sentarshadeen, with unicorns for playfellows. He held out his hand to the baby.

Kalania seemed to study him carefully before making up her mind. She released her nurse's hand and came staggering toward him, her chubby arms flailing.

The other children — even Sandalon — watched in fascination as Kalania made her uncertain way across the few feet of space toward Kellen. If she showed any sign of falling, he was prepared to swoop her up before she did, but she made it, grabbing his outstretched hand in a surprisingly strong grip to steady herself.

"Oh, well done, Bright Heart!" Kellen said, scooping the baby up into his arms and getting to his feet. Kalania crowed with delight at the ride into the sky.

Kellen crossed the little distance and returned her to her nurse, knowing he'd been given a great gift tonight. Jermayan had been right. Seeing the Elven children had made him stop brooding.

After a few minutes more — Kellen found himself answering quite a number of artfully indirect not-questions about his journey to the Barrier and about Vestakia — they left the little garden again. He was very careful to edit his answers, too. There were things that these children did not need to know. It was enough to tell them that the man he had rescued Vestakia from was trying to steal her goats, and not any of the rest of it. Telling them that she was Shalkan's great and good friend now told them that no matter what she looked like, she was not to be feared.

Telling them that it had been very hard to break the evil magic — without the details — was more than enough.

Once they were away from the others, he found Jermayan regarding him curiously. "Idalia told me you didn't know our tongue — the Old Tongue, that would be."

"I don't," Kellen said, puzzled. There were days when he felt that getting along in the Common Speech of the City was enough trouble.

He knew that there were other languages in the world — spoken over the sea, and therefore anathema in the City. Probably there had once been other languages spoken on this side of the ocean as well, before the Great War had destroyed most of civilization. The Elves had probably learned the commonest human language in order to communicate with their allies, and then never abandoned it.

"Yet you knew what Kalania's name meant," Jermayan pointed out reasonably. "You called her "Bright Heart." `Kala' means heart, and `Ania' means `bright'"

"Coincidence. My Nurse used to call me that," Kellen said uncomfortably. Only he'd never had a Nurse. He remembered a nurse — quite a succession of them, in fact — but those memories were at least partially false, implanted through magic by his father, the Arch-Mage Lycaelon, to conceal the fact that he'd been cared for as a child by his sister Idalia, Banished from the City as a Wildmage when Kellen was <seven.>

And whom Lycaelon had not wanted Kellen to remember.

But it was far too pleasant an evening to think of old troubles.

"Undoubtedly a coincidence," Jermayan said, sounding unconvinced.

"Really," Kellen said. "If I'd suddenly developed the ability to understand Old Elvish, I'd tell you."

Jermayan said something liquid and incomprehensible. Kellen gazed at him expectantly.

"I said that all Elven names come from the Old Tongue."

Jermayan, Kellen suddenly realized, positively enjoyed making leading remarks — of the sort that, in any human society, would cause the hearer to respond with a question. And knowing perfectly well that Kellen's first impulse would be to ask that question.

I am almost sure I didn't need to find out what passes for a sense of humor among the Elves.

"I am very nearly certain that Idalia knows what your name means, and will tell me if I ask her," Kellen said, with a wicked grin.

Jermayan smiled faintly, acknowledging that Kellen had won this round. "It means `Strong Shield'," he said. "A `mayn' is a shield. And now, I believe we are bid to take our places, for the banquet is about to begin."

Suddenly Kellen realized that for the last few minutes he'd been hearing music — a music that blended into the rain-chimes and rain-drums, but music none-the-less. He bowed elaborately to Jermayan.

"Be my guide, o' Elven Knight."

#

After Jermayan and Kellen left, Idalia tucked her arm reassuringly through Vestakia's and drew her firmly along beside her. From what Vestakia had told her about her childhood, the poor girl probably had never seen so many people gathered together in one place in her entire life. And the fact that at least half of them were waiting for her to do something dreadful certainly didn't help matters.

"Kellen certainly left us very quickly," Vestakia said. "I'd been hoping to talk to him," she added wistfully.

"Maybe later," Idalia said. She wondered how much to tell Vestakia. From the way Kellen had looked at her when she'd showed up in the festive — and very flattering — gown, someone should, and it was a good bet Vestakia didn't know the details of Kellen's vow, or possibly even that it existed.

Well, no time like the present. And one advantage to escorting Vestakia around was that it gave Idalia rather more privacy than she'd have otherwise. Certainly everyone in Sentarshadeen knew that Vestakia wouldn't be here at all if she were Tainted.

But she still looked like a Demon. And Elven memories were long. Even if none of the Elves now living had fought on the battlefields of the Great War, the fathers and grandfathers of many of those here tonight had.

"You know that Kellen is a Wildmage — as your mother was," Idalia began slowly. "And you know the price we pay for our magic — the vows and obligations we offer up to the Gods . . . "

"Oh, Blessed Lady!" Vestakia gasped, stopping dead and clutching Idalia's arm. "He's not going to die?"

"No, no — nothing like that," Idalia said hastily, remembering suddenly that Idalia's mother had given up twenty years of her lifespan in exchange for Vestakia's human spirit. Quickly she explained Kellen's obligation — and the reason why Kellen was able to spend so very much time in the company of a unicorn.

"Not many people know," she finished. "Most of the time it doesn't . . . impinge."

To her surprise — and secret delight — Vestakia gave a great whoop of laughter, startling the Elves walking nearby.

"Oh! Oh, my," the girl said. She sobered quickly, glancing around, then looked back at Idalia. "Does that mean I — he and I — won't see each other at all?"

"I don't know," Idalia said honestly. "But if you don't see him, try not to mind too much. It won't be because he doesn't like you, or care about you. Rather too much the reverse, perhaps. I know he wants you to be happy here; he is very, very concerned that you are comfortable."

"With water — and hot water, too — available for the turning of a handle? And every kind of food — fruit, too! — there when I reach out my hand? And such a warm soft bed that I don't think I shall ever be cold again? How can he wonder?" Vestakia asked in bafflement.

"I think he is worried that the people may be unkind," Idalia said gently, trying not to smile.

Vestakia sniffed, shaking her head. "It isn't important, now that they know in their heads that I want to help, that I mean to help, and I know that eventually their hearts will understand. Yes, they stare — and point at me when they think I am not looking. But no one will try to kill me here for what I am, and . . . there are goats here, too. I can herd them, and milk them, and make curds and cheese. I can deliver a kid if the nanny has trouble. I can be useful, even beyond making sure that They do not come here. The Elves will see that, too, with time." She smiled shyly. "You know, and they surely know, that you cannot lie to an animal. They know when someone is good or bad. Sooner or later most people here will understand in their hearts. And until then, there are so many wonderful things to see, and to do — and not everyone turns and runs, you know. Some talk to me, and—" Vestakia's eyes grew wide, and she lowered her voice, as if about to confide a great wonder. "There are books here, Idalia! Oh, hundreds of them! I do not read very well — we only had one or two that Mama traded for — beyond her three Books, and those of course I could not read — so I learned my letters out of them and memorized them long ago. But with all the books here to practice on, soon I shall read so much better than before. . . ."

Vestakia was quite right about being able to make a place for herself in Sentarshadeen given time, Idalia thought. She'd probably been a very good goatherd back in the Lost Lands — calm, cheerful, and patient, all qualities one needed when dealing with goats. Idalia tried to imagine one of the spoiled daughters of the City in Vestakia's situation — wrenched away from everything she knew, and dropped among a strange people who despised her. No matter how luxurious the surroundings, Idalia knew that the Armethaliehan girl would be weeping and complaining, demanding that things be adjusted to her liking.

But Vestakia had not complained once. She sounded so happy — and so determined to be happy — that Idalia kept her fears of the future to herself. If war came — when war came — there would be no room in it for the quiet, gentle future Vestakia spoke of so easily.

And yet—

And yet Vestakia surely knew that too. Or guessed it, at least. She was the daughter of a Demon. She knew what the Endarkened did, and wanted. So the quiet, gentle future she was envisioning was one she must know could not last for long.

She and Idalia were very much more alike than Idalia had thought, then, for Vestakia was seizing her own chance for peace and joy while it was there, and would live every moment that had been granted her to the fullest.

