ON THE EDGE of the forest, Tris fell quietly to rest on time-faded leaves from autumns past. The gelding, too well trained to leave its rider, nudged gently at Trisas cheek, then began to graze as the rains poured down and lightning flashed in the sky.

RIALLA CRIED OUT as she lost herself in the storm of emotion. Something hit her hard on the shoulder, throwing her away from Winterseineas jerking body. She hit the ground and collapsed into a fetal curl, whimpering with the pain in her head. She was too close to unconsciousness to appreciate the difference between a bad headache and the much more harmful torment that had been tearing her apart.

Lying on the ground, Rialla listened to Winterseineas hoarse moans and started to shake as her body responded to the stress of the battle. Some part of her recognized what must have happened: Terran had knocked her away from Winterseine in the moment before she would have joined him in perpetual madness.

The emotional torment shead just been through precluded any sort of emotion at all. She couldnat even manage to be worried about Tris. There would be time enough for that, she supposed, if Terran allowed her to live long enough to discover how Tris had fared.

She could hear Terran mutter over his father, but she didnat think that even the power of the gods could restore Winterseineas reason. It would have been kinder to kill him, but shead failed.

Winterseineas noises quieted, and Rialla heard Terran get up and move to the supply packs. He came back and picked her up with a grunt. If it had been anyone else touching her, he would have fallen to the ground screaming; she hadnat even begun to restructure the shields to keep her emotions from othersa"but she still couldnat touch Terran with her mind.

Air hissed involuntarily between her teeth from the pain in her head when Terran set her down on one of the blankets. He wrapped it securely around her and braced her in a sitting position. With one arm around her chest, he pressed a cup against her lips and half-forced several swallows of spicy alcohol down her throat.

She choked and gasped, but the alcohol did its job, and her tremors slowly subsided.

aBetter?a asked Terran in a neutral tone, giving her the half-full cup.

Rialla nodded warily, and he backed away until she was supporting herself. He got to his feet and fed the dying camp fire until it was dancing merrily. She couldnat read anything on his face.

From nearby darkness came a choked-off cry, and she saw Terran momentarily tense, but he didnat look toward his father. Instead he turned to face Rialla fully. The fire was behind him, allowing night to shadow his face, while he could see her clearly. She didnat know if she showed anything beyond the distant numbness that protected her.

aThe damage to him is permanent?a Again his voice was detached.

Rialla nodded. She paused and said in a voice that matched Terranas, aHe hasnat been totally sane for some time. He would have reached this point eventually regardless.a Terran nodded. aI know.a He studied his foot as if it had some sudden significance. aI owe you my life, Rialla. Thank you.a She hadnat expected gratitude. Rialla eyed him warily and inclined her head.

Terran sighed. aHe would have killed me. Tamas warned me that my father had approached him. I took Father aside and explained what would happen to anyone who attempted to harm mea"I thought it would be enough to stop him.

aIt started when I caught him using Altisas name to gain willing slaves. Altis isnat opposed to the natural order, but he has no need of slaves, and dislikes having his name used frivolously for personal gain. When I explained this to Father, he reacted badly.

aI think he made his decision to kill me after I tried to save Karsten. I liked Karsten, and his death wasnat necessary for Altisas purposesa"just Fatheras. I thought I could take care of the spirit-eater, the swamp beast Father intended to kill Karsten. He thought that such a creature would fan Darranas fear of mages and stop any alliance with Reth. But once it touched you, killing it would have killed you as well, so I gave you the chance to defeat it. Father was right: it didnat occur to me that he would kill Karsten himself.a Rialla sat mutely through his speech, nursing the remaining drink and gradually recovering from her efforts as her headache eased. When Terran stopped speaking, she thought of something that bothered her.

aHow is it that you recovered from the sleeping draft that fast?a she asked.

