Galadon motioned me to follow, and I settled my mind into emptiness as I walked the path behind him. It was a way we'd not traveled before, leading into a denser part of the forest, where the spreading firs were so thick they held off most of the rain. The muddy path wound upward, little patches of old snow gleaming dirty white in the faint light from Galadon's hand. The rain brought out the perfume of the thawing earth and the ancient carpet of pine needles.

There was more disturbance to the night than the approaching storm. The air was ripe with sorcery. Even without shifting I could feel it. My breathing slowed as if an anvil rested on my chest; my skin quivered as if the boundaries of my body were the boundaries of the universe, and whatever lay beyond those boundaries was altogether different than it was before that night. Don't think. Don't guess. This is all part of your preparation. What comes, comes.

Firelight flickered through the trees ahead of us, but before I could see what manner of place lay there, Galadon stopped and handed me a strip of linen to bind my eyes. I thought nothing of it. He'd had me do it a number of times over the past days to make sure I could still function without sight. One never knew what might come in a demon battle. I would just pay closer attention to my other senses.

But this time he set me no puzzle, only used his stick to bid me follow him again. I listened to his steps. Slow and careful on the rocks and roots that protruded from the soft ground. His left hip was bothering him. I could hear it in his uneven step and in the slight hitch in his breathing when he would put weight on it. Curve slightly to the right. We were out of the trees. Rain drizzled on my head and shoulders, though not enough to soak the gray wool cloak.

Steps... three ... and a flat stone floor. Galadon's shuffling sandals echoed faintly, and no more rain fell on my head, so there was a roof. Walls, too, but not surrounding us entirely for I could still feel the rain-scented breeze. And the fire was there . .. pine boughs ... and a few grains of jasnyr had been thrown in it, making the smoke sweet so it did not burn the eyes. We were in a temple!

Instantly I could feel the five pairs of stone columns around me and the simple domed roof over my head. Somewhere the floor would be inlaid with mosaics depicting centuries of struggle with the demons. This one likely had the new chapter added-about the Derzhi conquest and the flight from Ezzaria.

This was an interesting variation of Galadon's teaching. He was going to set me another puzzle, of course, and wanted to immerse me in the vision as if it were a real battle. I would watch the scene play out or perhaps make some attempt to do the fighting myself, then he would pull me out and quiz me on what I'd seen: the moves, the mistakes, the hidden meanings, the riddles that could be wrapped in the land or the weather or the structures or the inhabitants, Everything had meaning in the landscape of the human soul, "Recite Ioreth."

I bowed and settled myself on the floor, palms open and relaxed on my knees.

I spoke the words of Ioreth's Chant, part of a Warden's preparation before going into battle.

"Again."

I recited it again, this time trying to go beyond rote words, to ease myself into the rhythm, let them take me into a state of separation from the world. As if he knew I had gone as far as I could without melydda, Galadon took my hand and placed in it... another hand ... slender, soft...

The portal opened into blistering heat. The path was steady beneath my feet, and I stepped through instantly, curious to see what manner of riddle Galadon had set me. I stood on a rocky precipice under twin red suns, looking down on a landscape of death. Parched, cracked red earth stretched as far as I could see. Jagged pinnacles of rock jutted out of the caked land like grotesque game pieces. Orange clouds stained the horizon, and a screaming vulture dived through the air after... what? I squinted into the hot glare, but couldn't see the prey. Galadon would rail at me for miss- ing it. I tried to banish such thoughts and immerse myself in the lesson.

Concentrate. See what lies here in this life-destroying heat. What is the meaning of the landforms, so harsh, so devoid of life, the spa.r.s.e, tangled scrub that could never bloom in such desolation? What dangers lie hidden in the rocks or the smeared clouds? Is the vulture the enemy or is something else lurking, waiting for the warrior who will come?

The land trembled beneath my feet. Out on the seared plains several of the towering rock stacks toppled, raising clouds of red dust, and wide cracks opened in the land. My spine tightened with foreboding. Galadon was a master at creating practice illusions. I had died a thousand times in his creations, astonished to find myself still breathing when he pulled me out.

But this one . .. how was it possible that I could taste the faint traces of sulfur in the hot wind and feel the grit of sand between my teeth?