And when trouble came, as it would — well, Idalia had the feeling that she would meet it head on.

#

One thing about the evening did match Kellen's expectations of how a formal banquet would go, and that was that he was seated at the same table as the King and Queen. Idalia and Jermayan were there as well, and Vestakia, and Sandalon with Lairamo.

He was glad to see both Vestakia and Sandalon, and surprised to see both of them together, though Sandalon was next to him, and Vestakia was at the far end of the table. He supposed that — at least partly — Andoreniel and Ashaniel were making a point. And Vestakia deserved to be here as much as he and Jermayan did, because without her, they would never have found the Barrier.

Sandalon was gleefully delighted to be among the adults, and painfully conscious of his manners.

"You won't go away again, will you, Kellen — I mean, it would be interesting to know if you contemplated a journey soon, wouldn't it?" he said, looking up at Lairamo for approval.

"I don't know if I'll have to go away again, Sandalon," Kellen said gently. "I hope I won't. I'll tell you as soon as I know. I can promise that."

"Good!" the boy said. "I hope you won't have to go away either. Idalia was sad while you were gone. She stayed in her house and wouldn't talk to anyone."

#

The banquet went on until quite late. At one point Kellen looked up to find Vestakia gone, and realized that she must have slipped out some time after the main courses were served — at least, he didn't see her again during the evening.

He wished he could do the same. Though the banquet was entertaining, in an exotic fashion, it was tiring, and Kellen couldn't help feeling that there were more important things to be doing than throwing a big party right now. While he tried to keep from worrying about tomorrow's Council meeting, he was a human, not an Elf, and he didn't have their seeming ability to let tomorrow take care of itself.

And he did know what was proper good manners in this situation, having checked with Jermayan to make sure. So despite the fact that he'd rather have been out in the meadow with the unicorns — despite the rain — or back in his own home — or half a dozen other places in Sentarshadeen, he stayed at the banquet through the long dessert course, did his best to make polite conversation with dozens of people whose names he was sure he wouldn't remember in the morning, and entertained himself with thinking how horrified his peers back in Armethalieh would be if they could only see him now.

Eventually the last round of fruit cordials had been poured and drunk. Fortunately there didn't seem to be very much alcohol at all in Elven wines and cordials, alcohol evidently being regarded as a byproduct rather than a goal of their manufacture, but since custom required everyone to change tables for every course of the desserts — and there were a lot of courses — Kellen was just about as confused as to just where in the garden he was as if he'd been drinking strong Armathaliehan ale.

"But now the hour grows late, and we do not wish to weary those whom we also honor," Ashaniel said, rising gracefully to her feet. "And so we give grace to the night and to the season, and bid you all fair rest and refreshment in the name of Leaf and Star!"

At that signal, the guests began to prepare to depart. Kellen was already on his feet. He looked around, but couldn't see Jermayan or Idalia anywhere. It didn't matter. He could catch up with Idalia at home.

#

But when he reached the house once more, Idalia wasn't there.

No reason to wait up for her, Kellen told himself, hanging up his cloak and shaking out his rainshade before setting it in its tray to finish drying.

She'd probably stopped to talk to friends. He'd just make sure to leave a few lamps burning for her, and make sure the stove had plenty of fuel.

All in all, his first Elven banquet hadn't been all that bad, he decided, folding his new finery neatly and climbing into bed.

The next thing he knew was that someone was shaking him, and watery morning light was streaming through his windows.

"Sometimes I think you'd sleep through a unicorn stampede! Wake up, slug-a-bed!"

"Idalia?"

Groggily, Kellen sat up and stared at his sister.

She was still wearing the dress she'd worn last night. Hadn't she been home?

"Council meeting in less than an hour. You've barely got time to get up and dressed — and I've got to change, too."

Kellen abandoned the question of where Idalia had spent the night in favor of more pressing issues. He really didn't want to go to the meeting.

"Why do I—?" he began.

But Idalia, seeing him awake, was already leaving the room.

If he wanted to argue his point, Kellen realized, he was going to have to be up and dressed to do it. He flung back the covers, shuddering at the relative chill of the air, and grabbed for his bedrobe. Wrapping it firmly around him — and wondering where his slippers had gotten to this time — he hurried over to the clothespress. Grabbing the first things that came to hand — it really didn't matter much, since all his Elven clothing was suitable and becoming — he dressed quickly, dragged a comb through his now almost shoulder-length hair (thankful that he'd taken the time to unbraid it last night before going to bed), and hurried into the outer room, boots in hand.

When he came out of the bathroom, Idalia was ready. She was wearing Elven clothing today instead of her usual Wildwood buckskins: boots and tunic and a knee-length coat in several shades of violet.

"Ready? Good," she said.

"But I haven't had breakfast," Kellen complained.

"Then you should have gotten up earlier," Idalia said implacably.

"And I don't really see why I have to go at all," Kellen added mutinously. "I don't know anything about . . . whatever the Council is going to talk about."

"Then it's time you learned," Idalia said, reaching into the cupboard and handing him a chunk of yellow cheese and a small loaf of bread and an apple. "The Council will be discussing its plans. Attending meetings like this is something Knight-Mages do, so you'd better get used to it. Besides, you might even be helpful." She reached up and patted him on the shoulder.

Kellen made a rude noise, and bit into the cheese. Since he could hardly say he wasn't a Knight-Mage, he supposed he'd better go along to the Council Meeting. At least the afternoon promised to be more interesting. He'd be meeting Jermayan for his first formal lessons in knightly practice then.

Jermayan had taught Kellen all he could on the way to the Barrier, and the fact that Kellen's Wildmage gifts lay in that direction helped a great deal. But that was no substitute for training and practice — a lot of practice — under conditions that Jermayan simply hadn't been able to reproduce on the trail. Kellen was looking forward to continuing his education.

And meanwhile, he guessed he was pretty sure he knew where Idalia had been last night, and he was happy for both her and Jermayan. He just hoped that neither one of them would start quoting poetry at him.

Except for the water-carts used in time of drought, Kellen had never seen any kind of wheeled conveyance anywhere in Sentarshadeen, and though he knew the Elves rode horses and mules — and even, sometimes, unicorns — he had never seen a mounted Elf anywhere inside the city. He supposed it wasn't in accordance with Elven notions of suitability. At any rate, he and Idalia walked up to the House of Leaf and Star.

One concession that had been made to the eternal rain was that a slatted wooden pathway had now been laid across the meadow to the door of the House, so that one arrived on the doorstep if not quite dry-shod, at least not covered in mud.

Just as on the previous occasion on which Kellen had been brought to a meeting of the Council, he and Idalia were met on the doorstep and conducted deep within the House, to a windowless circular chamber deep within the center of the Palace.

Hanging from its walls were thirteen narrow banners of brightly colored silk, each bearing a single elaborate symbol worked upon it in shining silver. The last time, they'd been a complete mystery to Kellen, but he knew a little more about the Elves now.

Nine for the Nine Cities, probably, but that leaves four. That one symbol almost looks like the Great Seal of Armethalieh: could the other four be for the Other Races? Men, Centaurs, and . . . but that doesn't work either, because there are more other races than four, aren't there? Fauns, and Selkies, and Dryads, and Unicorns, and . . .

Despite Idalia's insistence that they were going to be late, she and Kellen had been the first to arrive. Now his musings were interrupted by the arrival of the others: Ashaniel and Andoreniel, Morusil, Ainalundore, Tyendimarquen, and two others he'd met and learned the names of the night before: Dargainon and Sorvare.

Six of the seven Elves took their seats around the large round table of gleaming pale wood — Tyendimarquen remained standing. In the table's center, the inlay of the symbol of the royal house gleamed as brightly as if it were aflame, reflecting the illumination of the mirrored lamps which hung above it.

Though Kellen and Idalia were by far the most plainly-dressed of the group, Kellen found he felt no sense of awkwardness, and Idalia obviously felt perfectly at ease. He supposed that though the Elves could make someone feel uncomfortable and out-of-place if they chose, they obviously weren't choosing to do so on this occasion.

Or perhaps what he was wearing was perfectly suitable for the situation.

