And yet, he waited.

She spoke three words, her hands sliding through the air as if the air were liquid, and at that, a heavy one. And then she nodded, although she did not lift the veil from her hidden face.

Marakas inclined his head in reply, and she seemed to melt into the shadows, slight though they were, at his back. "Forgive me, kai," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Forgive me, brothers. But I did not undertake this lightly, nor without thought."

"Marakas," Samadar said, speaking for the first time this day while he stroked a platinum beard, "we will perish of old age if you are allowed to continue your apologies to a length appropriate to the gravity of your offense."

"And I," Marakas countered, "will perish at a young age if I do not at least make an attempt. We are under the eyes of the Lord," he added.

"I believe," the oldest of the Radann replied, "we're aware of that." His voice was as dry as the desert plains.

"This... this visitor. I a.s.sume that she has taken pains to guard this conversation from the ears of unwanted eavesdroppers?"

"I-why, yes."

Samadar inclined a head as white as his beard in the direction of the woman who sat to one side and behind the Radann. "The Lady," he said, "has her place. It is not this one, but if the Lord hears this thing that must be said in such a protected silence, and the Lord deems it worthy, you will have done us a service."

"If the Lord hears," the woman replied, which was shocking, "and he chooses to act, you will repay the service a thousandfold before it is over."

"Be still," Radann Marakas par el'Sol said, with a very real anger. She subsided at once. "This has much to do with the death of the Leonne Clan," he then continued, breaking the uncomfortable silence left in the echo of her words, speaking to his peers as if the interruption had never taken place. Or rather, as if he wished it had not; he was not so smooth an actor.

"If you tell us that you've discovered that the General Alesso di'Marente ordered the deaths," Peder said softly, "I will lose my temper."

"I have, in fact, discovered just that," was Marakas' reply. If he noticed the sarcasm behind Peder's cool words, he did not bridle. "Although I believe we have all accepted that as fact long before today."

"Patience, Peder," Samadar said. "Four nights after the burning waters and the butchered clan, three serafs died. They are buried in the Tor, in an unmarked and unblessed grave."

"Serafs die all the time," Peder said. "Yes. But these men died because they served di'Marente, and they were witness to the arrival of one of the General's allies." He leaned forward, his chest touching the ground. "My brothers, the ally was one of the kin."

Marakas was not a liar; it did not occur to any of his four companions to accuse him of being one, although each man had his own reasons for wishing they could believe otherwise. As usual, after so grave a statement, it was Peder who spoke. "How did you come by this knowledge?"

The kai took a breath as Radann Peder par el'Sol met his brother's unblinking gaze.

"There were four serafs."

"I see. And the fourth somehow managed to escape?"

"It was not immediately obvious to the four that they were to be executed for witnessing the arrival of the creature. They have served Marente for decades-or rather, had-and they have seen many things that Marente would prefer to keep hidden." Marakas frowned. "The serafs are under the Lord's dominion, but they do not serve the Lord. They have their own credo, and their own place, in this life and the next. This seraf almost did not leave, although he knew that the cerdan who would follow in the wake of the General's departure were meant to be his death.

"But he knew what the presence of the kin presaged. And in the end, he chose to end his honorable service to the General to deliver that information. It was," Marakas added, well aware that the rest of the Radann considered the time he took to speak with the serafs an indulgence of whim at best, a sign of weakness at worst, "an act of courage. The serafs believe that, in serving truly, and in enduring the test of that service, they prove their honor and their worth. To leave, not for the sake of escape, but the sake of betrayal may cost the man everything he has ever worked for in life. But he knows the legend of Leonne and the Lord, and he remembers the tales of the Lord of Night.

"He found, in the Tor Leonne, a woman whom he believed served the interests of the Lady."

"And she?"

"I do not know." He lifted a hand to forestall the words that were forming on Peder's lips. "It was a condition placed upon me by the woman who delivered this information, and I accepted it with honor. I will not see it broken without due cause."

