Vansen shook his head firmly, then shook it again. "Because . . . because . . . curse it, Teodoros, I don't know. Why should I? He was a G.o.d! If you'd have been there, you could have asked him."

"I am not so brave, Captain ..."

Briony, who had been admiring Ferras Vansen's face, the almost child-like earnestness that appeared so quickly even when he looked his most mature and handsome, did not notice for some moments that Matt Tinwright was standing beside her, swaying slightly from side to side.

"Yes, Master Tinwright?"

"Are you . . . do you still . . . I did not want to hurt your brother, Princess. Truly I didn't. ..."

"I know, Tinwright. That's why you are standing free here before me, drunk to the gills on my good Perikal red wine."

He frowned. "I thought . . . that Hewney brought the wine ..."

"We've moved on to the royal stores long ago," she said. "You should sit down again, man, before you fall and hurt yourself."

"I . . . I wanted to talk to you, Princess Briony. To thank you for making me your poet."

She smiled. "You are welcome."

"I have a question." He licked his lips, clearly uneasy. "Do you remember that . . . that I was writing a poem about you? How you were like Zoria?"

She nodded, although the memory was very vague indeed. It hadn't been very good was all she could recall. "Of course, Master Tinwright."

He smiled in relief. "Well, I was thinking I might go back to it . . . but I was thinking. That's what I was doing-thinking about the poem. I was thinking that I couldn't make a poem about you that didn't have anything about . . . about, you know, the things that happened. Here and while you were in Syan. I've been asking people. Trying to find out the truth."

"I'll be happy to answer your questions, Matt," she said kindly. "But not tonight. Tonight is for merriment."

"I know!" He waved his hands as though accused of theft. "But I was thinking and thinking about how the whole thing has been like . . . well, like one of Finn's or Nevin's plays from the very first."

"I'm not certain I understand." She looked over to Vansen and Teodoros, still talking like fast friends-or maybe Finn just fancied her guard captain. She could hardly blame him. "Like a play?"

"All of it. Like a puppet play. Someone was always behind everything we saw. From what I'm told ..." he screwed up his face, trying hard to get it right, "from what I'm told, Zosim was behind it all, pretending to be Kernios. But Hendon Tolly thought it was someone else, a G.o.ddess-he sometimes seemed to think it was Zoria herself! But it was all Zosim wearing disguises, do you see? Just like a player!"

"I suppose ..."

"All of it like a play. You were a princess, but you disguised yourself, just as in so many stories. The villain of the piece hid in the shadows and had others do his bidding, like that southern king, that autarch. That's just like one of Hewney's plays, too. But what really made me stop and wonder was when I thought, 'but if Zosim was behind it all, but he was beaten in the end ... who did that?'"

Briony, a little the worse for wear herself after several cups of Perikal, could only shake her head. "Who did what what?"

"Beat Zosim. Tricked him and defeated him."

"Well, the boy Flint, that I told you about earlier . . . he he claims that part of Crooked lives inside him. ..." claims that part of Crooked lives inside him. ..."

"Exactly!" said Tinwright loudly, then blushed. "Yes, Highness. And when you told me that, I really got to thinking. You know the stories from the old days about how Kupilas beat Kernios and Zosim both, right here!" He frowned. "I mean, down underneath the earth. You know, don't you?"

"I have heard many stories in the last year. But yes, I know about what Kupilas was supposed to have done to Kernios and Zosim and the rest."

"But who else was there all the time? Who else was present when that all happened?"

Briony was beginning to wonder if it might be time to end the festivities. "I don't know, Master Tinwright. Whom?"

He smiled in pink-cheeked triumph. "Zoria was-Zoria, the Dawnflower. She was there. Kernios killed her for betraying him-or at least that's what the stories say. But what if she didn't die, like Zosim didn't die? What if she stayed alive in those . . . whatever places?"

She looked at him and realized that he was not quite as drunk as he looked. "It's . . . it's a fascinating idea, Master Tinwright ..."