As before, the doors swung shut behind them, seemingly of their own volition, and Tyendimarquen slid several bolts into place, locking it securely. As she slid the last of the bolts home, Andoreniel raised his hand and sketched a small shape in the air, and once again Kellen felt a brief sense of pressure, as the room was magically sealed against all manner of intrusion and eavesdropping, both magical and mundane.

"Now we may begin," Andoreniel said, when Tyendimarquen had taken her seat. "We call this meeting to discuss what provision we have made thus far in dealing with the Enemy, and what provision we have yet to make."

Ainalundore was the first to speak. He rose gracefully to his feet — as if the Elves ever did anything awkwardly — and began to speak in measured tones.

Kellen discovered that a report on the drought had been sent to the Vice-Regents of the other eight Elven cities: Ondoladeshiron, Lerkalpoldara, Windalorianan, Deskethomaynel, Thultafoniseen, Valwendigorean, Realthataladon, and Ysterialpoerin, to explain that it had been discovered to be the work of the Enemy. A further report had been sent when the Barrier had fallen, explaining that with the destruction of the Enemy's first ploy, further attacks could be expected. Response from the other cities, according to Ainalundore, had been gratifying; Andoreniel could be assured of their vigilance, and could expect regular reports.

That's it? Kellen thought in disbelief. That's all? Shadow Mountain is waking up again — the biggest threat in a thousand years — and all the Elves are going to do about it is WRITE REPORTS?

Dargainon was next to speak. And before he did so, he glanced aside at Kellen and Idalia. Particularly at Kellen.

"The Enemy is long-lived, as are we; it is my assumption, which I know is shared by others on this Council, that as this last attack upon Sentarshadeen was a subtle one, long in the planning and execution, so is the next move in this campaign likely to be. The Enemy has learned from his mistakes; we believe that he is unlikely to make any sudden or overt attacks ; rather, this war is likely to be a slow and drawn-out campaign of attrition. This would have had a great likelihood of success; had it not been for the efforts of Wildmage Idalia, we probably would not have known it for an attack until it was too late." He bowed a little to Idalia, who in her turn, bowed back.

"Nevertheless, there are other considerations. We cannot be sure of what the next move may be. It has been suggested, since the Wildmage Idalia is unable to advise us from what direction the next attack of the Enemy may come, nor are the woman Vestakia's abilities reliable in that regard, it is an an important consideration to look to the safety of our children. Therefore, a plan is presented for the approval of the Council to secure their safety by conveying all of our children to the Crowned Horns of the Moon."

Kellen looked questioningly at Idalia.

"A fortress high in the Mystral Mountains, that was never taken during the War. A good choice," she said in an undertone.

A good choice it might be, but that hardly prevented a number of comments from being made on it, even though Kellen got the impression that this was old business which had been hashed out pretty thoroughly before the Council met today. At last it was decided by Andoreniel that the plan would go forward as it stood. Convoys from each of the Nine Cities would begin stocking the fortress immediately. In a few weeks, once winter had made travel in the higher elevations a bit dryer, parties of Elven Knights would begin taking groups of children to the fortress a few at a time, where they would remain with their protectors and guardians until the situation with the Enemy had changed.

Or until they've all grown up, Kellen thought wryly. He didn't know how long that would take, but if Demons were immortal, and Elves were very long-lived, neither side might be in a real hurry about going to war, inevitable as it might seem.

Sandalon, of course, being the Heir, would be the greatest prize for any enemy to capture, and for that reason, the young prince would be sent at some point in the middle of this migration — as neither the first nor the last — to avoid drawing attention to him.

He'll hate that, Kellen thought ruefully. But maybe, among all those kids from the other cities, he'll find some his own age to play with. He hoped something like that would happen, for the child's sake. And he was just as glad not to be the one to have to tell Sandalon he was being sent away from the people and things he'd known all his life.

"Let it be done," Andoreniel said, ending the discussion.

"And now," Ashaniel said, sounding almost reluctant, "there is the matter of the Others. If the Enemy walks again, in the end, its foe is all the children of the Light, not merely the Children of Leaf and Star."

There was a moment of silence around the Council Table.

"Certainly they must be told," Tyendimarquen said unwillingly. "Yet to waste good counsel on those who would not believe it, when such telling might make matters worse, is the action of a fool."

"The High Hills will listen," Idalia said. "They, too, have felt some of the effect of the Barrier and its fall. You still trade with the High Hills, after all. And as for the Otherfolk, the creatures of forest and woodland — the unicorns can carry your warning there, and be believed."

Tyendimarquen seemed relieved. "Yes. There is a good solution, Idalia. We will warn the High Hills, and the Bright Folk, and let both of them spread the warning as they will."

"The Out Islands may well listen," said Ashaniel, thoughtfully. "Let the unicorns also take word to the People of the Water, for the merfolk and the Out Islanders are allies still."

"But what about Armethalieh?" Kellen said, asking the question before he could stop himself. "I mean . . . the Mountain Traders don't trade with Armethalieh. They won't pass a warning on, or if they do, the City won't believe it. The City needs to be warned about the Endarkened."

There was another long moment of silence, as all the Elves looked at each other, seeming to share a moment of unspoken communication.

"Surely it would grieve us to see any of the Children of the Light fall to the Great Enemy, even those who inhabit the Golden City, Kellen Knight-Mage," Sorvare said slowly. "But as one who has lately lived within her walls, you more than most will understand that it is no light matter for one of the Children of Leaf and Star to attempt to carry a warning there. Perhaps such a warning would be believed. Perhaps — and you may search your own heart for the truth of my conjecture — it would be seen as a form of attack, and gain us, instead of an ally, a new enemy at a time when we can ill afford one. And so I must counsel caution in any attempt to deal with Armethalieh directly, lest intended good become unimagined harm."

"It is not impossible that we will find an ally of the proper sort to carry our message to Armethalieh, Kellen," Morusil added kindly. "Perhaps an Out Island captain, for instance. But neither you nor Idalia can return there under pain of death, and our kind is now similarly barred from setting foot upon City lands. Still, knowing the Enemy's ways, we will do what we can."

`The proper sort' being human, Kellen thought in dismayed realization. Both Morusil and Sorvare were right — neither he nor Idalia could act as the Elves' envoy, and if the Elves couldn't go themselves, what did that leave? And he really couldn't blame them for not being in a hurry to warn Armethalieh either. Any attempt from the Elves to warn Armethalieh that the Demons were on the move again would probably be seen as an act of war, and just the excuse the Golden City needed — the way things had been going there lately — to muster arms and fighters for a war to wipe out the Elves! Not that there was any chance of that happening —

Unless the mages used High Magick.

He felt a cold lump in his throat. Of course they would use High Magick if they perceived any sort of threat — and it would be direct, combative magic, not the indirect stuff of the Barrier. It was no secret among the High Mages where the Nine Cities were, and that was where they would strike first. The Elves couldn't fight that. Their only defense would be to leave their cities and scatter — straight into the hands of the Endarkened.

Small wonder they weren't too eager to warn the Golden City.

He couldn't fault their logic. But all the same, his mind did go back to the words the Demon had taunted him with back at the Barrier: that when war came, the Elves would look to their own first.

Wasn't that just what they were doing now?

And if someone did manage to warn Armethalieh now, would it do any good? Was there anyone who would be believed? Was there anyone in the city who would believe that the Endarkened were anything other than a tale to frighten naughty children?

The meeting ended, with plans having been made to remove the Elven children to the fortress of the Crowned Horns and to send a message — soon — to those lands bordering on those of the Elves that Shadow Mountain was once more spreading its blight across the face of the land. Once more Andoreniel dismissed the seal that sequestered the Council Chamber, and the Elves departed to their tasks.

Ashaniel stopped Kellen as he was about to leave.

"Perhaps you do not think we act with sufficient haste, Kellen Knight-Mage," Ashaniel suggested, placing her hand upon his arm.

Kellen glanced wildly around for Idalia, trying to locate her without seeming rude. But she was nowhere to be seen.

"Lady Ashaniel, I'm really sorry if I offended anybody today," Kellen said. "It's just that I . . . ." He tried to think of how to phrase his thought politely, and gave up. "If there's going to be a war, we should be preparing for it. That's all."

