On certain occasions, Lord Bolecthindial took his noon meal in his private rooms attended only by those whom he invited to share it. Today he dined with his wife and children, plus his Warlord and Swordmaster, as was only reasonable on the eve of War Season.

"When you sent your heir to scour Farcarinon clean of outlaws and landless mercenaries, my lord husband, I was certain that would be an end to our problems-not a beginning," Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said with poisonous politeness. "How is it that any traitor knight and hedge bandit can enter Oronviel at will, and we must rely for information on the rumors that unnatural creature chooses to spread? She holds her throne by witchery, you know," Glorthiachiel finished idly.

"Mother!" Thorogalas protested halfheartedly.

"Oh, I don't mean Magery," Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said, waving Thorogalas's protests aside. "But there is bad blood in that Line. They are all sly and untrustworthy. Look at what her father did, after all."

"It is nothing more than any of us would have done," Domcariel said, and Runacarendalur glanced at his brother in surprise, for Dom was slow and deliberate off the battlefield as well as on it. "You would be the first to agree, Rune," he added.

"I should be happy to become High King," Runacarendalur said. "I think I would choose a different method, though."

"It cannot possibly work," Gimragiel said. As always, he took their mother's part so thoroughly that he might as well have said nothing and left her to do all the talking. "But think of the disaster to the rest of us when she has lost. If Farcarinon was a refuge of outlaws, Oronviel will be a thousand times worse."

"If I knew precisely what was happening in Oronviel, perhaps I would agree," Lord Bolecthindial said, glaring meaningfully at his Swordmaster.

"You cannot know precisely, that is true, Lord Bolecthindial," Elrinonion said reprovingly. "But it is widely known that no matter what the crime, to go before Oronviel's War Prince and pledge fealty is to be pardoned. As my lord is aware, some insignificant fraction of the Free Companies escaped last year's Harrowing of Farcarinon. They might-perhaps-be assets to an army. But the majority of outlaws are simple thieves who have no training in arms."

"You didn't get Foxhaven and Glasswall, Father," Princess Angiothiel said, biting into a roast dove. "Doesn't Glasswall winter on Sarmiorion land?"

"It doesn't matter if they do," Bolecthindial announced.

"And Foxhaven upon Nantirworiel, though that is even beyond Sarmiorion and the Uradabhur, so it hardly matters." Angiothiel said, stretching out her arm to pluck a candied apricot from the tray in the center of the table. "All I know is if I commanded a Free Company and if I had seen the rest of the Free Companies slaughtered, I'd consider offering my services to the only War Prince who hadn't been involved."

"Don't be foolish, 'Thia," Thorogalas said. "They will fight for whoever pays them. They're a Free Company."

"And Oronviel's coffers are fat," Runacarendalur pointed out. He glanced at Elrinonion. "Surely Oronviel cannot keep everyone from entering and leaving, Lord Elrinonion?"

"Entering is one matter, Prince Runacarendalur. Leaving is another. And Ivrithir is a third. There I have been able to gain some information, but-as Lord Bolecthindial knows-it does not encourage."

"I cannot believe Atholfol has made common cause with Oronviel!" Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said. "How could he repay our care and kindness with such treachery?"

"Perhaps he thinks his taxes are too high," Angiothiel suggested, and Runacarendalur kicked her under the table.

"There is still time for you to be married into Haldil or Bethros," he told his sister. "I'm sure you would enjoy life in the Grand Windsward."

Angiothiel tossed her head and did not reply.

"I did not summon you here to squabble, nor did I summon you to discuss matters," Lord Bolecthindial said. "In two moonturns we ride against Ullilion. The challenges have been sent. The battlefields have been agreed on. To forfeit will mean paying penalties to Ullilion." He paused, regarding Warlord Lengiathion balefully. "Your strategy requires Ivrithir and Oronviel to raid against Cirandeiron so Cirandeiron neither rides to Ullilion's aid nor attacks us while our army is engaged elsewhere. When I sent that Lightborn to Oronviel last autumn to gauge the girl's temper, you told me you were satisfied."