"It was your Zorian prayer book that saved me from your archer, you know." He said the words very carefully, then smiled when he had successfully navigated the sentence. "It was over my heart and stopped the bolt. Zoria's hand. Your prayer book. Do you see?"

Briony didn't know what to say. "I suppose ..."

"Very well. One last question, Princess. I heard you're building a shrine to the forest G.o.ddess Lisiya. Can I ask you why?"

"DemiG.o.ddess. Because . . . because I promised if I survived that I would build one for her. I would rather not say anything more about it. Why do you ask?"

He nodded. "Can I show you something I found in a book?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin volume, then fumbled it open. "It's written by Phayallos. He wrote a lot about the G.o.ds ..." Tinwright squinted as he turned pages. "Ah, here it is." He cleared his throat. " . . . And these G.o.ddesses and demiG.o.ddesses, especially Lisiya of the Silver Glade and her sisters, were commonly called the Handmaidens of Zoria, and strove to see that the Dawnflower's wishes were carried out in the world, that Zoria's worshipers were rewarded and her foes were thwarted." " . . . And these G.o.ddesses and demiG.o.ddesses, especially Lisiya of the Silver Glade and her sisters, were commonly called the Handmaidens of Zoria, and strove to see that the Dawnflower's wishes were carried out in the world, that Zoria's worshipers were rewarded and her foes were thwarted." He closed it, spoiling his moment of triumph a bit by dropping the book on the floor. He closed it, spoiling his moment of triumph a bit by dropping the book on the floor.

"Master Matty is drunk!" laughed Finn Teodoros. "Time to take him home."

As Finn and Matt Tinwright helped Hewney onto his feet, Briony could not help asking the young poet, "And will you continue with your poem?"

"Oh, yes," he said, his eyes shining. "I have so many ideas-it will be the best thing I ever did! I was miserable because . . . because of a woman . . . but now I know why. I was meant to do this!"

He was still burbling as Vansen helped the three of them out the door. "Help them down the stairs!" Vansen shouted to a page. "We do not want the princess' guests breaking their necks. And tell the coachman to take them back to their inn."

"Oh, G.o.ds," groaned Hewney, waking up. "Not the Quiller's Mint! I'd rather sleep in the gutter."

Ferras Vansen came back in a little unsteadily and threw his arms around Briony. She kissed him, but she was preoccupied and he could tell.

"What were you talking with that fool of a poet about?"

"The G.o.ds," she said. "And whether or not earthly life is only a sort of play."

"I'm glad I missed it, then," he said. "I never had the wit for such things. Now come to bed, my beautiful Briony, and let me love you a while before we both have to get into costume and go back to playing our own parts once more."

54.

Evergreen ... And that is the end of my tale, which is meant both to instruct and to please His Highness, and all other young people who shall read the Orphan's story."

-from "A Child's Book of the Orphan, and His Life and Death and Reward in Heaven", written by Matthias Tinwright and presented to His Highness Prince Olin Alessandros on the occasion of his first birthday.

THE MORNING DAWNED BRIGHT and much hotter than the day before. Barrick could smell the sap beginning to move in the pines and firs, the slow sweetness that ran through their veins as the Fireflower did in his. The Qar had traveled through the night, but slowly; now that Saqri had died, there was no need to go faster than what the many wounded could comfortably manage.

Duke Kaske of the Unforgiven brought the reports from the scouts: the road ahead was all but empty for several leagues. "But after that there are several mortal villages, and then a walled city with towers," Kaske said. His almond-shaped eyes were drawn up ever so slightly at their outer edges, which Barrick knew meant that the corpse-pale fairy was fighting with strong emotions. "We did not pa.s.s this way when Yasammez led us. We have not come against it before."