"Very well, Marakas," the kai said softly. "But continue this story, and continue quickly. If I understand the working of the Lady's spell, our privacy is guaranteed at a cost, and it would not serve our cause, or the Lord's, to waste the time we've been given."

"Yes, kai el'Sol." The kai privately wished that Marakas would dispense with proper form altogether, but he did not correct the younger man's deferential dip of shoulders and chin. Not because he was afraid of being seen as a kai who tolerated lack of respect and slovenly behavior, but because it would have wasted time. Later.

"The woman in question came into contact with the Lady's servants, and this woman came, as a seraf, into the Tor Leonne. I do not know how, and again, I have chosen to remain ignorant. She demonstrated the use of her learned talent, and then told me what I have told you.

"I did not wish to believe it," he continued, his eyes growing slightly unfocused as he stared into a past that his words were slowly making real for the rest of the Radann. "But I could not dismiss such a claim-for it would explain much. I began to have the General watched."

"You... did... what?"

Again, Marakas flushed and bowed in the submissive posture, touching his head to the polished round upon which his sword lay. "I could not bring this to your attention, kai. Not without proof. Not now." He swallowed. "And I am not certain that the rest of the Radann-or the servitors- would share our concerns. General Alesso di'Marente is a popular man among those who follow the way of the sword; he has his friends among our number." He paled, and the kai el'Sol knew exactly what he would hear next. "I-I didn't ask the Radann for aid; I did not rely upon servitors."

Fredero raised a hand that was, surprisingly, steady. The gesture stemmed the flow of Peder's outrage. Samiel, the youngest, was remarkable in his restraint; his lips were lined white, but he said not a word.

"And two evenings ago, when the sun was almost gone from the sky and the Lady's tenure begun, one of the kin came. The General sent away the lone seraf who served him and his compatriot."

"And that compatriot?"

"The Widan Sendari par di'Marano."

"Widan," the kai said, the tone of his voice giving insult that words alone could not convey.

"The creature approached after the girl left them. It was almost entirely human in appearance, but

the signs were there for those who know how to look. The ensuing conversation left little room for doubt."

"What do you mean?"

"First: That Alesso di'Marente asked for the aid of the kin-one who is called 'Lord Etridian.' "

"Kinlord," Samiel said, and he did pale.

"Don't interrupt, Samiel. Continue."

"The kinlord-if that's what it was-chose to attack the greater a.s.sembly of the Northern infidels while the Kings were in session."

Not a man at this table would shed a tear for the loss of the Northerners; in fact, Samadar's nod was a grim one that contained, for a moment, some pleasure. The enemy of an enemy was almost as good as a friend.

To a foolish man. And these five were anything but.

"The creature was not supposed to attack the Northerners. He was to a.s.sa.s.sinate a single Annagarian hostage.

"Ser Valedan kai di'Leonne."

The name hit the table as if it were an ax, and although the sound of its syllables did not even leave an echo, it marked the men who heard it. Each had become accustomed enough to hiding his scars that little of their surprise showed.

"He failed."

The kai el'Sol closed his eyes a moment. "Thank you, Marakas."

"There's more."

"How much more?"

"Only one thing. Tyr'agnate Ramiro di'Callesta was at the Imperial Court-and in the hall- when the attack occurred."

Fredero heard the name and nodded neutrally, thinking that, of all men, it would have to be Ramiro di'Callesta. A man who had been Lamberto's worst enemy for decades. A man who did not understand the concept of honor.

The woman collapsed before they could discuss the proper response to the news that Marakas brought. A sudden huff of air, like a weak gust of breeze, and she toppled, the closing punctuation to their debate. Fredero felt a pang, something akin to guilt; he knew the cost would be high, and hoped that she survived it.

Because they would need her services again in the days to follow.

