"That is a lie," Innesq returned serenely. "No matter, I see that you are resolved."

"Let's get on with it."

"Seat yourself, then." The chair that Innesq indicated was plain and heavy. Its four legs were strongly bolted to the floor.

Aureste obeyed. "And now?" he prompted with a false air of confidence.

"And now I must ask you to wait while I prepare a draught."

"How long will it take?"

"Not above an hour."

"Too long. You must do it in half that time."

"Once again you demand the impossible."

"Isn't the impossible exactly what this magic of yours is designed to accomplish?"

"That is a commonplace misconception. Just now, you expressed your faith in my abilities. If you spoke truly, then you will trust me to work at the best speed allowing for safety."

"I don't care about safety."

"We do not all share in your fine disregard for life, limb, and sanity. Be still, Aureste. Hold your peace and wait."

Here in this workroom, within the realm of the arcane, his brother ruled. Biting down on his frustration, Aureste obeyed. Innesq busied himself with flasks and vials, powders and granules, weighing and mixing. The interminable minutes expired one by one. Surely the full hour and more had elapsed. Innesq was dawdling. An angry complaint rose to Aureste's lips. He held it in. Time crept on.

A froth of black bubbles at the top of a beaker, accompanied by the release of an indefinably sullen odor signaled completion.

"It is ready." Innesq approached, bearing the beaker. "I cannot allow you to drink before you consent to accept to restraint."

"Unnecessary. I give you my word that I won't stir from this chair. That should suffice."

"It does not. It is not that I doubt your sincerity," Innesq forestalled his brother's irate rejoinder. "But you do not understand the nature of the journey you undertake."

"Must you sound so damned mystical?"

"Sometimes it is unavoidable. Listen to me. When you swallow this draught, your world will change for a time. Your perception of physical surroundings will fade, but your inner eye will sharpen. Please do not ask me what I mean by the term 'inner eye'-you must accept the fact that it is there and that it is perhaps capable of discovering the lost Jianna. It is the-how shall I put it?-the rational consciousness, the controlled orderly intellect, that must yield its sway and transfer its power to another aspect of the mind. Do you understand me?"

"No. Let's just do it."

"Will you submit to restraint?"

"If that's what it takes to persuade you to continue."

"It is. Drink, then." Innesq proffered the beaker.

Accepting the vessel, Aureste gulped the contents without allowing himself to look, smell, taste, or think. The liquid burned its way down his throat. His eyes swam, and he blinked.

Innesq reclaimed the beaker and put it aside, then set about fastening his brother to the chair with leather straps. Aureste watched bemusedly. Soon he found himself bound fast at wrists, ankles, waist, and chest.

"How do you feel?" asked Innesq.

"Restricted. I don't like it."

"Vision? Hearing? Sense of solidity?"

"Perfect. This potion of yours isn't strong enough to overcome the strength of a Belandor mind. We are hardly common clay, a point you have perhaps overlooked."

"You are not in pain?"

"Certainly not. I'm unaffected. It isn't working."

"Patience. Wait."

"I've waited long enough. You'll have to try something else."

"It is too late for that."

"Unfasten these straps and turn me loose."

There was no reply. Innesq's attention seemed fixed on distant vistas. Aureste strained uselessly against his bonds, then subsided with a muted snarl. The anger and frustration boiled within. An indeterminate span of time elapsed and gradually the heat subsided, its fury giving way to unquiet warmth. The workroom and its contents fell away, and by some agency that he neither trusted nor believed in, he found himself in another place, a region of distorted vision, half-heard echoing voices, devouring atmosphere, and faded recollections. He did not know where he was, but he was not afraid; somehow it was right and even essential that he had come. He was not walking, but somehow he was moving through live slithering shadows, and it seemed that he was searching for something or someone, while someone or something followed close upon his heels.

What heels? He had no limbs, no flesh; his corporeal self was gone. His disembodied intellect quested through dim space filled with misshapen old memories that whispered and tittered in passing. He saw and heard them indistinctly. His perceptions would doubtless sharpen if he could locate his eyes and ears. Surely his body could not be far away, it would not have gone wandering off on its own. He could probably find it, find something, find someone, if he reached out through the shadows.