Terran shrugged and said, aPoisons and drugs affect me only as much as Altis sees fit to allow. I was never really asleep, but I couldnat move. Altis wanted Father rendered harmless and he chose you to do it, because I would not.a Rialla jerked her head back at his last statement, her anger outweighing her fatigue. aNo,a she said firmly. aI chose to attack Winterseine on my own. Altis may rule your life, but he does not rule mine.a He smiled then, a tired and sad smile. aDoesnat he?a Rialla set aside the blanket and stood, turning away from Terran.

aWhere are you going?a There was no threat in Terranas voice, but Rialla stopped, turning back to face him.

aWhere I belong,a she replied.

aTo Sianim?a he asked. aYou could stay here, with me. Altis appreciates beautiful things, as do I. He will rule this world, you know; it will be a wondrous place. He will allow no violence, no wars or hatred; people will worship him and have no need for power or gold. They will hold to Altisas purposes and be at peace.a Rialla met his gaze steadily. aYour utopia cannot exist when humans are given the right to make their own decisions. People can always find something to disagree about.a Terran shook his head. aIn Altisas kingdom, people will be granted the wisdom through Altis, to make correct choices.a aI understand now why Altis does not object to slavery,a commented Rialla quietly, aas that is what he is proposing for everyone. A slave is still a slave, even if she is well treated. I will never willingly be a slave again, Terran. I would die first.a There was peace in that knowledge, a peace she hadnat known before.

aSo be it.a Terran nodded, stirring the fire with a convenient stick.

Rialla waited. Terran watched her a moment and then smiled again. aGo back to Sianim, Rialla. You have served Altisas purposes this night.a Rialla wasted no time escaping the clearing where Terran sat with his father. As soon as she could no longer see the light of the camp fire, she stopped and searched with her weary empathic talent for any hint of Trisas presence.

Rialla?

She could tell that he was exhausted and in pain, but she was so happy to find him alive she didnat care.

Iam coming, she told him. Wait there.

No, he replied shortly. Iam fine, and I can come to you faster than you can travel here.

Rialla found a comfortable place to sit, under the shelter of a large tree where the rain didnat fall as hard. She waited.

IT TOOK TRIS less than a third of the time it would have taken a human to find Rialla where she slept on the wet ground.

She stirred briefly when he wrapped the saddle blanket around her, but she didnat really open her eyes until he started cooking over the firea"it smelled good.

aI had to leave the horse when I came,a he said, stirring the small pot suspended over the fire, abut I brought the saddlebags with me.a Without pausing in his speech, or looking away from his cooking, he continued, aI believe I owe you an explanation.a Rialla sat up and rubbed her eyes. Though the rain had stopped, it was still dark; she hadnat slept long. She felt surprisingly good for the brief resta"but that was one of the benefits of traveling with a healer.

aI believe you do.a He set the long-handled spoon on a rock and left his stew. He crouched on his heels in front of her. He called a magelight to him, giving Rialla a clear view of his face. aAmong the sylvan, the bonding I set between us is used to mate pairs for life,a he said baldly.

She stared at him. aYou mean weare married, and you didnat tell me?a She surprised a laugh out of him. aI suppose you could look upon it so, yes.a aWhy did you do it?a she asked.

aBefore I met you, the woman who called me to Tallonwood gave me a seeing. Such things are unclear by their nature, but from what she said I knew that I would meet the one with whom I could bond.a aYou mean that you could not bond with anyone you pleased?a Rialla asked.

aNo. I have never met anyone with whom a bonding would work. There are so few sylvan now, fewer still ever find a bond mate.a Rialla thought about what he had said. aYou formed the bond between us because a seer told you it could work?a aNo,a he said. aI did it because I finally found someone with whom I could belong.a He stood then, going back to the food, but he didnat pick up the spoon. Instead he bowed his head and said softly, aIam sorry.a Deep in her own thoughts, Rialla only dimly heard him continue. aI thought at first that I could break the link, if you didnat want it. It isnat supposed to strengthen as fast as it did. In the old days, when my people were many, the initial ceremony lasted for three months. If the couple were unwilling to continue so bound, the link was removed. Trenna told me we could bond. She didnat say that youad be willing.a Rialla remembered the things shead learned about him last night, remembered the soul-eating loneliness and found its echo in herself. If shead known of such a bond, she would have moved mountains to achieve it. When she considered it, the bond didnat frighten hera"not at all. She hugged her reply to herself for a moment, then said softly, aIam not.a aI know,a said Tris, misunderstanding. aBut thereas nothing that I can do about it. Itas been too late since Winterseine put you on the water wheel.a aNo,a said Rialla, lifting her face so he could see her smile. aI meant that Iam not sorry, not that Iam not willing.a Tris whirled to face her, and gave her the autocratically displeased look that shead seen him turn on Winterseine. Rialla bit her lip, knowing that head be offended if she laughed. Half her euphoria was caused by fatigue, so she fought to keep properly sedate.

aYou let me grovel,a Tris growled.

