Understanding bloomed suddenly. "Oh! I thought it just...meant something. I didn't realize..."

Shaw smiled. "You thought that someone had to tell you what it meant before you would know, but that's what makes reading special. If a young telshee, lost or injured, wandered into this cave, she would know the value of this pool. If we lose this territory to lishties or some other disaster and are gone from this place for a thousand years, our children, returning, will find these marks and know our opinion of this place."

Storm felt a surge of excitement. "I've seen those marks in caves all through the boulder mazes."

Shaw looked pleased. "You are observant. If you know how to interpret them, those words can tell you many things. Sometimes, they indicate a tunnel that leads into telshee territory. Sometimes, they show a hiding place, a spring with freshwater, or a cool, dry cave for storing meat. They may be cryptic, though, if it was thought that an enemy might see them.

"Other words may not be intended for you or for posterity-a message left for a friend, a memorial after a battle, the spot where someone died. Writing fades if it's not refreshed, and the ferryshaft have not used the craft these many years. I suspect that the markings you find may be only half readable."

Storm thought about that. "Why would the ferryshaft stop teaching their foals to read? It seems useful."

Shaw growled. "Treaty law. I'm sure Arcove forbade it. He does not want the ferryshaft to remember their past."

As soon as Storm was able to stand and walk easily, Shaw declared it was time to leave the healing pool and go deeper into Syriot. Storm was a little sad to leave. He'd felt safe here. Shaw was teaching him to read. "But Syra-lay will be happy to do that...I hope."

"You keep mentioning him," said Storm as they walked. The tunnel was dark, and he crowded close to Shaw. "Is he your king?"

"As much as telshees have kings, I suppose. When she was young, we called her Keesha." There was no mistaking the fondness in Shaw's voice.

Storm c.o.c.ked his head. "Was she...he...your mate?"

Shaw laughed. "He might have fathered a few of my pups. I might even have fathered a few of hers."

Storm shook his ears at the strangeness of this.

"When our pups hatch," Shaw continued, "they drink our milk and play in our dens, and when they are strong enough, they go away into the sea. The most adventurous swim down into the roots of the mountain where there are otherways. Most of our pups never return. Many die in their travels. Others find a home on distant sh.o.r.es and forget the place of their birth. However, the strongest return after many years, to breed. Our eggs only seem to quicken in this place, in the warm, deep pools among the acriss."

She glanced back at her drove-the group of telshees trailing behind them. "Lothlia and Thul have come back to us. This is their first returning. It may be their last, or it may not. They are the largest of this group, and they will lay eggs before they leave again. The others have not yet taken their first leaving."

Storm was fascinated. "You swim to other places...other islands?"

Shaw smiled. "Why do you think we call this island 'Lidian'? Why call it anything if it is the only place? No, Storm, there are many places-lands so huge you can hardly imagine. Lidian is a small place. A special place."

"Why is it special?" Storm could think of nothing more ordinary than his own home.

Shaw laughed-a smooth chuckle that reverberated in the dark tunnel. "You land creatures! You live here in the mouth of an ancient volcano on a fault line between the worlds. You flicker in and out of phase in a thousand realms, and every now and then, the old volcano belches a little magic. You are fantastic and amazing and only half real...and you don't even know it. You live out your petty lives, never guessing the impossible truth. Any sailor can find Lidian...any sailor in a thousand worlds. But only if they have one of us to guide them."

Storm did not understand, but he wanted to. "What are the others places like?"

Shaw was silent a moment. "Ask Keesha that question."

Chapter 3. A Minor Problem.

It was a warm summer evening in Leeshwood, and Arcove and Roup were engaged in the time-honored tradition of offering their offspring marginally unhelpful advice. "You're pouncing where it is," called Roup. "You need to pounce where it's going."

"I am where it's going," sputtered his daughter.

"No, you're where it was."

The mouse had, indeed, pa.s.sed her.

A smug friend returned it to the circle a moment later, only to lose it immediately upon deposit. Her brother pinned the mouse, then lost it as Roup's cub barreled into him. The training was, if nothing else, vastly entertaining.

"This whole exercise would be easier if you did not work at cross-purposes," called Arcove. "Cooperate."

"We are cooperating!"

"If you say so."

The three yearling cubs were scampering around a circle scratched in the dirt. It was, perhaps, two of their lengths across. Within the circle, a mouse darted in first one direction and then another. The cubs were supposed to keep the mouse in the circle without injuring it. So far, the mouse had been out more often than in.