Barrick nodded. He leaned down to pat the neck of his horse, then drew back on the reins so that the black charger pulled up with anxious, skittering feet; even the horses didn't like this place and longed for the dark meadows of home. "Stop here," he called out, then repeated it again without spoken words. The procession behind him slowed and began to split into smaller pieces, horses and other steeds taken down the small slope to water, some of the Changing tribe joining them in four-footed form, which made the other animals restive. "Don't worry, Kaske, we'll go around it. There is no dishonor in that."

But the Unforgiven, a terrifying and fearless warrior, was still troubled. "But you know these mortals. We can avoid them now, but someday they will come into our lands. With the death of Yasammez the Mantle will vanish. How can we keep them out?" The skin of his face pulled ever so slightly tighter. "The Mantle-gone!"

"What do you care?" Barrick asked him. "You and your folk live in the snowy hills. Surely you will be grateful to see the sun again."

Kaske shook his head. "It . . . it will be strange. Everything will be strange now."

Barrick spread his fingers-Tale of Years-and said, "Yes, it will."

My love.

You are there! Barrick's heart, which for two days had felt like Kaske's mountain home, an icy stone beneath freezing gray skies, now suddenly was drenched with sunshine. Barrick's heart, which for two days had felt like Kaske's mountain home, an icy stone beneath freezing gray skies, now suddenly was drenched with sunshine. You came back to me! Oh, praise the Book, you came back. I feared . . . I feared . . . You came back to me! Oh, praise the Book, you came back. I feared . . . I feared . . .

I was frightened, too, she said. Her thoughts, the voice, it was hers, blessedly hers . . . but so weak! The Fireflower women-the mothers and grandmothers, they are so stern, so . . . beautiful and terrible . . . ! I thought they would sweep me away likeaflooding river . . . The Fireflower women-the mothers and grandmothers, they are so stern, so . . . beautiful and terrible . . . ! I thought they would sweep me away likeaflooding river . . .

I did, too! I was terrified! But I had Ynnir to help me. Do you know him?

Know him? He is my son, grandfather, my husband, Qinnitan said, still a little dreamy and confused. Qinnitan said, still a little dreamy and confused. I know what Saqri knew, and what all who came before her knew . . . ! I know what Saqri knew, and what all who came before her knew . . . !

Ynnir helped me. I do not think I could have survived otherwise. Who helped you?

You. He felt it come from her like a caress. He felt it come from her like a caress. The thought that we would be separated again if I could not find a way to live with it. I have had too much of that, Barrick Eddon. The thought that we would be separated again if I could not find a way to live with it. I have had too much of that, Barrick Eddon. Her thoughts twisted a little, took a tone of amus.e.m.e.nt and wonder. Her thoughts twisted a little, took a tone of amus.e.m.e.nt and wonder. And you are King Olin's son-of course! To think that all that time I didn't know . . . ! And you are King Olin's son-of course! To think that all that time I didn't know . . . ! As she said it, he could see his father plainly, but it was a different Olin who faced him, the man Qinnitan had known, a kind, brave man unshadowed by rage, who valued his own life far lower than that of any innocent. As she said it, he could see his father plainly, but it was a different Olin who faced him, the man Qinnitan had known, a kind, brave man unshadowed by rage, who valued his own life far lower than that of any innocent.

Tell me about him, Barrick said. Stay with me as long as you can and tell me what I missed all those years that the shadows fell between my father and me . . . Stay with me as long as you can and tell me what I missed all those years that the shadows fell between my father and me . . .

When she grew weary and her words began to slow, he stopped her, kissed her with a word and a thought, and let her go. Only when she had slipped down into sleep and he could no longer feel her did he let the sadness he had been holding at bay so long wash over him. He looked at the couch on which Qinnitan's small, slender body lay, in a wagon pulled by two patient nightsteeds. What if they never had more than this? Ynnir and Saqri had lived that way for centuries. That was some solace, anyway. Barrick doubted he would live so long.