Rialla buried her face in her knees and lost the battle, giggling helplessly.

Trisas magelight faded into darkness.

aTHEFT,a PURRED TRIS, sometime later.

aThief,a acknowledged Rialla with sleepy laughter.

FINIS.

Lord Jarroh looked up in some irritation when a light knock sounded on his study door. He had left clear instructions that he did not want to be disturbed. Glancing out the window, he saw that night had fallen while he was working on his books.

With a sigh, he set his accounting aside and walked around his desk to open the door.

aYes?a The hallway was dark, so he couldnat clearly see the person who had disrupted his work.

aYour pardon, honored sir. I have information for you, of a private nature.a Lord Jarroh received many such private messagesa"one of the reasons that he always wore a fine mail shirt under his clothes. He stepped away from the entrance and waved the messenger in, shutting the door softly behind him.

aYour business?a aLord Karstenas murder,a said Rialla, lowering the hood of her cloak so he could see her face clearly. aI told you to consider the logic of designating Lord Laeth as Karstenas killer. Have you?a Lord Jarrohas hand went instinctively to his knife, closing on the haft, but his face lost none of its calm aloofness. aYes. Disregarding what I saw when Karsten died, Lord Winterseine would be the most logical candidate. I have known both him and Lord Laeth almost as long as I knew Karsten; if I had not seen Laeth stab Karsten myself, I would never have believed it. Unfortunately, Lord Winterseine has recently been struck with an illness that makes it impossible to question him.a Rialla slipped the messenger bag off her shoulder and brought out a thick book, Laethas dagger and two sheets of parchment. aI have, sir, for your perusal, several items of interest.

aThe first is Lord Winterseineas grimoire. It has been rendered harmless by the aeaMagi, Lord Kisrah. You will notice Lord Kisrah removed several pages and destroyed the lock.

aThe second is the dagger used to kill Lord Karsten. We discovered it in a small keep where Lord Winterseine trains slaves.

aThe third item is a letter from Lord Kisrah detailing his reading of the dagger. Furthermore, he is willing to swear that Lord Winterseine is a mage powerful enough to have served on the wizardas council. Certainly he could have created an illusion so you would believe it was Laethas hands on the dagger.a Lord Jarroh shook his head. aThat does not matter. Do you think that a Darranian court will take the word of the Archmage on a matter of state?a aNo,a replied Rialla. aWe had hoped, though, that you would be willing to consider the evidence.a aTo what purpose?a aMy lord,a said Rialla, awe would like you to insure that Winterseine and his son Terran do not inherit Lord Karstenas estates. If you are not convinced of Laethas innocence, then let the estates go to the crown.

aThe fourth item that I brought for your consideration, my lord, is a letter from Ren, Spymaster of Sianim. He feels it should answer any questions that you might have about Sianimas interest in this matter.a Rialla took a step forward into the light. aLord Jarroh, Lord Karsten was killed because he believed in an end to the feuding that has cost both Darran and Reth so much. He foresaw a day when peace would rule. Winterseine was not alone in planning Karstenas death; do not allow the killers to triumph. Giving them the power and prestige of Karstenas estates will destroy his dream.a Lord Jarroh reached out to tilt her face until the light of a nearby oil lamp illuminated her clearly.

aYou are Laethas slave.a She shook her head and took a step back. aNo, I am Laethas friend.a He dropped his hand and pursed his lips in thought. Finally, he met Riallaas steady gaze. aTell Laeth I will do my best to clear his name. For his brotheras sake, I will see to it that the marriage between our princess and King Myr of Reth takes place as planned.a He paused, looking at Riallaas flawless face, then continued softly, aEven if it means an end to slavery.a

When Demons Walk (1998).

