Even for Ardral, Micail thought now, that had been cryptic. "Does that mean you will not join in the Working at the Sun Wheel?" Micail's flogged wits had seemed suddenly sodden, making him wish he had not had that second glass of teli'ir.

"Oh, I will be working." Ardral's teeth had flashed in a wry smile as he briefly patted Micail's shoulder. "Do not trouble yourself over me."

Micail had retained enough wit not to say that it wasn't Ardral he was worrying about, but Tiriki, and perhaps the rest of the world. And then the old adept was ushering him to the door.

"I suspect this will be our farewell, Micail, but who can say what fate intends? Time is a long and twisted trail, my boy, and it has many a side road. Our paths may cross again!"

Nar-Inabi in Thy splendor

Against the darkness ever rising,

Grant us tonight a restful slumber

And all Thya"all Thya"

The first verse of the evening hymn faltered, for night had fallen, fallen finally. Above it, its slayer stood, horned like a bull. Victorious darkness drenched the stars, and all had turned to dim mist and hard stone, grey substances crumbling, adrift . . .

Chedan opened his eyes with a start, surprised to see pale light shafting through the open door of his hut.

"Are you all right?" Kalaran bent over him with a frown.

"I will be," said the mage. He rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the mists of dream sufficiently to face the day.

Kalaran still looked worried, but he held out the carven staff that had become Chedan's constant companion. As they emerged from his hut he could see that the sky beyond the slope of the Tor was a translucent blue. It was going to be a beautiful day.

"I had a rather odd dream."

Kalaran looked expectant, and Chedan suppressed a smile. Since he had become so lame, the young people had taken to treating him like some rare treasure that would soon fall apart. It might even be true, he thought then. Besides, talking about one's dreams sometimes brought understanding, and this one could be a warning he should not deny.

"I was back in Ahtarra, visiting my uncle Ardral in his chambers by the library. We were drinking some exotic liqueur from the Ancient Landa"that man had the most wonderful cellars. It wrenches the heart to think of those delicate vintages mingling with the salt sea. Anyway, he lifted his glass to me in a toast and said that I must go and he must stay, but that between us we had trained my heir."

"Your heir," echoed Kalaran, looking rather alarmed. "What did he mean?"

"What did Ardral ever mean? I would have said it was Micail, but now . . . I do not know." He shook his head, his heart aching anew at the thought that Micail might have become their enemy. "In any case, Ardral hardly knew him. At least he didn't then. They may have grown closer."

"Oh . . . But Master, but when you said *odd'a"you laughed. Well, almost."

"Yes, I did, because I'd been remembering how Ardral finished his drink and set it down and thena"he was sitting cross-legged on a low chaira"he simply floated upward and out of the window and away."

"He levitated?" Kalaran's voice squeaked.

"Wella"actually I have heard rumors that he could. But I suppose it was symbolic, in my dream. Because, you seea"though Anet told us he was there, I sent him no message. I could not think what to say. And he sent me no answer. So I suppose we flew away from each other."

As Kalaran's brows knitted in perplexity, Chedan gave him a fond smile. "Thank you, my boy. I was afraid I had dreamed something important, and you have helped me to see otherwise. If my dream means anything, it means he has gone awaya"I thought he might have died, but now I rather doubt that. I think I would know. Still, I have been thinking about him. I suppose I have only made a new song out of words he used to say. When one is dreaming it often happens that way."

"I have a lot of strange dreams," said Kalaran, after an awkward moment, "but everything looks better after a good breakfast!"

"That I will not argue with," said Chedan, and he permitted his acolyte to help him down the hill. As they walked, a thin trail of smoke brought the rich scent of hot meat through the trees. Certainly a good meal would help him get through this dreadful day.

"Have you heard?" Vialmar murmured to Elara. "Lord Ardral is gone!"

"What do you mean? Prince Tjalan has guards at every gate of the compound to *protect' us. They would not let him simply walk away!"

"That's the best part of it," said Vialmar, with a grin, "and I've heard it from several different people nowa"he just came out of his doorway, floated up off the ground and over the walla"gone! Like that!"

"Does Tjalan know?" came Cleta's awed whisper.

"If he does," answered Elara, "he's not letting it interfere with his plans. Looka"he's brought Damisa!"

"And Reidel," added Cleta. "Does the prince think he can persuade them to join us, or does he simply want to show off our power?" She traded glances with Elara.

How, indeed, have we come to this? Elara wondered. Surely there are too few of us in this land to be at odds . . . But so long as her elders were in agreement, her vows required her to obey them.

She had even taken the risk of being late, going out of her way to speak to Khayan-e-Durr, but the Ai-Zir were no match for Atlantean swords or Atlantean magic. She had meant to ask their help and had ended by warning them to stay away. She was not sure, even now, if she had succeeded in convincing the queen of the danger. The shamans might be planning something. She had heard drumming from Droshrad's big roundhouse, but now that she thought about it, that was nothing unusual.