"My lord, Thurion Lightbrother assured me Oronviel would abide by its traditional agreements," Lengiathion said.

"And yet-oddly enough-Thurion Lightbrother is now nowhere to be found. And Sweethallow-your gift to him upon his return to us-stands empty," Runacarendalur pointed out. He wished 'Rulion were back from the Sanctuary. The news would be fresh, and 'Rulion had always been clever enough to fit together a hundred scattered pieces of information to make a round tale of them.

As the others bickered around the table-save for Lengiathion and Elrinonion, who were being vilified for not doing the impossible-Runacarendalur sat lost in his own thoughts. He wished he'd paid more attention to the girl when she'd lived beneath their roof. He ticked off what he knew of her, hoping the facts would make a story. Took the Green Robe. Fled the Sanctuary and vanished beyond the Astromancer's ability to find her. Defeated Oronviel's Warlord-formerly Farcarinon's Warlord-in single combat. Became War Prince, sparing the former War Prince. Declared she would become High King. Began seeking alliances, while at the same time making Oronviel a haven for outlaws. Convinced one of Caerthalien's Lightborn to betray them and aid her cause. Talked Atholfol into sending his armies into Oronviel and allowing Oronviel's armies to hold Ivrithir's borders.

There is something more. Something I am missing. I know that, but I do not know what it may be.

"It is obvious to anyone that this plot is Thoromarth's, not Vieliessar's," Gimragiel said sharply, summoning Runacarendalur's attention back to the table. "This foolishness about her defeating Rithdeliel Warlord in combat-we all know that's impossible! She'd been at the Sanctuary all her life-when would she have learned swordplay? It was done so we would spare our treaty hostages. I say we should send their bodies to Oronviel so Thoromarth knows his deception has been uncovered!"

"And what will that gain us?" Runacarendalur asked. "It will not put an end to any of the things Oronviel is doing."

"Does no one find it odd that Thoromarth executed his dear lady Daustifalal the moment that ungrateful Farcarinon brat entered his domain?" Ladyholder Glorthiachiel demanded, her voice high with anger. "And now the Astromancer acts outside of custom-and the Oronviel Lightborn in training at the Sanctuary have vanished! She has beguiled both of them. Anyone may see it."

Everyone knew Lady Daustifalal was of Aramenthiali, Caerthalien's ancient enemy, yet today she was "dear lady Daustifalal" to Mother. Yet we were quick enough to make common cause with Aramenthiali against Farcarinon, Runacarendalur reminded himself. Not for the first time, he wondered why his mother hated Vieliessar so much-and if she did, why had she agreed to foster her? There'd been no advantage in it.

"This solves nothing," he said abruptly, setting down his eating knife. "Whether Thoromarth rules in Oronviel or not-whether Vieliessar plots with Hamphuliadiel Astromancer or not-Oronviel cannot go on giving sanctuary to everyone who wishes to flee their rightful overlord. Betroth me to Princess Nanduil and I will take an army to Oronviel in her name."

"So quick to surrender Caerthalien, brother?" Princess Ciliphirilir gibed. She had let her twin carry most of the conversation at the meal, but there was not one thought Princess Angiothiel had that Princess Ciliphirilir didn't share.

"The betrothal can be broken as soon as Thoromarth and Vieliessar are dead and their army of rabble scattered," Runacarendalur snapped. "Or would you rather I broke the Code of Battle instead?"

"Perhaps I may be allowed to rule my own domain for a while longer?" Lord Bolecthindial said acidly. "We all agree Oronviel must be dealt with. But let us not see the threat as greater than it is. Next season is soon enough. It has been the work of years to maneuver Ullilion onto the field without Lady Dendinirchiel squalling to Daroldan before time. I will not waste this chance."