"Yet to say what form our preparations must take, when the Enemy has not yet declared the shape of his own intention, might be to doom us all," Ashaniel said gently. "We have met the Enemy upon the battlefield before, and by the grace of Leaf and Star, we prevailed. Fear not for your friends. They will be warned in good time." She turned away.

They're not my friends, Kellen thought with a sigh. He couldn't think of one person back in Armethalieh that he could reasonably call a friend . . . but that hardly meant he wanted the City to fall to a Demon attack. There were hundreds, thousands of perfectly innocent people there, people who were harming no one, leading contented lives, trying to be good to each other, and if they were unreasonably prejudiced about outsiders, well, those prejudices had been carefully taught and carefully nurtured...

He left the Council Chamber. An Elven servant was waiting for him in the hallway, to conduct him back down the labyrinth of passageways that led to the front door of the House of Leaf and Star. Kellen was fairly good at not getting lost, but he was glad of the guide; he was willing to bet that he hadn't taken the same route to or from the Council Chamber twice, and the interior of the House of Leaf and Star somehow managed to be much bigger than the building looked from the outside.

Idalia was waiting for him on the portico.

"Ready to head over to the Knight's Hall? You look like you could stand to hit something," she said.

Kellen groaned faintly. "Ashaniel was just telling me not to worry, because the Elves have everything under control, and the moment They make a move, the Elves will make the appropriate response. But what if it's something else like the Barrier? They already know that They are a threat, and out there: why don't they just gather up the biggest army they can and go get them, rather than waiting for them to do something else?"

Idalia pulled up the hood of her raincape and stepped off the portico, unfurling her rainshade as she did. Kellen followed, copying her gestures. For a minute or two they walked down the wooden path in silence.

"Those are reasonable questions, considering how little you actually know about the Enemy — and the Elves don't really know all that much more. For instance, they don't really know how strong the Enemy is, either in terms of numbers or magic — but they do know that if the Endarkened can call in as many allies and slaves as they could in the Last War, they can probably put a larger army into the field than the Nine Cities can, and this time the Elves can't count on having much in the way of human allies. Next, the Elves don't have any magic, while the Enemy are the strongest Mages there are. I'm not even sure that if we got all the Wildmages, and all the High Mages, and all the Good Otherfolk to work together there'd be as much magic on our side as there is on the Enemy side. Not after the Great War and the death of the dragons."

"That's comforting — I don't think," Kellen said uneasily. "Especially since the High Mages won't fight on the same side as Wildmages. Or Elves."

Idalia shrugged. "They might, eventually. But it doesn't really matter. Because you can't attack what you can't find, and no one's exactly sure where Shadow Mountain is. It might not even be entirely in this world. North of here, that's all I know. That's all anyone knows. And well-enough shielded that all the Seeking spells in the world aren't going to find it. So . . . we can't find the Enemy stronghold, and if we could find it, we don't have the strength to attack it and win."

"So what are we going to do?" Kellen asked.

"What Ashaniel said. Wait . . . and hope," Idalia said. "I know it sounds like a recipe for disaster, but the Elves have fought the Enemy before, and won. And once we see what the Endarkened are going to do, we might be able to think of something creative." Now she smiled a little. "That is one of the strongest weapons we have, actually. No creature of the Enemy can match our creativity and imagination _ the ancient saying is, `The Endarkened cannot make, they can only mar.' No matter what else has happened to the Endarkened, I doubt that has changed."

The House of Shield and Sword was located on the southern edge of the city. From his rambles with Sandalon, Kellen had gotten the impression he knew the city fairly well, but somehow, this was one of the places that had never been included on their walks.

It was out beyond the firing kilns, separated from the city proper by a dense plantation of balsam-bough trees. There was no pathway through the forest; nothing to indicate that anything lay beyond the tall evergreens but more woodland. If Idalia had not been with him, Kellen might well have turned back in confusion.

"Here you are," Idalia said, stopping at the edge of the trees. "Think you can find your way from here?"

"I . . . oh. Yes," Kellen said.

He'd been looking at the trees, he'd been looking for a path and wondering why there wasn't one, he'd been distracted by the rain and thinking about the unsatisfying Council meeting he'd just left, so he hadn't been paying very much attention to what was up ahead.

Now he looked.

A whole pocket canyon spread out before him, its floor rich with tall grass. The forest, he realized, had been planted — and carefully tended — to screen its opening. Horses grazed loose in the meadow, their coats shiny with rain.

About halfway down the canyon floor was the House of Sword and Shield.

Like all Elven architecture, it blended in to its surroundings so harmoniously it seemed to have grown there instead of being built. Unlike the House of Leaf and Star, it was all of simple golden stone except for the roof; one story, and with the high-peaked roof making it look even lower and wider. Behind it, he could see other buildings, of wood — probably stables for the horses.

"Why is it out here in the middle of nowhere?" Kellen asked.

"You'll have to ask Jermayan," Idalia said, amused. "I think he's coming now."

She pointed. A rider was coming toward them. Jermayan, and Valdien.

Today the Elven Knight wore no armor at all, and Valdien wore only a simple halter. Elf and destrier moved as one being, and Kellen wondered absently if he could learn to ride a horse, and if he could ever manage to equal Jermayan's easy grace.

"The student approaches," Jermayan observed. "I promise, Idalia, that he will be returned to you . . . reasonably unscathed."

"Oh, don't bother on my account," Idalia said cheerfully. "As the Book of Stars tells us, `There is nothing worth knowing that is not bought with effort or pain.' I'll see you later." She turned away, walking back through the pines.

Jermayan dismounted from Valdien and slipped the halter from Valdien's head.

"Come," Jermayan said to Kellen, beginning to walk back toward the House of Sword and Shield. "It is time for your proper training to begin."

Valdien followed Kellen and Jermayan like a hopeful pet, occasionally nudging Jermayan in the back.

Kellen felt a flutter of nervousness at the pit of his stomach. It wasn't that he doubted his own skill — he didn't; he was a Knight-Mage after all. But all of his experience with formal training of any kind had been disastrous, and all of a sudden he was afraid that this was going to turn out the same way.

"Jermayan—" he said, stopping.

His friend looked at him questioningly.

"I'm . . . well, I'm not very good at some things," Kellen said awkwardly.

"That," said Jermayan, "is why you are here. The House of Sword and Shield has trained Knight-Mages in the past. The House remembers."

"But I . . ." There just wasn't any good way to say this! "I don't want to make trouble." Or get into trouble. "I just don't . . . I asked the Council a question this morning," he admitted dolefully.

That surprised a startled laugh from Jermayan.

"No doubt certain members of the Council were surprised by your boldness, and were instantly forthcoming," he commented.

"Not really," Kellen said with a sigh.

"But to allay your fears, there will be times within the House when questions will be encouraged, for War Manners are taught here, along with all the other arts of War. You will learn all that we can teach you, my word on that, Kellen."

By now they had reached the doors of the House. Jermayan turned to Valdien and dismissed the stallion firmly with a pat on the shoulder. The stallion lingered for a moment, for all the world as if hoping to be invited inside, then turned and trotted off with a reluctant sigh.

Kellen realized that the building was taller than he'd thought, the height of the indoor riding-rings back in Armethalieh. The doors added to that impression; they were tall enough to admit two mounted knights riding side-by-side.

But they were not constructed like the doors back home. These seemed designed to fold back in four panels, rather than just open. Jermayan opened one tall narrow panel, and the two of them stepped inside.

"Be welcome in the House of Sword and Shield, home to all who bear the sword for the Nine Cities," Jermayan said formally.

Kellen looked around.

The first thing that caught his attention was the ring of steel on steel. In the center of the room, four armored Knights whirled and danced around one another, swords flashing in a deadly pattern of light and motion. Kellen studied them, his attention caught. Were three attacking the one? Was it two against two? It was impossible for him to tell; they moved so fast. . . .

Then a fifth man, unarmored, wearing dark-green robes, his hair the silver-blue of great age, walked into the midst of them. All four immediately put up their swords. The man began talking, too low for Kellen to hear.

"Belesharon is one of our greatest teachers of the sword," Jermayan said quietly. "His father once trained a Knight-Mage. He looks forward to meeting you."