If Tiriki dies because of thisa"what will Micail do then? Could he live with that? She remembered the raw pain in his face when he returned from that meeting between Tjalan and Tiriki, and knew that he could not bear a more final parting. Her own emotions twisted, and she felt an overwhelming sympathy, mixed with the unbearable thought of a world without Micail in it . . .

There was Micail, she suddenly noticed, sitting by himself against one of the stones. She had not seen that look on his face since they left Belsairath. Why didn't he simply refuse to participate? Denounce them all?

The gleam of sunlight on an orichalcum-edged spear caught her eye. Tjalan had stationed his soldiers at regular intervals just beyond the outer ring of stones . . . That's one reason, I guess. Elara blushed again.

Not, she realized glumly, that her Temple vows would have allowed her to hope for Tiriki's death even if she had thought that she had any hope of replacing her in Micail's bed. But how they were to come out of this without serious damage to one side or the other was more than she could imagine.

Cleta tapped her on the shoulder. Haladris was summoning them all to take their places. The ordeal was about to begin.

"I don't understand," said Damisa. "What are you planning to do to persuade the people at the Tor to join you? What can you do, from here?" Actually, even in her gilded cage, some rumors had reached her. It was just that she found them difficult to believe.

Tjalan turned to her, his eyes gleaming more brightly than the golden dragon bracelets he wore. For a thousand generations those bracelets had been the prerogative of a prince of the royal line.

"Something I would rather not do. But birthing a new empire always requires some initial . . . adjustments," he said. "When the Bright Empire gave way to the Sea Kingdoms it was the same. Believe me, my dear, I do regret the necessity for decisive action. But it is clear that Tiriki is going to be stubborn. Better one sharp disciplinary strike than a lingering conflict, don't you agree? Then we can put all our energies into establishing the new order. Come now, you must agree, Damisaa"for I cannot do all this alone." His long fingers stroked along her arm. "Now that I have lost Chaithala, I will need a woman to stand beside me, to bear me sons . . . What use a crown with no heir?"

Damisa's pulse quickened. Was he really suggesting that she might be his . . . empress . . . one day? It made sensea"the royal blood of Alkonath ran in her veins tooa"but after all that had happened, it seemed unreal to be offered what had once been her fantasy. Suddenly she understood why Tiriki had gone back to the Tor instead of returning here with Micail. She has become a mover of events, not simply a support to her man, she thought. What could I become, on my own?

But she must not let Prince Tjalan suspect her conflicting emotions. Her glance slid away from his and she saw that soldiers were bringing up Reidel, his wrists still bound. His lip was puffy where someone had hit hima"hit him back, she corrected, noting the skinned knuckles on his right hand.

"My prince, you honor me," she said a little breathlessly. "But I must not distract you with such considerations now."

He smiled sardonically, but her answer had clearly satisfied him. His attention was already shifting to Haladris, who had begun to organize the singers within the circle of stones.

Reidel was looking at her witha"anger? appeal? He had no right to either emotion. But even when she turned away, she could still feel his dark gaze.

Tiriki forced herself to look away from the dim haze to the east where she knew Micail and the others were preparing to strike against the Tor, and to look instead into the faces of the men and women who waited atop the Tor to defend it.

She cleared her throat and managed a smile. "The spirit of this place, the Shining One I call the Queen, has shown me what we are to doa""

"But how do we know if they will act today?" asked Elis.

"Or at all?" muttered someone else.

"I have seen the power building," answered Tiriki. "But even if I had not, surely it will do us all no harm to practice our own skills."

"Ah," said Iriel archly, "more training!" And the tension eased a little as the other acolytes laughed.

"Yes, if you will," said Tiriki blandly, and waited for quiet to return. "We have walked the spiral maze we cut into the hill to get here, and that puts us halfway to the Otherworld already. I would like everyone to sit in a circle and join handsa"" Tiriki glanced at Chedan and he nodded.

Despite the exertion of getting up here, Chedan's face was pale. He should have been in bed, she thought then, but they needed him too badly, and in truth, they were all hazarding their lives today. At least Domara was safe with Taret. Whatever happened, she would survive.

Tiriki stood in the center of the circle and lifted her hands to the pure light that streamed down from above. It was the second verse of the Evening Hymn that came to her now.

"Oh Holiest and Highest,

Sole wisdom worth the winning,

In Thee, we find our purpose,

Our end and our beginning."

She made the sign of blessing on breast and brow, then took her place in the circle across from Chedan.

"Oh great Manoah, King of Gods, and Thou, Most High, who art the power behind all gods, to You we make our prayera"" She added then, "Not for glory or gain, but for the preservation of life, and of the knowledge You have given us. Protect this holy hill and all who shelter here, and let us bring those who work against us to the path of true wisdom . . ."

Her gaze was drawn eastward once more. What were those opponentsa"for even now she would not think of them as enemiesa"doing now?

"We are the inheritors of an ancient tradition," said Haladris, "and today we shall demonstrate its strength. Our henge will protect our spirits, and Prince Tjalan's soldiers will guard our bodies. Fear not, therefore, to put forth all of your power. Project a hammer of force from this circle that will strike terror into our foes."