He stood for a long time gazing back across the hills. The gleam in the distance was the tilted windvane on top of Wolfstooth Spire's shattered roof; the rest of the castle was invisible below the intervening hills. It was strange to be looking back on his old home. The last time he had stood in such a place he had wondered whether he would ever see it again, and this time was no different.

As he stared, he felt something strange happening all around him, a sudden warmth and a feeling of the air being pulled in many directions at once. Then something snapped like a large branch breaking and the s.p.a.ce immediately in front of Barrick's face was full of flapping blackness. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed the dark shape. It was feathery and fat and smelled like carrion.

"Don't hurt us!" it croaked. "Us be a bird of artfullest power-a wishing raven! Spare us and us'll grant you all manner of wishery, that you'll see!"

Barrick stared in astonishment. "Skurn? Is that you?"

The bird slowed its thrashing, turning its desperately shiny black eye on him. "Mought be. Then again, it equal-like moughtn't."

"Don't you remember me?"

"Well, doubtless that you look like the Barrick lad I helped so many times. But us has seen many a few others nearly as much like him since us first went through that darksome gate out of Sleep ..."

"Where have you been, Skurn? You never reached Qul-na-Qar-I didn't see you after we escaped from the city of Sleep! And I never saw Raemon Beck again."

"Us hasn't seen that one either, though in our travels, us has seen a few creatures that were Beck-ish. Thanks mightily for telling where you've been-but not much help when us needed it, was it?" The bird fluttered up out of Barrick's open hand and onto a branch just a little overhead. "Been flapping in and out of some dreadful places since then. Some nice ones, too, to say fair, but still strange as down on a toad." He preened himself a bit. "Rather grand, our adventures have doubtless been, you and us. No doubt some fairy bard will want to make a tune of it all, with clever words to show how dangerous our fates narrowly was."

Barrick almost smiled, but was not going to be so easily lulled. "You talk more than you ever did, bird."

"It goes to show the G.o.ds live and the world be still full of miracles, as our mam used to say when us were scarce out the egg."

"And I suppose you'll want to go with me."

"Nay, don't think thyself so grand!" The bird looked up as if in search of some even higher perch more suitable to his stature. "Any bargain us made is long past. No need for us to follow all draggity-tail and call anyone master."

"Who said anything about calling someone master?" Barrick turned and called to Kaske and Sunset Pearl that it was time to gather up their people and return to the road. "I just thought you might like to keep company with me for a while. I'm more or less the king of the fairies now. Did you know?"

"King of the fairies?" Skurn hopped down the branch and looked him up and down carefully. "Them Qar must have lost a lot of their important folk somewhere." The bird made a harsh spitting noise. "Must be sc.r.a.ping the barrel now, us means."

My love?

So soon? I hoped you would sleep until tomorrow.

It is a beautiful night. I can feel it even if I can't see it. Is that horrible bird asleep?

Barrick looked down at Skurn bouncing on the front of the saddle. The raven's head was settled deep in his fluffed up collar of black-and-white-spotted feathers. Yes. He's actually not as bad as he seems. Yes. He's actually not as bad as he seems.

He couldn't be.

Don't be cruel. He helped me many times. Saved my life at least once.

I'm sorry. In Xis they were birds of ill-omen. I will try to be kinder. My Fireflower mothers are scolding me, too. They say his kind are Whitefire's messengers . . . Oh, Barrick, there is so much to know!

Look, he said. he said. The Twilight Lands. I can see them in the distance . . . and I can see the stars, too! The Twilight Lands. I can see them in the distance . . . and I can see the stars, too!

What do you mean?

The Mantle. The cloud of separation and protection that hung over this place so long. It's gone. Nothing left now but wisps like fog. He sighed, dazzled by the painful brightness of the stars in the night sky. He sighed, dazzled by the painful brightness of the stars in the night sky. Ah, if you could only see this land of ours! Ah, if you could only see this land of ours!

I hear its beauty in your thoughts.

She went quiet then, but it was a companionable silence, both of them close despite their terrible separation.