Kellen blinked, slowly reasoning it out. If Belesharon's father had trained a Knight-Mage, that meant that Belesharon's father had fought in the Great War, since that was the last time there'd been any Knight-Mages. He looked away from the armored Knights, unwilling to draw Belesharon's attention to him any earlier than he had to.

Although, if he could actually ask Belesharon questions . . . .

Kellen looked around as he pulled off his sopping raincape and hung it next to Jermayan's on one of the row of hooks beside the door. Having seen on the night of the banquet how few Elven children there were, he didn't expect this place to be actually crowded, even if, as Jermayan implied, all the Elven Knights from all the Nine Cities were trained here, so he wasn't terribly surprised.

But if we're going to war . . . and this is all we can put into the field . . . .

Including the four in armor, there were about twenty Knights in the room. Some of them, to Kellen's vague surprise, seemed to be female, though he supposed there was no reason they shouldn't be. He didn't really know enough about the way Elves did things to know whether they cared about things like that or not. Armethalieh certainly did, but the way Armethalieh did things wasn't the way Kellen wanted to run his life.

None of the other groups of Elves were in armor. They were all dressed alike — loose tunics, pants, and soft boots, though the colors varied from pale green to deep yellow to red. The ones in green were sitting in a corner, apparently listening to a lecture — Kellen recognized Alkadoran in that group.

Pale green for the youngest students, then.

Those in yellow were practicing simple forms and stances (Kellen remembered doing that a few times himself) with wooden practice blades under the guidance of a few of the red-tunic'd students. The few remaining red-tunics were sparring against each other, also with wooden swords, under the watchful eyes of other Elven Knights, all of whom seemed to be wearing some shade of darker green, though none was wearing quite the same shade that Belesharon was.

Kellen already knew that the Elves could distinguish a much wider range of colors than humans could, and he imagined all those colors meant something very particular. He only hoped he wouldn't be expected to be able to tell what it was — he suspected that in comparison to the Elves, humans were practically color-blind.

Kellen turned his attention from the students to the building itself. The interior was the largest single room he'd ever seen. The ceiling was high — the building was actually closer to two stories in height than one — and a gallery ran around three walls of the room, with open stone staircases leading up to them on the two long sides of the building. Long windows without glass pierced the walls at regular intervals. They could be closed with heavy wooden shutters, but today the shutters were folded back.

Despite that, Kellen wasn't in the least cold, and after a moment, he realized why. Heat radiated up through the brick floor of the room, a gentle pervasive warmth that filled the air.

"There is a furnace in the room below this, that heats a network of pipes that warms the floor. It is one of the Apprentices' duties to keep it stoked — a duty that you will be spared," Jermayan said with a faint smile.

Kellen grinned back. He'd chopped enough wood in the Wildwood not to be afraid of chopping more.

"It is a marvelous thing," he said teasingly, "to have seen the Elven armies in their flower."

"You think we are few," Jermayan said shrewdly. "But most are in the field, and winter — especially this winter — is not a time when you will see the House heavily-frequented. You worry too much, Kellen."

"You worry too little," Kellen said, stung to sudden honesty. You didn't see her — the Demon Queen — you didn't talk to her. The Endarkened mean to kill you all, and you sit here worrying about your clothes, and the proper time to let everybody else know they've got a problem . . . .

"Then teach us to worry," Jermayan said gently. "And meanwhile, hone the skills you will need when the battle comes, as we both know it must. And learn what I could not teach you alone."

He took Kellen's arm and led him out of the entryway, onto the stone floor of the hall. Belesharon had concluded his instructions to the armored knights, and turned to face Jermayan.

"I see you, Jermayan," he said, bowing.

"I see you, Belesharon," Jermayan said, bowing in return. "I bring you Kellen Knight-Mage, who comes from the lands of Men to learn what you can teach him."

"I see you, Kellen Knight-Mage," Belesharon said. He did not bow, but studied Kellen with cold black eyes.

What's going on? But this wasn't the time to wonder about it. Kellen bowed deeply. "I see you, Belesharon." He rose from his bow and studied the Elven swordmaster in return.

He'd thought Morusil was old, and until this moment, Morusil had been the oldest Elf Kellen had ever seen. But next to Belesharon, Morusil was a mere child. Up close, Belesharon's bone-pale skin was spiderwebbed with the fine lines of age; his eyebrows nearly white. Perhaps Elves had run shorter centuries ago, or perhaps age had shrunk him; Belesharon was as small as a child, making Kellen feel lumpish and ungainly as he had not since his student days in Armethalieh.

But no matter how old he was, there was nothing of infirmity about the ancient swordmaster. His eyes sparkled with alert intelligence, and his movements — as Kellen had seen previously — were lithe and swift.

"Well," Belesharon said after a moment. "Staring gains only so much. Bring practice swords, Ciredhel."

One of the green-tunic'd teachers hurried off.

"I don't understand," Kellen said. Always a safe enough statement when dealing with Elves.

Belesharon snorted. "When one undertakes to teach a student, young Kellen, one begins by judging his quality. We will spar. You will attempt to strike me, holding nothing back. If you fail in this, I will know. And you will no longer be welcome in my House."

"But—" Kellen glanced at Jermayan with indecision bordering on agony, but Jermayan's face was unreadable.

He remembered facing Jermayan at their streambed camp, and nearly killing his mentor and friend by accident simply because neither of them had been prepared for the scope of Kellen's newly-awakened Knight-Mage powers. And Kellen still didn't know their full extent.

If Jermayan had expected this, he would have warned Kellen — if that were allowed by the strict rules of etiquette that governed every aspect of Elven daily life. Kellen bit his lip, thinking very hard. He did not doubt for a minute that Belesharon was speaking the simple truth — that if he did not attack with all his skill (and he was certain that the Master would know if he did not), he would be sent away untrained.

But killing — or injuring — the master wouldn't be a very good start either . . . .

He bowed.

"Master Belesharon."

"The fool speaks. Come, take your weapon and face me. Choose either."

Ciredhel had returned, carrying two practice swords similar to the ones he'd seen the yellow-garbed students working out with. They were the length and shape of Kellen's own sword, but made entirely of wood.

But even a length of wood could be deadly in the hands of a Knight-Mage.

Kellen bowed again.

"If you like, I am a fool. And you have trained fools and children for a very long time, so you will understand when I say that there is a saying among my people that nothing is foolproof, because fools have too much ingenuity and cannot be predicted to act sensibly. I do not wish to hurt you."

He waited, holding his breath.

Now Belesharon bowed, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Such courtesy! Such respect for age! You rascals would do well to heed it, and have more consideration for an old man who is nearly on his deathbed. Young Kellen, your honesty and thoughtfulness do you credit, and I honor the truth of your words. Therefore, our contest will be closely watched, and if I am in danger, my students will intervene. You, however, must look to yourself."

Kellen bowed again, and reluctantly took the sword that Ciredhel held out to him. He'd hoped to avoid the match altogether, but it was a good compromise.

He hoped.

Belesharon took up his own practice sword and strode to a practice circle marked out on the stone floor. Kellen recognized the dimensions as being equal to the ones Jermayan had marked out on the ground when his training was just beginning. The rules were simple: stay inside the circle at all costs.

For a moment Kellen considered simply letting Belesharon push him outside the circle, then dismissed the notion. If he didn't do his best, the swordmaster would know. He had no doubt of that. The only thing he could do was to pull his blows as much as possible. Surely there'd be no objection to that?

Reluctantly, he took his own place in the circle. The four armored knights, swords drawn, took their places just outside it. They didn't seem at all worried. Jermayan was the only one who seemed at all concerned — but then, Jermayan was the only one who'd seen him fight.

Kellen realized with resigned dismay that all other activity in the hall had stopped. Everyone was watching.

Grand. Either I end up looking like an uncouth, untutored barbarian, or else I do something like I did to Jermayan. And either way, I'm in trouble.

"Now we shall begin your education," Belesharon said. He raised the wooden practice sword in a fluid salute.

Kellen copied the gesture, at the same time summoning up his spell-sight. At once there were two Belesharons: the living man, overlaid with a web of glowing red showing Kellen how he must strike, and a glowing ghost, indicating how Belesharon might move.