Runacarendalur did his best to curb his irritation. This was how warfare was conducted. It always had been. Ullilion was held in clientage by Cirandeiron, and so could ask her aid, but Cirandeiron's aid came at the price of closer entanglement. Daroldan was another Less House: far enough distant it would not seek to take Ullilion from Cirandeiron, close enough it could ask Ullilion's aid and give aid in return. But for the first time, the ponderous ritual dance that preceded War Season struck him as dangerous. Each War Season since the end of the Long Peace had brought another tiny change in their ancient customs. The Beastlings grew bolder, the Less Houses grew more impatient, the High Houses ruthlessly tightened their grip on their weaker neighbors. The Windsward Rebellion had been the first spark laid to tinder that smoldered still. Another such spark, and the Hundred would kindle into war-and such a war as would not respect treaties or the Code of Battle.

"You need not set aside your plans, Father," Runacarendalur said. "A campaign against Oronviel would be brief, over before you are to meet Ullilion's army. I would not even require the levy tailles-such meisnes as the knights of our own lands hold would be sufficient."

"Three thousand horse against Oronviel?" Domcariel said dubiously. "Oronviel can put twice that into the field."

"With time to call them up, yes," Runacarendalur said. "But Lord Elrinonion says they are with Ivrithir. If we attack swiftly, Oronviel will have to take the field with Ivrithir's horse-if they will follow Thoromarth at all-and perhaps a taille or two of mercenaries who will desert once they learn no quarter is to be offered. The thing can be done-if it is done swiftly."

"Yes. Perhaps," Lord Bolecthindial said slowly, in tones that Runacarendalur knew from bitter experience meant he intended to give the impression of fairness and consideration while not changing his views in the least. "But I think you are making the mistake of measuring your adversaries by your own abilities. The girl is a Green Robe who has not lived outside the Sanctuary since she was a child. Thoromarth is timid and unwilling to take the audacious risks that gain the greatest reward. I need no Swordmaster to gather gossip to tell me these things. The plan they have woven between them tells me all. They will dress up servants and farmers in bright armor and arm them with swords, thinking to mislead us. And when the time comes for battle-as it will-those mist-knights will vanish like mist in the sun, just as *Lord' Vieliessar's dreams of the Unicorn Throne will vanish. And Caerthalien will remain."

"Caerthalien will remain a jest on the tongues of the Hundred Houses!" Ladyholder Glorthiachiel cried. "Husband! Speak all you wish of mist and sun and farmers! Oronviel has become a den of wolves!"

"And if it is, Mother, then any den can be easily cleared in springtide, when the wolves are blind pups," Runacarendalur answered. He turned back to his father. "A moonturn-no more-and I shall bring you Thoromarth's and Vieliessar's heads. I will even drive their rabble-army across the border to prey upon Aramenthiali, if that would please you."

"If you do not do this thing," Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said in a steel-hard voice, "Aramenthiali, Cirandeiron, and Telthorelandor will surely wonder if you have made a secret treaty with Oronviel's so-called War Prince. Holding Oronviel, why should she not assert her claim to Farcarinon as well?"

"Because she will be dead!" Bolecthindial roared.

There was a moment of silence.

"You-" he said, glaring balefully at Runacarendalur, "you ride one sennight from today. Tomorrow you are betrothed to Princess Nanduil. She will accompany you to Oronviel. And you, my lady wife," Bolecthindial said, turning to Glorthiachiel, "you will accompany the princess-and the army-so you can have the pleasure of seeing Nataranweiya's brat slain." Bolecthindial returned his attention to Runacarendalur. "I expect you to return with every knight you ride with. I expect my army back a moonturn after it rides, whether you have yet engaged Oronviel or no. And I say this: if this campaign you so ardently desire costs me my victory over Ullilion, you will heartily wish you had died in Oronviel."

Bolecthindial didn't wait for an answer, but pushed himself to his feet. The others-all save Glorthiachiel-rose hastily, standing in silence as the War Prince strode from the room.

The door slammed.

"Dining with Father is always so interesting," Princess Angiothiel said happily.

INTERLUDE TWO.

KNOWLEDGE AND TREACHERY.

To discover how the Elfling had managed to escape into death in the heart of the World Without Sun became King Virulan's obsession. He gave Uralesse command of the Dark Guard and sent it forth to hunt-this time not for sport nor for food, but for knowledge.