"Whaf if I jus hol it in my mouf?" asked Arcove's son.

"I don't see how you'll learn much about hunting that way," said Arcove.

The cub dropped the mouse in the circle, and it escaped immediately. His sister pinned it under one foot, then another, then executed a flip as she tried to follow it.

"Bat," said Roup, trying to choke down laughter. "You bat it, not step on it. Or you could just keep running into each other."

"Or you two could just go away!" shouted his daughter. "I think that would be really helpful."

There was a squeak and an unhappy crunch as Arcove's son landed too roughly. All three stopped at once, and Arcove came over to a.s.sess the damage. The offending cub tucked his tail and turned his head to one side. "Sorry." The injured mouse moved weakly. Arcove scooped it up, chewed once, and swallowed.

There was a chorus of unhappy voices. "Aw, Dad! Come on! One more? Please!"

"You can have all the more you want," said Arcove. "The meadow is that way."

"But-"

"Practice again tomorrow. If you perform to our satisfaction, we'll help you catch more mice. In the meantime, go try to do it yourselves."

The cubs padded away, grumbling. They were at an age when they badly wanted meat, but their parents insisted they learn to catch it themselves.

The wind shifted, and Roup looked around. Another adult creasia was sitting among the trees a little distance away. He stood and came padding over.

"Halvery," rumbled Arcove. "It's good to see you. How are things by the lake?" Halvery's territory extended along the edge of Chelby Lake, and it was a popular spot at this time of year when the weather was hot.

"Evening, Arcove." There was an infinitesimal pause, and then he added, "Roup."

Arcove twitched his head in the direction of the clearing. "Walk with us. We promised to keep an eye on those three, little as they think they need it."

Halvery smiled. "There's nothing more fearless than a yearling cub with a belly full of milk."

"True. You're welcome to bring one or two of yours. We could have a ma.s.sive mouse-circle."

Roup and Halvery laughed at the same time. "Maybe if we start them early enough, they'll get along," said Roup with a twinkle.

Halvery ignored that. "It's a long walk for a yearling," he said. "I came to see you about something else. Have you noticed any irregularities with game lately?"

They'd reached the Great Clearing-the largest in the wood, where the rare a.s.semblies took place. The three cubs were engaged in a mock battle a short distance away in the long gra.s.s. "Mice!" called Roup. "You're here for mice! You can chew on each other back at the den!"

Three heads popped up. "We are, Dad!"

"You are what? Chewing on each other?"

"No, we're hunting!"

"Forgive me. I must have forgotten what that looks like. Carry on."

Behind him, Halvery said, "The deer are scarce this year-scarcer than I've ever seen them. There are fewer fish than I'd expected as well. The lower ranking members of my clutter are feeling it. I was wondering whether you'd noticed anything up here near the cliffs."

Arcove frowned. "Actually...yes. I hadn't taken a count, but-" He glanced at Roup.

"I mentioned it yesterday," said Roup. "It looks to me like too many of the pregnant does were killed this winter. They didn't throw enough fawns. Right now, those fawns should be feeding us, and they're not, so creasia have been killing more adult deer than usual, which only adds to the problem."

Halvery looked relieved. "I'm glad it's not just my clutter. I had been lecturing them about their hunting practices, but they all swear that they haven't been doing anything out of the ordinary. No one has seen signs of sickness in the deer, either. We haven't found them dying of disease. They're just...gone. I talked to Sharmel on the way here. He said that some of his oldest cats died this spring, and starvation was a factor. It wasn't the only factor, but-"

"But that's troubling," said Arcove. He watched his lieutenant for a moment. "You have an idea of what's causing it?"

"Yes." Halvery wasn't normally one to hedge, but he seemed uncomfortable. "Some of my cats claim to have seen Treace's cats pulling down a pregnant doe."

"Ah." Treace had the most remote of the officer's territories. It was the largest, but also the most game-poor, located in the far southeast corner of the wood. It adjoined Halvery's territory near the lake. "You think Treace's cats have been practicing poor game management?" asked Arcove.