That's never happened befo—

WHACK!

Kellen yelped and jumped back, jarred entirely out of battle-mind in time to see Belesharon step back into ready position. There was a stinging welt on his upper thigh.

"Too slow, Knight-Mage," the swordmaster commented mildly. "Perhaps you still think to spare my old bones."

Not any more, old man.

Resolving to ignore the peculiar doubling of his spell-sight, Kellen summoned it once again. No matter what else it showed him, it still showed him where to hit.

This time he struck without warning — the match was already begun, after all — but somehow, instead of a clean hit, he missed entirely. Belesharon swayed out of the way at the last moment.

Kellen paid no attention, moving on to the next target, and the next. But instead of one clear possibility, his spell-sight showed him a dozen, forcing him to think, to choose—

Forcing him out of battle-mind. Forcing him to be only Kellen.

Each time he summoned it anew, only to have it stolen away again. He realized as the match wore on that Belesharon could have hit him a dozen times. He realized everyone in the hall knew it too. The best he'd been able to manage had been to stay in the circle.

He began to feel a dull desperate anger. I'm better than this! I have to be!

Because if he couldn't be good enough, people were going to die.

Focus!

He fed his anger into his magic, making it his tool. The enemy's confidence was also a weapon he could use. Once more he summoned up his spell-sight.

Once again the patterns before his eyes were as confusing as before. Kellen ignored them. He reached beyond them, to their source, to the Gods that made the patterns, the Gods who sent both Knight-Mage and Wildmage into the world.

And struck.

There was a gasp and a hiss of steel from outside the practice ring. Kellen realized he had closed his eyes. He opened them.

His wooden blade was pressed against Belesharon's ribs.

The swordmaster's blade rested gently against the side of his neck.

The swordmaster withdrew his practice blade.

Kellen stepped back shakily, lowering his own blade. He only hoped he hadn't struck very hard.

"A most instructive bout, young Kellen," Belesharon said, bowing with no evidence of discomfort. "Of course, you would have been dead as well, but I think time and practice will remedy that defect. And now, if you will be so good as to don your armor, we shall see how you fare against multiple attackers."

Belesharon handed his sword to the nearest Master, and turned to go.

Kellen barely remembered in time to bow. He felt as if he'd been running for several leagues. Uphill. Carrying Shalkan.

"This way." Jermayan stepped into the circle and led him out through the gathered crowd. Half of them were staring at him as if he were a Demon Incarnate, and the other half were talking among themselves in excited whispers, too low for him to catch.

"How did I do? What did I do?" Kellen asked, when they were away from the others. "I mean—"

"Never mind," Jermayan said, waving away Kellen's apologies. "I am merely grateful to have seen such an exhibition of technique. And . . . you hit Master Belesharon."

"I didn't mean to," Kellen said. "I mean, I did, but—"

Jermayan slid open a panel in the back wall and ushered Kellen inside.

The room was much smaller than the one outside, its walls of wood, not stone, shallowly carved in an intricate geometric pattern. A moment later, Kellen realized why, as Jermayan went over to a part of the wall and pulled it out, revealing it to be a drawer.

"Here is your armor and sword," Jermayan said, lifting out the familiar pieces and handing them to Kellen. Here? What if I hadn't passed Belesharon's test? Arms full, Kellen headed toward one of the benches in the center of the room.

"If it had somehow happened that you were not found suitable for the House of Sword and Shield, it would simply have been returned to your home. But you will find it is easier to keep it here during your training."

Kellen began removing his clothes, surprised to find they were sodden with sweat.

"I hope I didn't hurt him," he said, pulling on the leather underpadding for his armor.

Jermayan had opened another drawer and was removing his own armor. He stopped and looked at Kellen quizzically.

"You have no cause for concern. But it was . . . startling."

#

When both of them were armored, they returned to the main hall. Everyone studiously ignored him, so thoroughly that Kellen thought he'd rather have been stared at. The story of the afternoon's bout was probably going to be all over Sentarshadeen by nightfall — in fact, given the Elves' penchant for gossip, it was probably already making the rounds.

Jermayan led Kellen back to the teaching circle, where Belesharon was waiting with the four armored knights. Belesharon glanced up when he saw them, and his face .. into an almost comical frown of disapproval.

"This armor is a disgrace to the House of Shield and Sword," Belesharon said. "I see no enamelwork, no gilding, no jewels. It is the armor of a brigand or a hill-bandit, not a knight."

Jermayan had said that direct speech, even questions, were permitted in the House of Shield and Sword, but this was rude speech even for a human.

And once again, it seemed to Kellen that the Elves were fixated on something that didn't matter. It was true that his armor wasn't as ornate as Jermayan's, but it was still beautiful in its own way.

"Forgive him, Master Belesharon, but it is the only armor he possesses. It was made in a day, and there was no time to finish it properly," Jermayan said.

"Then let another suit be made, one more suitable," Belesharon said irritably.

Kellen winced inwardly. Jermayan looked great in gleaming sapphire-colored armor, and armor that looked like expensive jewelry was fine for Elves. But not for him.

"Suitable perhaps, for an Elven Knight, Master Belesharon," Kellen said. "But I am human; my people are simple, as am I. Please forgive my presumption, but as Elvenware is simple, yet a perfect blend of form and function it seems to me that for a human, and for me in particular, there should be no more adornments than there are upon a perfect bowl. I am — my people call it a virgin knight, one who is untried, untested in the heat of true battle. If one wears the map of one's experiences upon the metal he is clad in, then mine should be unadorned. And _ forgive me again, but I have an emotional attachment to speak of as well. This is the armor I was wearing when I found out I was a Knight-Mage. I should like to keep it just as it is."

"The human child is bold and stubborn," Belesharon observed to no one in particular. "He contradicts me in my own house. Well! Perhaps it is for the best."

Kellen had the oddest feeling he'd just passed another test.

"Now. Dainelel, Kayir, Naeret, Emessade, and Jermayan will attempt to kill you, just as in a real battle. All swords will be in practice-sheathes. I will award injuries. It is not necessary to remain within the circle."

Ciredhel brought Kellen and Jermayan practice-sheathes — the others already had them. Jermayan showed Kellen how to fit the heavy leather sheath over his blade and bind it over the guard so there was no possibility of its coming loose during a practice bout. With these in place, even the lethally-sharp Elven swords were safe to use.

What does he mean, `award injuries?' Kellen wondered.

Then there was no more time to wonder, as the bout had begun.

Kellen had only fought a real battle once before, when hill-bandits had attacked him and Jermayan on their way to the Barrier. He forced those terrible memories from his mind and concentrated on the here-and-now.

His main advantage was that — having just seen him fight Master Belesharon — Dainelel, Kayir, Naeret, and Emessade were cautious about engaging. But unlike the hill bandits, the Elves knew how to work together as a team, not getting in each others' way. Quickly they spread out, encircling Kellen, forcing him to defend himself from every side at once.

But unlike Belesharon, the images they presented to his spell-sight were clear and precise . . . .

"Dainelel, Naeret, you are both dead. Retire from the field, if you please." Master Belesharon's voice came to Kellen distantly as he whirled to block an attack from behind, and turned about — too late! — to respond to an attack from Jermayan.

"Kellen, you have taken a disabling cut to the thigh. Drop to your knees, if you please."

"What?" Kellen shook his head, not understanding. The other three had withdrawn, swords at rest, waiting.

"Kayir's blow got through. I judge it was quite strong enough to have severed the tendons of the leg. You cannot stand, but you can still fight. Drop to your knees, if you please," Master Belesharon repeated.

Feeling rather foolish, Kellen did so. Fortunately, the Elven armor was flexible enough to permit the maneuver.

On his knees, unable to maneuver much, Kellen was easy prey, though to his secret delight he was able to "kill" one more of his attackers before receiving a "fatal wound."

If this had been real, I'd be dead now, Kellen thought soberly.

Jermayan helped him to his feet.

"Perhaps you would share what wisdom you have gained this day in the House of Shield and Sword," Belesharon said, when Kellen was standing before him once more.