This oneas for my siblings whoave all contributed to my books: Clyde Rowland who introduced me to Dick Francis and Louis Laamour; Jean Matteucci who introduced me to Rice Krispies cookies, Mary Stewart and Barbara Michaels; Ginny Mohl who introduced me to Andre Norton and Marion Zimmer Bradley; and to my sistersa husbands Dan and Greg, for putting up with me all these years. Love ya all.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

This book owes debts to a number of peoplea"

Dr. Virginia (Ginny) Mohl, MD, PhDa"who put up with late-night phone calls concerning a variety of gruesome topics.

Donald J. LaRocca, Associate Curator, Arms and Armor, Metropolitan Museum of Arta"who recommended a number of sources of information on swords, and answered a vital question concerning Kerimas sword.

Jess Roe, swordsman, swordsmaker, and martial artista"who lets me pick his brain at every con I see him at, and is largely responsible for all the authentic details for the fights in this and future books. Any mistakes are mine.

ONE.

Sham sat on a low stone fence in the shadows of an alley pulling on her boots. In the darkness that even the moonlight failed to reach, a sea breeze caressed her hair. She drew in a deep breath of the fresh air.

Even the sea smelled different here in the hilly area of Landsend. The Cybellian conquerors, like the Southwood nobles before them, had chosen to make their homes far from the wharves. In Purgatory, the westside slum where Sham lived, the ocean air smelled like dead fish, old garbage, and despair.

She stood up and ran her hands lightly over the silk of her courieras tunic to make sure that the black and gray material hung properly. She had to fluff the opaque sleeves twice to keep them from revealing odd bulges where she stored the tools of her trade.

It was still early in the winter season, so the silk was warm enough if she kept moving, but she was glad the trousers were made of heavier material. After bundling her other clothes, she tucked them out of sight in the lower limbs of a tree that graced the garden behind a wealthy merchantas house.

Messengers were common on the streets of Landsend, Southwoodas capital, even in the darkness of early morning. Female messengers were not, but Sham was lightly built and, on the streets, could pass easily as a boya"as she had for the last twelve years. Even the long braid that hung down her back was not out of place. Only recently had the Southwood men begun to crop their hair like the Easterners who had conquered them.

As she strode through the empty, moonlit street, she noticed a guardsman standing near a cross street watching her.

The east-city guards were as different from the guards of Purgatory as the smell of sweetsalt was from rotting fish. Most of them were younger sons of Cybellian merchants and traders rather than the glorified street thugs who were supposed to keep order in the less prosperous areas of town.

The guard caught Shamas eye and she waved to him. He responded with a nod and waited for her path to bring her nearer.

aLate night,a he commented.

She noticed with hidden amusement that he was even younger than shead thoughta"and bored as well to talk to a mere messenger.

aEarly morning, messire,a she grumbled cheerfully in Cybellian, not bothering to hide her Southwood accent since her white-blond hair kept her from claiming Cybellian birtha"as long as she chose to leave it uncovered.

He smiled agreeably and she continued past him, careful to keep a rapid straight path and looking neither to the left nor the right until shead traveled several blocks.

The house she was looking for was on the end of a block, and she waited until shead turned the corner before giving it more than a casual glance. The hedge was too high for her to see much of the building, but there were no signs of occupation in the upper story. First checking to see if anyone was watching her, Sham dropped to the ground and shimmied under the wall of greenery that enclosed her target for the evening.

The manicured lawn was tiny: Land was expensive in this part of the city. The tall greenery that surrounded it kept out the faint illumination provided by the street torches as well as the somewhat brighter light of the moon. Sham knelt where she was, watching the dark mansion intently for movement that might indicate someone was inside.

The three-storied edifice was newer than the hedge around it; the Eastern noble she was robbing had purchased an old manor and had it torn down and rebuilt in the Cybellian style as soon as the fighting had died down. Open-air windows on the second and third floor might have been useful in the hot, dry climate of Cybelle, but Landsend, despite its southern location, was wet and chilly in the winter months as the ocean currents brought cold waters from the other side of the world to the cliffs of Southwood.