Reach out with what? No arms, no hands, but he tried anyway and a kind of convulsion rocked his mind; he thought he caught the sound of distant screaming. For a while he fought and floundered, the screams shrilling eons away, but his body remained elusive, reintegration unobtainable, and presently he abandoned the struggle. It was easier then, less infuriating, even comfortable to drift on alien currents of disembodied sensation. He might have allowed himself to relax into slack acquiescence but for the prodding sense of purpose. He could not rest; that much he knew on some unassailable level, and it was all that he knew.

On he went, and the memories cavorting about him burst into flame that overran the universe. The atmosphere was the color of molten steel, and he had no flesh but he burned. He would have turned back then, but the place he had come from was lost beyond hope, and there was still that nagging sense of purpose.

The fiery atmosphere extinguished itself and the hot light yielded to immeasurable darkness. He could see nothing, hear nothing, but perceptions that he did not recognize guided him and he moved with confidence, still seeking something, someone. He did not remember what or who, but he would recognize it when he found it. Her. When he found her.

A sense of urgency grew in him. Something was drawing him on through the dark, its strength increasing as he advanced, and he gave himself over gladly to that power, recognizing the imminence of revelation. The unseen presence was still close behind him, but he did not fear it, perceiving only reassurance there.

The absolute darkness darkened impossibly and the deep places in his mind, slumbering undisturbed throughout a lifetime, stirred to reluctant life. The impressions seeped in and he could neither sort nor comprehend them, but knew that they would guide him.

They did so. His disengaged self rode intangible tides. Then he caught the first flutter of identity somewhere in the void, and he strained toward it.

The object of his search was drawing near, the shape and texture of her mind clarifying by the moment. The clean vigor of her thoughts reminded him of green growth in springtime. Nearer yet, close enough to catch the fragrance of youth, close enough to catch her intelligence, her fears, and finally her awareness of his approach. She knew him, she was reaching toward him. She wanted and needed his help.

As soon as he could find her.

She was very close now, so close that he caught the essence of her surroundings, the persistence of stone, the obstinacy of iron, the warm solace of aged wood. He could taste it all in the echo of her thoughts.

What was left of his consciousness impinged on hers and a sense of familiarity thrilled deeply through him, but he still could not identify her. He knew only that the sum of his hopes resided in her deliverance. His need flung him wildly through the dark, where he lost his way, lost all contact with her mind, and found himself alone in black nothingness.

But not quite alone, for that silent presence with him from the start was with him still, its mute reassurance calming his angry confusion. Perhaps it could guide him back to her. He reached out toward the other, but the darkness was impenetrable, its weight intolerable, and now it absorbed him into itself.

He woke to find himself slumped in a chair, the restraints gone, his brother patting his face with a cold, wet cloth. Water trickled down his cheeks.

"Stop that," he commanded, distantly surprised to hear his own rich voice emerge small and dull.

Innesq obeyed. "Sit still. Rest," he advised.

"What did you learn?"

"Presently."

"Now." His voice was still too weak, and he repeated more forcefully, "Now."

"Very well. She is alive. You caught a distinct resonance of her existence, which I was able to interpret."

Alive. Aureste expelled a sigh and allowed his eyes to close. The surge of relief that swept his mind failed to renew his strength. He was indescribably tired, and a headache throbbed behind his left eye. He longed for sleep, and there was no time for it.

"She's safe, then?" he demanded. Silence, and he opened his eyes to search his brother's still face. "Well?"

"She does not perceive herself as safe," Innesq admitted.

"What do you mean?" Frustration generated internal heat. "Why don't you speak plainly? Has she been hurt? Is she in danger?"

"That is unclear."

"Inadequate. I want an answer. What good is this precious art of yours if it can't serve Jianna?"

"Aureste, you condemn without understanding. You would do better to hold your peace and allow yourself time to recover."