Why, he thought, did the enemy not hide his conversation in such a way? There was no answer to the question, at least not until the woman regained consciousness, if she ever did. Still, the Lord had put the woman in his path, and would forgive him for keeping her hidden in the confines of the greater temple. The servitors would not, unfortunately; it meant a risk to himself. Because only those who were absolutely trusted-and there were very, very few-were allowed into the kai's personal chambers, and for that reason, he had chosen to harbor this unlikely ally there.

"Widan Sendari," the seraf said, in a rush of breath.

The Widan so named looked up from the open tome that stood, carefully propped, beneath a lamp's glow. He did not recognize the seraf, and knew by his hasty entrance and his clumsy posture that this was not one of his. Fiona was meticulous, if out of favor; she would not embarra.s.s him by allowing a seraf with this lack of grace to serve his household. Nor would she choose to send any one of her handpicked prizes into his den while he studied; it was expressly forbidden, and he had made clear, with the execution of the first such seraf, that he would not brook her disobedience in this regard.

"I am," he told the seraf coldly, "the Widan Sendari. Why have you chosen to interrupt me?"

His voice carried his mood, and his mood was a dark one. The seraf crumpled at once into a frozen heap, head and hair-the hair was particularly fine-strewn gleaming across the kneeling mats.

"My master bid me come at once. He says it is most urgent."

"Who is your master?"

"The Widan-Designate Alberto par di'Ecclenses."

Sendari was silent for a full minute. He could sense the seraf's discomfort, but it did not amuse him; it had ceased to mean anything at all, except perhaps that Alberto was in want of a wife who could better choose the serafs in his indenture. "Tell Widan-Designate Alberto par di'Ecclenses that the Widan Sendari par di'Marano would appreciate the honor of his company in the Inner Chamber." He turned and carefully closed the book. "Tell him that I will leave at once."

The Widan-Designate was, in Sendari's opinion, born with a strong enough talent to rise quickly in the heirarchy of the Sword of Knowledge-if he survived its testing. If he did not choose to undertake that test, he would be any Widan's worthy ally-but there were spells and histories that would never be his, by right of the Sword's test, to learn. He'd achieved the t.i.tle of Widan-Designate at Sendari's behest, and with Sendari's voice behind him-which was more than many a man in his lesser position could say. But it was less than Alberto should have been able to say.

Sendari did not fully understand the younger man, because he could not see, in the younger man's study, that intensity of obsession that guided sq many of the Widan. And youth was the age of such pa.s.sionate risk.

Still, as Widan-Designate, Alberto was allowed the use of some of the facilities which had been set aside by the Tyrs for the Sword of Knowledge, a scabbard, a way of sheathing that double-edged weapon. He could not descend into the deeps that lay at the heart of the building itself. No man who had not faced the test of the Sword could.

But the Inner Chamber was good enough. They could speak, there.

He found Alberto, in a robe that was obviously too large, waiting in a shroud of silence that was, in itself, a commingling of awe and that terrible meekness that would-in Sendari's reluctant opinion-be his undoing. It was very hard not to snap at someone who seemed on the verge of cringing-but Sendari was a man who had developed enough self-control that he sat with grace and ease, putting unseen effort into making the younger man feel less ill at ease. The Lord knew that he could not be more ill at ease.

Of course, such ease as he managed to achieve would not survive the questioning.

"Widan Sendari," Alberto said, rising.

The Widan waved him back into the cushions, thinking that he had once been like this awkward man. Wondering if this man ever dreamed of being a founder, of writing his name in a bloodline for the immortality that history offered.

He put the thought aside, wondering at himself. "Alberto." He joined him, and serafs came- serafs who were, in every possible way, superior to the single seraf Alberto owned. They offered wine and sweet water and fruit; it was past the hour for the midday meal, and although neither man had taken the time to eat-for very different reasons-neither felt the desire for food.

Sendari glanced around the Inner Chamber. At any given time, the Widan who sought the company of their peers gathered here; they politicked, they ate, they debated, and they parted company. There was no bloodshed in any part of the edifice except that part which was hidden, and the Widan might, if they desired it, practice a small part of their art here.