I needed to see what lay at the bottom of the cliffs on which I stood, but I could not convince myself to walk to the edge and peer downward. I would be too visible outlined against the orange sky. Foolish. This is an illusion like all the rest. Nothing more. He's just convinced an Aife to help him, to make it more real. Yet I sank to my knees and crept across the hot rocks.

At the bottom of the cliff was a warren of rocks, sharp, dangerous spires reaching a quarter of the way up the cliff. It was impossible to penetrate the thick shadows between them. The flat light shifted subtly, and in an instant the shadows were gone and I could examine the deep clefts and crannies.

Nothing moved. Yet there was something....

My hand slipped on the loose talus, and ah edge of rock bit into it, cutting the skin, leaving a thin line of blood seeping from the cut. I stared at the blood.

Touched it. Tasted it. In a vision you did not bleed-not blood that you could taste. What have you done, master?

Before I could reset my mind to consider that the place I stood was real, the dust haze far to my left parted to reveal a shimmering rectangle-a portal. A tiny figure stepped through, too distant for me to see his face, though I could hear his booming voice clearly. "I am the Warden, sent by the Aife, Scourge of Demons, to challenge you for this vessel. Hyssad! Begone!"

There! One of the stacks of rock in the shadows of the cliff moved, but there was no quaking of the earth to cause it. Did the Warden see it? A piercing glint of light from the warrior's hand ... the knife. My right hand ached for the silver knife and my left for the smooth, palm-sized oval of the Luthen mirror- the artifact from our ancient past that could paralyze a demon by showing it its own reflection.

The warrior moved forward slowly. Hunting. Examining the landscape as I had done. Would he see the lurking danger? Would he locate the source of the demon music that grated on the soul like steel on gla.s.s? Was the warrior real, too, or was he some masterful creation of my mentor?

If he was real, then how was this possible? Two portals in the same soul. It was the Warden's burden ... to be alone in the domain of evil. And how could I have come to such a place unprepared, without sharing in the Aife's weaving that made the pa.s.sage possible?

"I reject your challenge, vermin." The voice echoed from the rocks, twisting my stomach with revulsion at the sound of it. "I claim this vessel for my own.

Its food is rich and satisfies me beyond any I have tasted."

The landscape shuddered. More vents gaped in the plain, spewing foul- smelling smoke. For an instant the sky darkened. With an explosive clap, a crack ripped through the rock where I lay prostrate. I rolled to the right, and when my gaze settled on the plain once again, the warrior and the monster were already engaged. How had it happened so quickly? Somewhere a tormented victim was screaming in agony at the wrenching horror in his head.

The monster had separated itself from the rocks that disguised it. It was red and lumpy, its shape that of a huge caterpillar, but with legs as thick as trees and huge paws at the end of each appendage. Its eyes were set into bony hollows, its neck ringed with jagged cartilage. The hide would be thick and tough; to find the vulnerable spot would require long and careful testing. Yet the Warden had already transformed the silver knife into a spear.

Why a spear? What had he seen that I had missed? A spear, once thrown, is useless. You have to be sure. They had scarcely begun their battle.

The Warden dodged a blow from the monster's bulbous paw. Gracefully, for such a large man. A very large man, I realized, considering the distance between us. Broad-shouldered. Tall. He feinted with the spear. A give and take of moves and parries. Slowly. Precisely. Like a dance where all the steps were known and practiced. After only a few exchanges, the monster rose up on its hind end, waving its six legs and bellowing in ear-shattering defiance.

The Warden dodged another blow, then launched the spear. It lodged low in the creature's belly. Green foulness spurted from the wound, slathering the warrior and the red dirt.

The land trembled when the beast toppled and lay still. Now, I thought, my tense body urging the man to hurry, to finish the deed before the moment was past, even while my mind wondered at the shape of the battle. Take it now. It must be now.

As if at my bidding the warrior raised his left hand high and a glare of brilliant silver shot from it as he spoke. "Hyssad, rai-kirah. Begone or die."

Watch out! I flinched-for some reason thinking the man in danger, when he was clearly in control. With his right hand, the Warden wrenched the spear away, changed the weapon into a broadsword, and slashed the monster's belly from its neck to its hind end, loosing its entrails that dried and shriveled instantly in the heat.