"Unlike you, I don't enjoy the luxury of time. I've a daughter in need of rescue, a matter that hardly seems to rouse your concern. Return to your experiments, then. It's clear that the life and safety of your niece count for nothing."

"You do not mean that. It is only your fear and anger speaking."

"Have you added mind reading to your little repertoire of magic tricks? Next summer you might set up a booth at Three Islet Fair."

"Perhaps," Innesq agreed without rancor. "Have you any more insults burning for utterance, or are you ready to listen?"

"To what? You've already told me that you have no answers. I've wasted enough time here. Now I'm going out to find her." Aureste rose to his feet. A wave of dizziness rocked him, the workroom spun, and he dropped back into the chair.

"You will not go anywhere just yet," Innesq observed.

Aureste blinked. His sight was curiously dim, but he could still make out his brother's face, grave and composed as always. "How long-" he began.

"Hours have passed. It is night."

"No matter. I can-"

"Hush. Listen to me. Jianna is alive. Your mind touched hers, and that contact furnished certain images-clouded, to be sure, but-"

"What did you-"

"Do not interrupt. Sit still for now or you will make yourself ill. Jianna is alive and probably uninjured; or at worst, not seriously injured. Her position is perilous, however. She is certainly held captive somewhere in the wilds of the Alzira Hills. She is just as certainly threatened with harm of a serious nature, but I do not believe that her life is in any immediate danger. There is no point in demanding particulars-I am unable to furnish any but one, which pertains to the nature of her prison. She is held in a rural dwelling of no vast size, but solid and impregnable as a fortress."

"A stronghouse, you mean?"

"Probably."

"Is there anything more you can tell me?"

"Not at this time."

"Well. A stronghouse," Aureste mused. "Somewhere in the Alzira Hills, between Vitrisi and Orezzia. That shouldn't be so difficult to find."

"And then?" Innesq inquired. "You know better than I what would be needed to breach such defenses."

"A small army." Aureste nodded. Renewed purpose lighted his mind, and his weakness began to recede. "Very well. I'll raise one."

SIX.

"Pick only the purple ones with yellow stripes," Yvenza Belandor directed. "If the leaf is still green or the stripes have gone to brown, I can't use it. You understand me?"

Jianna inclined her head.

"Then say so."

"I understand you," Jianna mumbled, eyes glued to the ground.

"Speak up, girl. You have a voice. Are you too frightened to use it?"

"I said I understand you." Jianna's head came up. "And you'll be the frightened one when my father hunts you down."

"That's better." Yvenza's smile bared a white palisade. "A small flare of honest defiance. Always preferable to a sullen humor. I can't abide the sight of moping, sulky faces about me."

"I should think you'd be accustomed. You appreciate honest defiance? Enjoy this, then. No matter what you do, you'll never get the better of Aureste Belandor. You're no match for him, you can't reach high enough." Shouldn't have said that. She was in no position to provoke her captor, who might easily order her beaten, maimed, or killed; or worse, might hand her over to that hulking brute of a son. It was impossible to view Yvenza's iron-jawed face without seeing Onartino there as well; and impossible to think of Onartino without reliving the moment of Reeni's murder. The fear and hatred flooded Jianna's mind. Allowing nothing beyond false confidence to show on her face, she added, "And such power as you hold over me doesn't matter. You may force me to work like a servant, but you can't make me forget who I am."

"Rest assured, Aureste's daughter, nobody forgets your identity. As for your complaints, they're misplaced. Time you learned how to make yourself useful. Your days as a pampered pet have ended. Not every branch of the Belandor family tree is rotten and blighted as yours."

Liar! Father works hard in the family interests; he's kept our House safe and successful through all the times of trouble. And Uncle Innesq mews himself up in his workroom for days and nights on end. What do you suppose he's doing in there, playing at solitaire? Jianna said nothing.

"Here you will work," Yvenza continued, "as I would expect of any prospective daughter. No doubt the concept is foreign, but you'll learn, else go hungry."

Jianna replied with an indifferent shrug.