She approved heartily of the new style of architecture, after all, she didnat intend to live in it. The open windows, even shuttered, made her job much easier than the closed, small-windowed native styles. As she studied the building, she warmed her hands against her body. The night air was cool and warm hands gripped better than cold ones.

According to her informant, the owners of this particular house were currently enjoying a seannight at the hot pools a dayas ride from Landsend. Some entrepreneurial Cybellian had taken over the abandoned buildings there, turning them into a pilgrimage temple to Altis, the god of the Cybellians.

The Cybellians didnat believe in the restless spirits who were responsible for the abandonment of the old settlement. They called the native people abackwarda and asuperstitious.a Sham wondered if the protection of Altis would keep the ghosts under controla"and hoped that it wouldnat.

However, she wasnat going to wait for the Wraiths of the Medicine Pools to attack the Cybellians. In her own small way, she continued the war that had officially been lost twelve years ago to the god-driven Cybellians and their eastern allies who crossed the Great Swamp to conquer the world.

Using almost nonexistent hand-holds, she pulled herself up the walls. Setting her calloused fingers and the hard, narrow soles of her knee-high boots in the slight ledges where mortar separated stone, she climbed carefully to a second-floor window and sat on the narrow ledge to inspect it closer. The lip of one shutter covered the opening where both met, making it more difficult for a thief to release the inner latch.

Her informant, the younger brother of the owneras former mistress, had said that the wooden shutters were held closed by a simple hook-latch. A common enough fastening, but not the only possibility, and it was necessary for her to know exactly what she was dealing with in order to open it.

Closing her eyes, she put a forefinger on the wooden panels and muttered a few words in a language that had been out of use for living memory. The shutter was too thick for her to hear the faint click of the latch hook falling against the wood, but she could tell it was done when they opened slightly.

She slid to one side of the window ledge and used her fingertips to open one of the shutters. Stealthily, she entered the building and pulled the panel closed, hooking the latch behind her. Magic was a useful tool for a thief, especially when her victims, for the most part, didnat believe in it.

She stood in a small sitting room that smelled of linseed oil and wax. With the shutters closed the room was awash in shadows. Without moving for fear of knocking something over, she drew magic from a place that was not quite a part of this world. She pushed aside the familiar barrier and tugged loose a small bit, just enough for her purpose. Holding it tightly she molded it into the shape she wanted, using gestures and words to guide her deft manipulation. In another place and time she would have worn the robes of a master wizard.

Magic had always felt to her as if she held some incredible substance that was ice-cold but warmed her hands anyway. With a pushing gesture she flung it away, watching its white-hot glow with a mageas talent. If there was someone here, shead know shortly. When nothing happened after a count of twenty, she was satisfied she was the only person in the building.

The magelight that she called was dim, but it lit her way satisfactorily through the sparingly furnished halls. She wandered through the building until she found the room the boy had described as the lordas study.

Drawing a gold piece from one of her pockets, she murmured to it, then tossed it into the air. It spun lightly, and fell, clinking, to the hard floor. The coin spun on an edge before it came to resta"hopefully on top of the floor vault where the master of the house kept his gold.

Drawing her magelight near the floor, she inspected the parquet carefully. Under the cool glow she could just make out the subtle difference in fit where a group of tiles was slightly higher than the rest. Predictable, she chided the absent lord lightly. Satisfied shead found the vault, she starting looking for the release lever to open it.

Under the mahogany desk one of the wooden tiles was noticeably higher than those around it. She tried pushing on it to no effect, but it pulled up easily with a click followed by a similar sound from the vault.

She pulled off the loosened section of flooring and peered below. In the small recess there were several leather bags in a neat row next to a stack of jewelry boxes. Lifting one of the sacks, she found it filled with gold coins. With a smile of satisfaction, she counted twenty-three into a pouch that she carried under her silk tunic. Finished, she replaced the bag among its fellows and arranged the sacks so that they looked much as they had before shead taken her plunder.

She didnat even think of looking through the jewelry. It wasnat that she was opposed to robbery; after all, that was how she made her livinga"but tonight she sought retribution and ordinary thievery had no place in it. After shutting the vault she reset the tile under the desk.

She left his study to continue her explorations. The money was only a third of what she came to do here this night.