"He's been taking on a lot of rogues over the last two years," said Halvery. "They disappeared from my territory, and for a while, I thought they'd died, but later I started seeing them in his. Many of those cats were rogues for a reason. They were rejected from dens and clutters because they're unstable. They disobey orders. I'm thinking that Treace took them because he wants to have the biggest clutter in Leeshwood. What young male doesn't want that? But now he can't handle them, and it's becoming a problem."

Arcove and Roup were silent for a moment. In the distance, the cubs squealed with laughter.

"Technically," continued Halvery, "Sharmel is his superior officer, and should go talk to him, but-"

"But Sharmel is getting gray around the muzzle," finished Roup, "and Treace wants to fight him. He's next in line."

"Exactly," said Halvery, "and I want to address the game problem, not orchestrate a fight. So I am going to speak to him, but I thought I would talk to you first."

"Thank you for that," said Arcove. "Did you ask Ariand whether he's noticed anything? His territory adjoins Treace's as well."

"No. I wasn't sure whether that would be...productive."

"They seem to have made up after their fight," said Roup in a speculative voice. "They were quite friendly at the last council meeting. Do you think Ariand would relay whatever you said to Treace?"

"Possibly," said Halvery. "In any case, Treace now outranks Ariand, so even if he knows there's a problem, it's not his place to address it."

"I could call a council meeting..." offered Arcove.

"Respectfully, sir, I think I can handle this."

"No," said Roup abruptly, "you can't. I'll go check on Treace. Stay in your own territory, Halvery."

Halvery looked surprised. Roup made endless snide remarks, but he never pulled rank. Never. His voice didn't sound snide now, though. It sounded like an order.

"Excuse me?"

Roup looked at him levelly, "I will check on Treace. If I think there's something you can do about him, I will let you know."

Halvery began to bristle. "You think I can't take that little rat's pizzle in a fight?"

"I think you can't take his whole clutter," said Roup calmly.

Halvery exploded. "The day I can't walk into another officer's territory and deal with a...a minor game problem-!"

"Will be the day you die, yes; that is what I'm worried about."

Halvery was bristling all over now. Arcove watched them without a word.

"Halvery," said Roup, employing the same tone he used with the cubs. "Treace sees you as a threat. He does not see me as a threat."

A shadow pa.s.sed over them.

"That's because you're not," snapped Halvery.

"I hope Treace shares your opinion."

A snarl interrupted them. Roup and Halvery turned to see Arcove bounding across the clearing at the same moment that an ely-ary dropped out of the sky. They went after him at a run, but Arcove reached the cubs an instant before anyone else.

He was just in time. The giant eagle checked its dive and flapped for a moment above the ground, talons outstretched, beak open in a thwarted scream. Arcove crouched below it-his ruff standing as high as his ears, teeth bared to the gums. He tried to slap at the ely-ary, but his claws fell short, and he could not move without exposing the cubs. He roared, and the cubs shrieked and cowered beneath him.

For one second, the ely-ary appeared ready to strike Arcove. Then Roup sprang at it from the side, knocking the startled eagle from the air. The ely-ary screamed in surprise, snapping at Roup with its beak. It could not bring its deadly talons into play, as it was trying to stand on them. It flapped its ma.s.sive wings and bounced up, hissing, but before it could strike again, Halvery came at it from behind. He landed on its back, and his jaws closed around its neck.

The huge bird gave another cry, this time of anguish, and tried to launch itself into the air. It succeeded for a few beats, Halvery clinging doggedly to its back, and then they came down hard. Roup and Arcove were waiting. They each latched onto a wing, and spread the creature between them, its talons thrashing uselessly as Halvery crushed the life from it.

When the bird was finally still, they all stood panting. The cubs stared wide-eyed. Arcove turned to them, still bristling. "Cooperation," he thundered. "That's what it looks like. You can do it...even if you're acting like cubs." He said the last to Roup and Halvery, neither of whom met his eyes.

Roup was bleeding from the chest where the bird's beak had caught him. The wound was not deep, and he said so. Halvery was limping a little from the fall. "It's amazing how high they can get with an adult creasia!" he muttered, licking his paw.

The cubs had gathered around the dead bird, exclaiming and taking experimental nips in the long feathers. "Can we eat it?" one asked.

"You can try," said Roup. "You're not going to like the way it tastes. Not unless you're very hungry."

"These things have gotten aggressive lately," said Halvery, glaring at the eagle. "Only a few days ago, one plucked a two-year-old cub out of the lake. By all the ghosts, I hope this is the same one."

Arcove frowned.