Despite aches and pains and the fact he was dripping with the sweat of exhaustion, Kellen grinned beneath his helmet. From the way his head hurt, some of his opponents had managed to land more than a few blows there, though he hadn't felt them at the time. The combat hadn't been a decorous matter of blade against blade; Elves used the pommel of the sword as much of the blade, and Elven armor was crafted to be as flexible as a suit of clothes for a reason. Kellen's adversaries had used their feet, fists, and shields, as well as every part of their swords against him. Only the protection of his armor had kept Kellen from collecting a spectacular set of bruises this afternoon, but his muscles were certainly convinced he'd given them a splendid workout.

"I have learned that I need to learn a very great deal, Master," Kellen said honestly.

Belesharon smiled. "Good. Jermayan, take this callow youth to pick out a horse. And come early tomorrow, Knight-Mage. You have much to learn."

#

"It would be interesting to know why it is that I am going to pick out a horse," Kellen said when he and Jermayan had left the House, managing to wrestle the question into the proper form with only a little effort.

"Naturally you expect to ride Shalkan, for a year at least," Jermayan agreed. "But after that, circumstances may change. And learning to understand the mind of a destrier is part of the training of an Elven Knight. I myself chose Valdien's parents and saw him foaled. But Belesharon does not expect that of you, nor is there time nor need. It is enough that you learn to ride properly, and to fight from horseback. You may need those skills sometime. And if the Enemy moves into direct conflict slowly _ well, you might well have ample time to pick your foal and train him before you see true war."

The rain had settled into a gentle mist; not really unpleasant, and he was quite dry inside his hooded cloak, at least at the moment. Before they'd gone out, Kellen had followed Jermayan's example and kilted his surcoat high above the knee, so it didn't take on water from the grass. It felt good to be back in armor, almost reassuring in a way.

As they rounded the side of the House, they passed the wooden buildings he'd seen before. Jermayan told him they were bathhouses, where students could soak away the pains of the day.

"It's all beautiful, Jermayan, but it still doesn't seem very . . . large," Kellen said, trying to sound tactful.

Jermayan smiled. "The impatience of humans! Come, then, and see the rest."

Jermayan led him past the bathhouses, through a stand of birches, standing stark and leafless now that the winter rains had come. Just beyond them, the ground sloped gently away.

"This is what you wished to see," Jermayan told him.

What Kellen had thought was a small pocket canyon was anything but. It spread out before him, its farthest edges lost in the mist. From the top of the rise, he could look down on a whole complex of buildings, almost a second city, hidden in plain sight.

"The stables and the blacksmith's forge," Jermayan said. "The practice ring."

There was a wide oval of white sand in the middle of the green, flanked by a complex of low buildings that somehow managed to give the impression of belonging. There were two bare fixed posts set at opposite ends of the oval; a lone horseman moved between them in a figure eight pattern, his mount moving with slow deliberate grace. Beyond the stables and the outbuildings, Kellen could see more horses scattered across the meadow, indifferent to the rain.

"I wouldn't have thought the House of Shield and Sword would have a lot of spare time to keep horse herds," Kellen said, congratulating himself on making a question seem like an idle observation.

"The breeding of war-horses is the business of others," Jermayan said absently, "and that place is not in Sentarshadeen, but elsewhere. The animals here belong to Knights. Some keep mounts too old to ride beneath arms with them here, out of affection and to honor an aged comrade, instead of sending them back to the Fields of Vardirvoshan. And some of them are bred and trained as teachers; it is such a one I have in mind for you, for I think it would be just as well if neither one of your grew too fond of the other. Later, perhaps, you will come to Vardirvoshan and choose a proper mount."

"Maybe," Kellen said doubtfully. A time when that might be possible seemed unimaginably far away.

They walked past the riding ring. Jermayan saluted the mounted knight, but did not speak to him. Kellen could see that the knight was not using reins at all; in fact, the reins were tied up to the pommel of the saddle. Nevertheless, as the destrier cantered, he was doing changes of lead and of direction without the knight using the reins to direct him. Kellen vaguely recalled the riding-instructor that he had suffered under saying that a good rider didn't need reins to guide his horse, and a good horse didn't need reins to be directed, but he could not for a moment imagine how the knight and horse were communicating. Surely they could not be speaking mind to mind. . . .

No, that couldn't be it. In a battle, the knight would have every bit of his attention concentrated on fighting. No, there was some secret there. . . presumably, he'd be finding out what it was. Eventually.

He began to wonder how far they were going to walk, or if Jermayan had some other way of acquiring this horse. But when they had gone a little distance past the riding ring, Jermayan stopped and looked around. Apparently he saw what he was looking for, because he stopped, raising his arm over his head in a purposeful gesture.

A few moments later Valdien appeared, three mares at his heels. The four animals stopped a few feet away, all of them regarding Kellen calmly.

"Ah." Jermayan sounded oddly satisfied. "You keep exalted company these days, my friend," he said, addressing his mount. "Now, Kellen, choose the lady who will be your companion and teacher while you are here at the House. This is our way; the experienced mounts teach the young riders, and the experienced riders teach the young destriers."

Kellen sighed inwardly. He supposed this was like choosing his sword — any would do, but one was best. Only the sword had been a piece of metal, and the horses were, well, alive. And seemed to be regarding him with the same doubtfully assessing expressions as Master Belesharon had.

All three of them were soaking wet, and muddy besides, so it was hard to tell their true colors. One was grey, with a darker mane and tail. One was a strange pale red, a color Kellen had never seen before, in horse, centaur, or unicorn. The third was a dark brown with a brown-flecked saddle of white over its rump, long white socks, and a wide white blaze; the oddest coloration Kellen had ever seen.

All of them were beautiful, of course. The ladies might be past their prime, but Kellen suspected they could still run any horse of human breeding into the ground and not raise much of a sweat. He was tempted to choose one at random, but he knew that would almost be cheating. Perhaps the Wildmagic could help him? He wasn't sure how, since he certainly wasn't planning to hit any of them.

"It is easier, of course, if one approaches the animals more closely," Jermayan observed in neutral tones.

Kellen gritted his teeth. He suspected Jermayan was laughing at him. And he knew the horses were. Cautiously he walked toward them, hoping they weren't just going to take this as an excuse to run off. The only real experience he had with horses was with Idalia's mare Prettyfoot and with Valdien. Valdien followed Jermayan around like a large dog, but Prettyfoot would take any excuse to go larking off, and if Shalkan wasn't around, she could take hours to catch. He knew these were Elven warhorses, but they didn't know him from Great Queen Vielissiar Farcarinon, and if they were anything like Prettyfoot, they could decide to lead him a chase just for the sheer mischief of it.

Valdien stepped delicately aside as he approached. Kellen wondered if Jermayan had sent the destrier to round up suitable candidates. He really wasn't sure what level of communication there was between the Elven Knight and his mount; even if it was only as much as between the average hill-shepherd and his canine flock-guards, some of those beasts were capable of amazing things.

Kellen approached the grey, reaching out his armored glove and placing his hand gently on her shoulder. She lowered her head and sniffed at him gently. Kellen smelled grass and wet horse; strong, but not unpleasant.

As if that were a signal, the red mare and the spotted one crowded in, nudging and sniffing at him. Kellen wished suddenly that he'd brought treats for them, and stooped carefully to tear up handfuls of the grass at his feet, feeding each of them in turn. They took the morsels neatly and delicately.

Behind him, Jermayan cleared his throat meaningfully.

Oh.

It was time to stop entertaining himself and get to work. He summoned up his spell-sight, wondering what — if anything — it would show him.

As always, the world seemed oddly simplified, though Kellen could never quite put his finger on just how that was. It was almost as if everything that didn't immediately matter disappeared, though everything he needed to see was there. He could feel Jermayan and Valdien behind him. He could tell that Jermayan was leaning against Valdien's shoulder, and knew he would sense instantly if either of them changed position. He ought to find seeing things he couldn't see unsettling, but somehow he didn't. He guessed it was all part of settling in to being a Knight-Mage.

Now he focused his attention on the Elven mares.

The spell-sight overlay was subtle, but present. He could see the ghosts of old injuries, healed scars, the faint symbolic presences of things he had no words for. Help me to make the right choice, Kellen said, without quite knowing who — or what — he asked.