Then came a mind-ripping scream of fury as made a shengar's cry no more than an infant's whimper. Demons loathed the Luthen mirror. They could not resist looking at it, though they knew the consequences. Only in the instant their physical form was dead could you capture them with it, for only then would they see their demon aspect rather than the physical being. Timing was all.

The scream told me that the warrior had succeeded in taking the demon captive, yet something jarred me about the scene, beyond the unbelievable speed of its resolution. Even as the man changed the sword back to a silver knife, ready to dispatch the demon should it choose death, I tried to recapture what I had seen. What was wrong?

A first-year student could have picked it out. The timing! The warrior had dispatched the monster after he had raised the mirror. But the mirror was only effective after the physical beast was dead. I had flinched because the demon beast had moved just before the sword bit into its gut. Too quick. Too easy. The Warden didn't have the demon in his control. I wanted to cry out a warning, but I was drowned out by the bellowing demon. Because it was outside of physical form, it spoke in its own nerve-sc.r.a.ping voice, using the demon language, a tongue so vile you studied it only in daylight, lest your nights be forever filled with words of dread. "Never will I yield to such whining sc.u.m as you. Take me if you can."

The knife flashed, the silver Warden's knife that could be changed to whatever weapon was needed, that could slice through the incorporeal body of a demon if you could calculate exactly where that was. The faint mournful wail of a dying demon floated on the cooling breeze. The light began to brighten. The warrior knelt and opened his arms wide to embrace victory and peace.

But I had no peace. There had been no demon captured, so no demon was dead. Since I existed in that place, I would have felt it. Every demon death was a palpable alteration in the aspect of the universe. That was why we were so wary of killing them all. The change would be so monumental, we believed that nature could not tolerate it. Better to keep fighting than to destroy the very thing you were out to protect. But this one ... This demon was gone, but still alive. Unbound. This scene was all wrong.

"Warden, I challenge this claim of victory. This sham. This craven falsehood."

The thundering voice spoke the very thoughts in my head, but its source was a white-haired figure in a blue cloak who had walked onto the battlefield while I wasn't looking. Galadon.

I rubbed my eyes and shifted senses back and forth, but still I saw what was impossible. Incredible enough that I was present, somehow able to observe a battle beyond a true portal, but now another had come there, and two humans faced each other on the battlefield.

The warrior was astonished also. "How in Verdonne's name came you here, wicked old man?"

Blast and curse all treachery. The Warden was Rhys. No one but the three of us-Rhys, Ysanne, and myself-had ever dared call Galadon "wicked old man."

"You think you have explored the depth and breadth of power, Warden, but it is only the depth and breadth of corruption. There are many aspects of melydda beyond those you know."

"I know you have no business in this place ... and neither do I anymore. This battle is done. There is no sham. Let's get out, then you will explain how it's possible for you to be here."

"You claim your business is done. Yet you have allowed a demon to leave this vessel unbound-yes, I saw it. You claim victory, yet it walks the earth again, free to take another for its pleasure. What mockery have you made of your oath?"

"You're mad, old man. I killed the demon, as I've killed every one of them for ten years. It's why they stay away from us and adhere to our bargain. No wonder you've twisted the ways of the world to follow me here. You're afraid to face me with this accusation on a human plane where all can see how you've grown feeble with age."

"I fear nothing save that your corruption continues unchecked. You will bring our people to ruin, and the rest of the world alongside."

"You don't know what you're talking about. If it weren't for me, we would all be dead." Rhys turned his back and walked off in the direction of the portal.

Galadon called after him. "You've not answered my chal- lenge, boy. I demand satisfaction from you. Here. Now. Before your wickedness goes any further."

Rhys halted and looked back. "You can't mean this. I have no grievance with you ... save perhaps your everlasting blindness."

"Others will know of this violation unless you silence me this day."

What was Galadon doing?

Rhys hesitated, then strolled back toward our mentor. The old man leaned on his staff, the hot wind fluttering his white hair and blue robe. The two were so far away, yet I could hear them clearly, and through their words envision the stubborn resolve on Galadon's face and the nervous c.o.c.kiness on Rhys's.