First Uralesse scoured the Goldengrass, and found it empty from the Winnowing Sea in the east to the shores of Graythunder Glairyrill. West of the Glairyrill, he found those creatures he was accustomed to find: Centaur and Minotaur, Bearward and Faun, Hippogriff and Aesalion and Gryphon. All of these were of the Silver, and to each of them had been given some spark of Light. Many of them had fanned that spark into magic, though no sorcery they possessed was so much as a guttering ember by comparison to that with which He Who Is had blessed His most glorious creation. The merest touch of the Endarkened had always been enough to drain their power to nothing.

Uralesse went next to the cities and great castels of the Teeth of the Moon, and found them deserted, crumbling away to dust.

There were no answers there. And so he sought his answers in the only place that remained.

The Elfling died in silence. Every scream, every whimper, every tear had been taken from him during the moonturns of his agony. Uralesse gazed into the sightless eyes, already clouding in death.

He was no closer to an answer.

He had discovered the silver cord that linked the Elven spellcrafters to the source of their power. He had traced that cord back to its wellspring, summoned Lesser Endarkened to the World Above and drove them with whips and threats into each one. Sometimes the Lesser Endarkened died. Sometimes the Flower Forest died. Uralesse was no closer to the answer King Virulan had demanded of him. That the Elflings wielded any magic at all was nothing more than a mockery of the Endarkened. Once the Elflings had possessed no magic. Then they did.

Some unknown enemy challenged the inevitable victory of the Endarkened.

"We must attack now, my liege," Uralesse said. "We are many and powerful. Surely victory will be ours."

"Do you say so, dear Uralesse?" King Virulan answered. "Then tell me this: who gave to the Elflings the sorcery that courses through their veins?"

"It is but weak..." Uralesse said, daring to protest.

"You do not answer me, my dear brother," Virulan said. He cupped Uralesse's face in his taloned hand caressingly-then clamped his hand tight, his talons shearing through scarlet flesh. Golden ichor welled over his fingers, his claws grated over bone and fang. Uralesse did not dare even to whimper in pain.

Virulan released his grip with a shove that sent Uralesse sprawling to the blood-sanctified floor of the Heart of Darkness.

"Find my answers," Virulan said softly, beginning to lick his fingers clean.

Uralesse came no more to the Audience Chamber, nor was he to be found anywhere within the World Without Sun, and Virulan came to believe he had chosen exile over confession of failure. Virulan sought him in the Obsidian Mirror and discovered there were now places he could not see. It had been a long time-hundreds of centuries, as the Brightworlders reckoned time-since he had gazed into the Mirror, and now there were places of ... blankness.

A Brightworlder would have said they were dark, but there was no darkness to those who lived in the World Without Sun. The blankness spread, he discovered, from those places where the Elfling Mages drew their power. Some, Virulan's sorcery permitted him to penetrate, allowing the Obsidian Mirror to show him vague and misty shadows. Others remained blank no matter his efforts.

If Uralesse seeks to hide in such a place, that is nearly punishment enough, Virulan thought. But he cannot conceal himself in such stinking precincts forever. And when he emerges ...

Then Virulan would teach Uralesse the true cost of disappointing his king.

But that was a pleasure he was willing to defer for a time, for there were other matters to concern him. The Endarkened continued to hunt the Elflings for sport, but now, the hunting parties began to report failure where they had once only boasted of success. They had become used to tracking their quarry by the stink of Brightworld sorcery flowing through its veins, for the stench was unmistakable and penetrating. But now, fewer and fewer of the Elvenkind reeked of magic. It was another change in creatures that already changed far too fast for Virulan's taste. He distrusted it.

And at last, Uralesse returned to Shadow Mountain.

Virulan had him dragged to the foot of the Shadow Throne in iron chains heated red-hot by magic. The stink of Uralesse's eternally burning eternally regenerating flesh was sweet incense in his nostrils.

"You left me, my brother," Virulan said, pouting. "You left me for a long time."