And what if we succeed? thought Micail grimly. He cast a quick glance at Naranshada and Jiritaren, who stood with him among the tenors near the midpoint of the crescent. Both their faces were lined with strain, their eyes narrowed and haunted by regrets, and in the moment, he knew that their unease was nothing new. They don't like this either. I should have voiced my protests long ago . . . before things had gone so far . . . And yet if he had done so Tjalan would have put it beyond his power to act at all, and here, even now, he might be able to alter the outcome.

Haladris took his place in the center of the crescent of vested priests and priestesses, their bodies completing the circle outlined by the five trilithons, surrounded by the outer ring. He hummed a series of notes, and section by section, the singers released their tones. One would not have thought that so soft a sound could be powerful, but in a few moments Micail could hear the first response from the stones.

It was only a whisper, like the sound of many other voices chanting somewhere far away, but Micail felt the hairs stand up along his forearms. And then for a moment, pride in his achievement surged above his fear.

When Tiriki clasped hands with Kalaran and Iriel, Chedan felt a tingle of power and knew that the circle of energy had closed. As one, they slowed their breathing, seeking the deeper rhythm of trance. He felt the familiar dip and lurch of shifting consciousness, and he reached out to touch Tiriki's mind. They gathered the attention of the others into a single awareness and opened their lips in a single soft note.

Our task is easier, he thought, trying to steady his nerves as a dozen voices swelled in sound. Our opponents must shape and guide an unwieldy energy to attack us, but we have only to affirm the power that is already here, at what is now the sacred center.

The tone grew louder, pulsing as the singers circled their breathing around the sound. Already the pure radiance of the sunlight was altering to the shimmering illumination of the Otherworld. And then, from the depths beneath them, Chedan heard the reverberation as the Omphalos Stone caught and amplified their song. His eyes met Tiriki's then, and for a moment, their wonder balanced their fear.

Elara let her breath out in a pure exhalation of sound, trembling a little as the sopranos' higher note matched it in harmony. Exhilaration tingled through every vein at the energy those vibrations were raising, resounding from the smooth surfaces of the stones. Whatever happened after, Elara thought she would never forget the sheer beauty of this sound.

But even as the thought was completed, she realized that the music was changing. Haladris was conducting the lower ranges into an oddly discordant note that rattled her heart. She heard two or three singers waver, but Mahadalku's glares brought them swiftly back on pitch. She almost could see the sound vibrations shifting as they bounced from stone to stone, and spiraled westward toward the Tor.

Tiriki felt the attack as a change in pressure, a tension in the air like an oncoming thunderstorm. She tightened her grip on Selast's hand and felt a ripple of added alertness pass around their circle.

"Maintain the note," came Chedan's mental command. "Do not be afraid. Remember, all we have to do is hold on . . ."

As we did when the great wave struck our boat after the Sinking? wondered Tiriki as the first shock buffeted them. Somehow, she forced her focus back to the chambered lattices of stone beneath her and the Seed of Light within them, the twin powers that fountained up from the Red and White Springs in the depths, the vibrant ringing of her soul . . .

The pressure increased, as if, having been rebuffed, Tjalan's priests had turned up the intensity of their own singing. The brilliance flashed and refracted as if she sat in the heart of a crystal, while weird lightnings crackled above the Tor.

She reached deeper, drawing on the power of the Omphalos Stone. She fought to maintain the vision of a bubble, a sphere of protection against which all the waves of power she could feel coming against them would break in vain. She could feel the others setting themselves to resist as well. Handgrips tightened until bones creaked and knuckles whitened, but that was the least of their agony.

For Domara . . . she thought with gritted teeth, and Selast and her unborn child.

For Otter . . . came Iriel's plea. For Forolin and Adeyna and Kestil . . . for Heron and Taret . . .

For all of those they had learned to love in this land, the litany of names went on, and they held on, fiercely enduring in the name of all that they had already lost.

"Damisa, I can't see into the circle!" exclaimed Tjalan. "Is something wrong?"

Damisa twitched free of his proprietary hand. Already, she had heard what sounded like a distant rumbling from the circle of stones, and realized that the Working had begun. But there was surprisingly little noise. It must be true, then, that the circle of stones captured sound. Now the figures of the people within it appeared to be wavering, as a distant scene might be distorted on a very hot day. But she did not think this country could produce the kind of heat needed for that to occur.

"My eyes see no more than yours do," she muttered. "It is a by-product, I think of the vibration. Dust may be rising from the soil, or perhaps the light is simply . . . distorted. You can feel it through the ground."

At least I can, she thought, though Tjalan's sturdy soldier's sandals might insulate him from the tremor that came through the thin soles of her own sandals, queasily reminiscent of the way the earth of Ahtarrath had trembled before the Sinking. She considered advising him to bend down and put his ear to the ground, but that would probably not have accorded with his dignity. What must it be like to be inside the circle, working with all that power? she wondered, repressing a pang of envy.

The stones at Azan were dancing.