Yet it was not just fury that flowed from Rhys, but long-held pain and bitterness. "Who would believe you? They'll see only the great teacher overtaken by age and grief when faced with the ruin of his favorite. Do you think my old friend can save us by playing at Warden's training? Oh, yes, I've watched your games with him these past few nights. Sixteen years, old man.

He cannot light a candle with his melydda. You've been afraid to test him, because you know it's true. You just can't bear to give up the hope. Perhaps it's time you gave a little thought to the rest of us."

"He is the Warrior. He will find what he needs. He will save us all-Ezzarian and Derzhi and Khelid. He was bora for it."

"What care have we for the Derzhi or the Khelid or the cursed Empire they desire? Let them exterminate each other. We'll take care of whatever is left.

Send your failed pupil back to his slave masters, old man. It is I who's done what's necessary to save us, because you were too busy mourning a dead man." Rhys was only a few paces away from the figure in blue.

Galadon extended his arms to Rhys. "It is not your reason that speaks such cruelty, lad. Even now your jealous heart echoes the desires of rai-kirah, as it did the day you abandoned your dearest friend to slavers and tainted yourself with corruption. As it has since the day you lost your first battle and sold your soul to hide it. Did you think I wouldn't guess what happened all those years ago? Did you think you could make such a bargain and never have to pay the price?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"It is not too late. Put it away, my son. See your own gifts and crave not those that were never meant for you. Or tell me how long it will be until you look into your own mirror and see the eyes of a demon."

With a roar Rhys raised his knife and changed it into a sword. Galadon did likewise with his staff. Though a formidable warrior in his youth, he would never have been a match for Rhys. Frantically I looked for a way down from the precipice. As far as I could see to the right or the left was a sheer drop to the razor-edged rocks below. Endless wastes behind me. There was no time.

Rhys's sword ripped Galadon's shoulder, and the old man stumbled backward. Grotesque laughter a.s.saulted my ears. From wherever he had gone, the demon watched and fed. Galadon stayed on his feet, but his sword wavered in the orange light. Rhys feinted, causing Galadon to stagger left, but the old man recovered and nicked Rhys with a powerful stroke. In pained rage Rhys beat Galadon back and back and back....

I could not permit it. Such a storm of anger and indignation came over me that I was incapable of reason or doubt. Galadon was going to die at the hand of my friend, and a demon was growing stronger as it happened. I could not stand back and watch it.

I closed my eyes and reached into the depths of my being, ripping away layer upon layer of fear and horror, pain and despair, shutting out grief, cooling anger, focusing my inner eye upon the essence, the core that gave shape to the soul named Seyonne. There I grasped the cold hard knot that lay where melydda had once lived, and I breathed upon it, willing it to take fire.

Without waiting to see what came of my working, I opened my eyes, stepped forward, and dived off the rocky precipice.

Chapter 29.

I had no thoughts to spare for panic in that initial gut-wrenching plummet from the cliffs. I was desperately trying to remember what to do next. The words. Caedwyrrdin mesaffthyla. The movements. Hands just above your head, fingertips together, not clasped lest the jolt break your fingers. The legs, straight and spread wide to slow your fall Your back arched forward slightly to bear the strain. The senses. Feel the air. Read it, every nuance like the words on a page. Where are the rising airs? Where are the dangerous downdrafts? Be ready. No doubts. Doubts make you weak, and for this, strength is everything.

I could not watch the battle on the plains, only cry out a quick promise. "Hold on, master. I'll come for you. I will." And even that was obliterated when the fire began to burn in my shoulders. Oh, G.o.ds of earth and sky ... it came, rippling along my arms and back like the searing touch of lightning. In that fleeting instant I thought of Aleksander and the torment of his transformation. How differently such agony can be perceived. For when my wings unfurled and came near yanking my shoulders from their sockets, and as I bent my bones and strained my muscles to their searing limits to bring them under control, I cried out, not with the pain, but with the heart-bursting ecstasy of such magic.