"I ... sought to fulfill your command, my liege, my master, my king," Uralesse answered, gasping with pain. "I have discovered what you seek. I have found that power which granted magic to the Elflings."

Virulan raised his lambent gaze from the sweet spectacle of Uralesse's suffering, frowning in thought. There was no power in the universe as great as the power He Who Is had given to the Endarkened ... but it was not any part of Virulan's plans to provide his subjects with every sharp stick and large stone of the Brightworlders' armory. He inspected the avidly curious expressions of his courtiers' faces for a long moment before coming to a decision.

"Leave us," he commanded.

His court obeyed him reluctantly. Uralesse was not the first of the Endarkened to be erased from existence by their king's wrath, nor even the first of the Thirteen to suffer his fury. But Uralesse was surely the greatest of them to be brought low, and all the Endarkened wished to relish his pain and his punishment.

"Now," Virulan said, when they were alone. "Speak."

"I cannot-" Uralesse began, his words strangled by agony as a gesture from Virulan caused the chains to tighten around him, their heat kindling from red to orange. His skin split from the heat and the pressure; drops of golden ichor welled up to be charred to ash instantly. "I must- The Mirror! The Mirror!"

Virulan permitted the chains to loosen, to cool. "What of the Mirror, my beloved?" he purred.

"I must-I must show you," Uralesse gasped. "In the Mirror! Then you will see-I have never betrayed you, my liege! My heart beats as yours, my only desire the scouring of the Bright World!"

"Truly?" Virulan said, as if he had been suddenly convinced. He rose to his feet, and as he did, the chains loosened further and fell from Uralesse's body. "Then let us go at once."

And if Uralesse's information disappointed him, there was another chamber, beneath that of the Obsidian Mirror, that would be Uralesse's last sight in the world of Time and Matter.

The Mirror Chamber was just as it had been in the long ago time when Virulan first forged it. Walls, ceiling, and floor were all of mirror-bright obsidian, so that even within its lightless compass, Virulan and Uralesse seemed to walk through an infinite realm, in which they, too, became infinite.

Both brighter and darker than that which contained it was the Obsidian Mirror itself. It seemed to draw into its polished surface even the memory and possibility of light, radiating the breath of the Void as a forge might radiate heat.

"It is ... beautiful," Uralesse said softly. He, like the rest of the Endarkened, had known of the Mirror-for Virulan made no secret of his greatest weapon-but until this moment, none save their king had been privileged to gaze upon it.

"You have but to think of what you wish to see, and it will appear," Virulan said proudly.

"And so I shall, my master," Uralesse vowed. He knew that to disappoint his liege here would mean his death; there would be no second chance to prove his loyalty. "But first I must tell you why I hid. It was not from you, my king. Never that. But from that which I knew to be my quarry. It took me a year of Bright World time to weave about me such spells as would utterly disguise my true nature."

He saw King Virulan frown. A sorcery such as he had just described was unheard-of among the Endarkened. More to the point, it was unnecessary, for the Endarkened were the greatest sorcerers Above or Below.

"It was needed," he said quickly. "We had never suspected the existence of that which I came to hunt, for it always fled before we sensed it. Had we done so ... we would have seen the source of Elfling Magery at once."

"Enough of your babble," Virulan growled. "Show me-and then tell me why you did not slay it and bring me its body to prove your claim."

Uralesse bowed his head in quick submission. He turned to the Mirror and concentrated.

The Bright World appeared. The whole sweep of it was held in the curve of the Obsidian Mirror, bounded by high crags to the north, burning desert to the south, trackless water on either side. Patches of numinous blankness dotted the image.

"Some are Wardings," Uralesse said. "Some are strongholds of the Light."

"Do not show me what I have already seen and tell me it is my answer," Virulan said dangerously.

"I do not, my king!" Uralesse protested. "Only, see-here-"

The image changed, the patches of blankness vanishing as Uralesse focused on what he meant to show: a high meadow, where a waterfall spilled from the height into a crystal pool. The meadow was edged by dense forest, whose misty seeming showed it was a wellspring of the Light.

From the edge of the forest, a Unicorn stepped.