At last, as he waited, a sense of rightness filled him. He reached out and placed his hand against one of the mare's shoulder's, blinking the spellsight away. "This one," he said, looking to see that he'd chosen the tawny red mare.

"A good choice," Jermayan said. "Deyishene will serve you well. She has trained many a knight. Come, then."

"Come, my lady," Kellen said, a little self-consciously. Deyishene shook herself — like a wet dog — a very large wet dog — and took a step forward.

"Come," Jermayan said. "She will follow."

Jermayan led Kellen down to one of the stable blocks that flanked the riding ring. There, Kellen brushed and toweled his new charge dry — or at least, merely damp — before going to help Jermayan select saddle and armor from the tack room.

"It will not be in your colors, of course," Jermayan said, "and the colors here are . . . unfortunate." He regarded a large shelf of neatly folded barding, the knee-length saddle-cloths worn over or under equestrian armor, and the fancy rein-decorations that matched.

Kellen saw red, gold, and two shades of green. The pale green wasn't appropriate for him — he wasn't that much of a beginner. He wasn't sure whether Master Belesharon thought he ought to be wearing the gold or not, and he didn't think it went that badly with the shade of green of his cloak and surcoat.

"But perhaps Master Belesharon will be inclined to be merciful," Jermayan continued, real concern in his voice.

"Honestly, Jermayan, whatever you think is best," Kellen said. "Maybe I could just skip this part."

"It is necessary," Jermayan said, in tones that brooked no argument. He sighed, and dug through the stacks of folded barding, obviously searching for something. "Ah. I had thought these might be here." He pulled out a heavy bundle of white fabric, and handed it to Kellen. "Unexceptionable. A bit daring, but no one can quarrel with such a choice."

Whatever that's supposed to mean, Kellen thought. Oh well. It must be just another example of the Elven passion for detail and protocol.

Fortunately Jermayan was with him, for Kellen would have had no idea of how to choose the right sizes of everything from shanfron and peytrel to flanchard and crinet, though he had saddled and unsaddled Valdien enough times to know exactly what items made up an Elven destrier's armor, and how to put them on. Though the pieces were surprisingly light, they were bulky, and it took both of them — and two trips — to carry them back to Deyishene's stall.

"Now let us see if you remember your lessons, and afterward, a turn about the ring," Jermayan said implacably.

While Kellen worked his way — slowly — through saddling and armoring Deyishene, Jermayan made a far brisker job of preparing Valdien, rubbing the stallion dry, saddling him, and armoring him, long before Kellen had the straps and buckles adjusted and the complicated pieces of armor locked into place. He knew better than to hurry, though. Haste now could lead to a variety of disasters later, from saddle sores, to armor that fell to pieces, to a loose saddle-girth which could dump its rider from his mount's back — which could be humiliating or downright disastrous, depending on when it happened. As he worked, Kellen talked to Deyishene, much as he would have talked to Shalkan, explaining who he was and why he was here. He knew she couldn't talk, and of course didn't understand as much as Shalkan would, but talking made him feel better. And she was listening; she kept one ear on him at all times, and occasionally uttered a snort that sounded as if she was satisfied with what he was saying.

At last the job was completed to his satisfaction. Kellen led his new warhorse out into the daylight again.

Jermayan was already mounted, waiting in the middle of the ring. The other rider was long gone, but Kellen discovered he was not to be without an audience. Shalkan had arrived, standing nonchalantly at the edge of the stable block.

"Decided to replace me, have you?" the unicorn said blandly.

"Oh, uh, hello," Kellen said uneasily. Shalkan had a .. sense of humor. "This is Deyishene. Master Belesharon said I needed a horse. And Jermayan says I need to learn how to ride a destrier."

Shalkan switched his tail. "Well," he said after a moment, "maybe she'll teach you to ride better than a sack of turnips afflicted with the gout. There's a mounting block over there."

"Thanks," Kellen said glumly. He'd been reasonably proud of his riding skills, considering the fact that Shalkan moved more like a deer than like a horse — including covering ground with great bounding leaps when moving at top speed.

He walked Deyishene over to the mounting block.

It wasn't that difficult getting into the saddle, but once he had, the ground seemed awfully far away. Deyishene took a few shifting uncertain steps, as if something worried her. Automatically, Kellen leaned forward, clutching at the front of the saddle to steady himself. Deyishene stopped dead.

"Sit up straight," Jermayan called.

"And tuck in your knees," Shalkan added. "And your behind. Rest your weight forward more. Pretend there's a silk scarf between your leg and her, and you daren't let it drop."

So began Kellen's first riding lesson.

Riding did not come as instinctively to him as swordplay had, but his experience with Shalkan, though very different (and no matter what the unicorn said to the contrary), had built a good foundation, and at the end of a couple of hours practice, Kellen felt a lot more confident in the saddle. He was still a long way from mastering the intricate partnership of horse and rider that was ultimately required of knight and destrier, and as yet was unable to ask Deyishene to perform the more sophisticated maneuvers in her repertoire — or to be certain of staying in the saddle if she did.

He had seen the simplest of them; the gait Jermayan called the floating gallop. It was what they had ended their session with it, Deyishene and Valdien following one another around the ring (once Jermayan had been certain Kellen could keep his seat reliably). The two destriers moved as one, from walk, to trot, to canter, to gallop, Deyishene taking her cues, not from Kellen, but from Valdien. Kellen had concentrated on not getting in her way, going up when she did and coming down when she did, and keeping his knees in and heels down. Their hoofbeats struck in perfect rhythm, as if only one animal ran, not two.

Then all at once . . . .

If not silence, then not the hammering thunder he'd heard a moment before. And a sense of stillness, as if he were rocking — or floating — or flying.

Kellen had enough sense — barely — not to grab the reins, or lean forward — or do anything to distract his mount. But it was the oddest sensation, as if the horse beneath him had suddenly become a ghost.

They moved that way for almost a minute, then Valdien dropped back into a normal gallop, and Deyishene mirrored him. The two horses slowed to a walk. Jermayan dropped back beside Kellen.

"Now you see why humans once accused us of riding spirit horses," Jermayan said smugly. "Your lady is too old to keep the pace for long — though she would kill herself trying — but Valdien could run like that for half a day, and face enemy cavalry at the end of it. And were the horses' hooves muffled, an entire cavalry troop would not betray itself in passing by so much as the chink of sword against shield."

Afterward, Jermayan and Valdien demonstrated the things Kellen would learn in the future. Kellen and Shalkan watched as Jermayan and Valdien cantered to the end of the riding ring, then galloped back. Suddenly Valdien stopped dead and lashed out with his heels, then jumped, spun, and kicked out hard in the opposite direction. He reared up, lashing out with gleaming metal-shod forehooves, then sprang off his hindquarters, lithe as a cat, vaulting over an imaginary fallen enemy. He trotted around in a tight circle, then sprang forward, again leaping an imaginary obstacle from a standing start.

"I hope you don't expect me to do that," Shalkan said.

"Oh, do it if you like," Kellen said magnanimously. "Just don't expect me to be on your back when you do." The unicorn could jump like a frog and climb like a mountain goat, but the display Kellen had just seen was mind-bogglingly impressive for a horse — and it certainly explained why the equestrian armor was as flexible and intricate as that of the knights. He wondered how long it had taken Jermayan to train Valdien to do that.

Through all Valdien's acrobatics Jermayan had remained perfectly composed, sitting as comfortably in the saddle as if Valdien moved at a gentle walk. He cantered Valdien around the oval twice and then returned to Kellen and Shalkan.

"Of course," Jermayan said casually, "it does take a certain amount of practice to manage lance and sword while one's mount is engaged in such activity." His tone was so dry that even Kellen recognized he was being ironic. "But as I do not think the Flower Wars will concern you overmuch, perhaps you will not need to concern yourself with the lance. Now it is time to see to your horse, then to your armor, then to soak the stiffness from your limbs. By then, it will be close upon lamp-lighting time, and you will wish to rest yourself in preparation for the numerous exertions of the morrow."

And maybe when I get home, I can ask Idalia if anybody's going to actually DO anything about Shadow Mountain, Kellen thought, suddenly remembering what all this training was going to be for.