Extend. . . curve the lower veins to catch more air. Sense each nerve connection as it's made so you can control it instantly-like learning to walk all over again in a tenth of a second with a floor of broken gla.s.s beneath your feet. How long had it taken? By the time I had full control and was in more of a soaring dive than a full plummet, I was much too close to the jagged rocks. The thin membranes spread out beside and behind me were not immune to rips. A haze of dust hung over the battlefield as I pulled hard to the right and caught the uprising wind that would carry me toward the two vague shapes. One silver-upright, sword raised. One blue. Bent over. Retreating.

"Hold, Warden!" I cried. "This place is not yours. This life is not forfeit."

The figure in silver gaped upward in astonishment and dismay. With one sweep of a gathered wing, I knocked him to his knees just as my feet touched the ground. The move was one of my favorites, but I was unpracticed, awkward, and it made my landing unsteady. Rhys recovered quicker and jumped to his feet. "So you're not entirely dead?" he said as he backed away, his eyes wide, staring at the extent of my transformation.

"Master, are you badly hurt?" I called over my shoulder while holding Rhys at bay with melydda.

"All is well," came the harsh voice from behind me.

"I never believed you when you told me about the wings," said Rhys. "I thought you were trying to prove you were better than the rest of us." With a blurred motion, he changed his knife into a spear, but I was quicker and swept it aside with the fingers of my power. It dropped to the ground, only a knife again. Rhys stepped back, guarded, watching, ready to call down some enchantment if I moved again.

But I didn't move, only stood my ground between him and Galadon. I needed to understand. "What's happened to you?" I said. "We were friends. Brothers.

It never mattered who was stronger or faster, or who had wings and who did not."

"It never mattered to you," he said bitterly. "But when did you ask me or Ysanne? You got so caught up in your glory, and you took Ysanne as if she were your right."

"Is that what this is about? You wanted Ysanne?"

"You never knew her. For three years she spent her days and nights with you, offered you everything, but you would go off into your everlasting silences, leaving her alone as if she were only some annoyance to your purity. Ask her why you could not be with both of us together-because she could not bear to hurt you. Always it was you. No one could match you. No one could help you. You had to be the strongest and do everything alone. It couldn't go on. Then came the war... before she could tell you that it was me she loved."

"If you hated me so much, you should have killed me outright. Was it so hard to tell me the truth that you had to make me a slave? Shall I describe what it was like, how I could not hold off their horrors because I had to bury the memory of what you did? G.o.ds, Rhys. I loved you both. I would have done anything for either of you."

He spit at my feet and shifted his stance, edging closer to his fallen weapon as if I didn't notice. "Didn't you hear what I said? We didn't want you to do anything for us." In a move so swift and smooth I almost missed it, Rhys dropped to the ground, rolled to the right, and launched his silver knife at my heart. But I slowed the knife, holding it off just long enough to soar upward, out of the way. The glittering weapon, changed to a spear, sped past to strike the earth.

"So which did the demons take first, you or Ysanne?" I said angrily, touching my feet to the ground. I s.n.a.t.c.hed his weapon from where it had fallen, as he scrambled backward.

"You don't know anything," he said. "I'll take care of the demons. We'll be stronger because of what I've done. And I'll not allow you to get in the way."

He nodded his head to something behind me. "You should see to the old fool.

He fares ill." Then he leaped to his feet, turned his back, and walked away.

I glanced over my shoulder. Galadon lay facedown on the red earth.

Unmoving. I let Rhys go and hurried to the old man, cursing my delay.

"Master, can you hear me?" I said, rolling him onto his back.

The old man was struggling to breathe. A gaping wound in his chest had robbed him of far too much blood. "I was right," he said fiercely. "Say it."

"You were right. Of course you were. Was there no easier way to convince me?"

"Now show me," he said, his red-rimmed eyes blinking away tears. "I've yearned to see ... since you told me about it that first time when you were a boy. So young. So young to have such power."

"I need to get you-"

"Show me." All the ferocity of his spirit was expended in the demand. A demon could not have refused him.

I shifted him enough that he could rest against a rock, then I stepped back and held my hands high above my head, whispering a wind spell so that my wings were completely spread and filled with air. The rippling pattern of the gossamer strands fell on Galadon's smiling face. "Son of my heart." He sighed. "Come close now."