For this reason, it was the safest of all places for two of the Widan to meet and converse.

"What have you discovered?" Sendari began, without preamble.

"Nothing," Alberto said. "I mean, it's probably nothing, Widan. But it was unusual, and you gave strict orders that I was to report the unusual."

"Report it, then, without apology. I will not fault you for obeying the orders that I have given without attempting to second-guess my desire."

"Thank you, Widan. It's the Radann," the younger man said, relaxing slightly.

It couldn't be anything else, Sendari thought, and bit the acerbic words back. Alberto had been a.s.signed the watch-the careful, magically aided watch-of the Radann. A Widan could not constantly listen to the Radann; he could not constantly see them. Not even Cortano, the man who ruled the Sword of Knowledge, had the power for such a continuous undertaking. But he could, with the aid of a carefully placed servitor or two, be called upon at just the right time. Foci had been put into place-foci crafted by Sendari himself-that might draw and hone the listening skills of a mage of power. Alberto was a.s.signed to take messages of import from the select servitors who spied, in Alesso's service, upon MicheUe West the Radann, and to invoke the power of the foci when necessary.

"The kai el'Sol called a meeting with his brethren today."

Sendari waited as patiently as he could.

"I thought it would have something to do with the request that the General made of them early this morning."

"Request?"

The word was so neutral that the younger man did not realize he could get caught by it, in it.

"The General went to the kai el'Sol this morning," Alberto said. "And had the kai el'Sol disturbed before he had finished the morning contemplations."

"I... see."

"The kai el'Sol was not happy. He was even less so when he discovered the trivial nature of the General's visit; he was wise enough, however, to vent his anger after the General left him." The younger man shrugged, the gesture more of a nervous twitch than an expression of nonchalance. "But he had not yet fulfilled the General's request when I left my watch and sent word to you." Alberto's voice made clear what he thought of the wisdom of that.

"I see." The Widan was quiet a moment as he considered the courses this conversation could take, and what they would reveal. Even to Alberto. He wavered, not wanting to crack the facade of perfect cooperation behind which he and Alesso often struggled, but wanting very much to know what he already suspected. As was often the case, the desire to know won, although the contest, which did not reach the lines of his face or the posture of his body at all, was fierce.

"I would not have had the kai el'Sol disturbed for the sake of triviality," Sendari said softly. "Although his sword has been blunted, it still girds him; I prefer to treat the kai el'Sol with caution." This was truth; and it was further truth that Alesso himself did not consider the Radann a threat-although Sendari was peripherally aware that the Shining Court did-so much as an unwieldy and uncooperative weapon, to be used until such legitimacy as the Festival of the Sun could still bring, was laid across his brow.

^j "There were," Sendari said, lowering his voice and changing his posture in such a way that one watching carefully might still not have understood how he suggested, by the minutiae of gesture, confederacy. "Three matters that I considered to be unworthy of the attention of the Radann. We discussed these, and the General retreated to consider my position."

"Oh," Alberto said, as if Sendari's words were heavy with meaning and significance. "The matter that he disturbed the kai el'Sol for would bring honor to your family."

"Ah," the Widan replied, lifting a hand in a call for silence. "1 believe I understand. And I do not believe that it is a matter I can, with humility, discuss further." His smile was stiff, but it was there. "The kai el'Sol has not yet acceded to this request?"

"No, Widan, but 1 believe it inevitable. If the kai makes a stand, it will not be over something of this nature."

"I concur." The Widan paused, lifting his hand silently. A seraf came at once, as if bidden; he marveled, at times, that they could be so sensitive to the slightest movements of the men they served, even though he was aware that their lives depended on it. "Wine," he said softly, before the seraf could speak. The dark liquid-for it was the season for the deepest of the wines-was slightly chilled; the act of a Widan's power, or more likely, a Widan-Designate. Sendari breathed in the scent of the wine, and held it a moment in his lungs. The he exhaled.

"You did not call me here to discuss the temper of the kai el'Sol."

"No, Widan."