They watched his dust spread and fade, then went down to the cafe tables on the waterfront.

"We'll go to Rude in the morning," said Mendark, "and there, if Pender is true to his word, I will take ship east to Crandor and go overland to Tar Gaarn and Havissard."

"Crandor must be a beautiful country," Karan said, a little wistfully. "I'd love to see it."

"It is beautiful," Tallia agreed, "but then, so is your own land. I came through Bannador on my way back from Tullin last year. I'll visit you in the winter, if I can. You must show me every part of it."

"You will be very welcome, but don't expect too much. It's a poor, droughty place, not like your land, where I hear it rains every month of the year and the soil is ten spans deep and the apples grow as big as pumpkins."

"I think that Crandor has grown rather in the telling," laughed Tallia. "Yes, I'm going home for the first time since I left eleven years ago. I'd love to show you my country too."

"Perhaps you will some day."

"Look, Karan, there's The Waif!" Tallia yelled as they hobbled, bow-legged after days of riding, down to the waterfront of Flude.

At last, Karan thought. She was worn out from the months of travel, sick of everybody, even Llian and Tallia, and the knowledge that they were still two hundred leagues from home was unutterably depressing. She just wanted to be alone.

At the end of half a dozen other vessels, as freshly painted and polished as the day they had left it, stood The Waif. Only the sails were bleached and tattered to show how far it had been in the past months.

Karan could scarcely credit that the sour and importunate Pender she had first met in Name could be the master of this lovely vessel. Then a fat, rough-looking sailor appeared on the deck. No one else had quite that shape, or that distinctive waddle.

"Pender!" she cried joyfully, sprinted down to the jetty and sprang right over the gangplank onto the deck.

Pender's grin nearly split his face in half. If anything he was fatter than ever, and more unkempt. Karan's arms did not nearly meet round him.

"Karan!" he yelled, dancing round the deck. "I never expected to find you here." They had not seen each other since leaving Thurkad at the end of endre, mid-winter week. It was past mid-summer now. "What have you been up to all this time? And just look at my boat; did you ever imagine such a beautiful creature?"

"Never," she said, sharing in his pleasure, "save that Tallia told me all about her. And, she tells me, she is a part-owner."

"One-fifth," Pender muttered glumly, for though he was fond of Tallia and would sooner have her for a partner than anyone, he would rather not share The Waif at all.

Tallia came up and shook hands with Pender. He looked uncomfortable, as if something was preying on his mind. When she stepped back he said abruptly, "I have the books of accounts ready, if you would care to come down and check my reckoning. But I'm afraid that there have been many unexpected expenses ..."

"We have lost money?" cried Tallia, pretending dismay. "I did not ..."

Pender was scornful. "Of course not! Rates are as high as the mast, with the war. Do you take me for a fool or a villain, eh? We have a profit, though barely three hundreds of percent. Hardly worth the risk in this business, but I promise the next voyage will be better."

"Hardly worth the risk," Tallia agreed cheerfully. "Well, we want to go to Crandor and come back again, as soon as you can make The Waif ready."

"Crandor!" cried Pender, greed wakening in his eyes. "Why, just last week someone asked me the tariff there. He nearly fell off his counting stool when I told him. We will measure our profit by the wheelbarrow load, after such a journey."

"How long to get ready?"

"She is ready now, except for water and fresh food. We could go tomorrow if you wish it. The chandlers serve their customers quickly here in Flude. Unlike some places I could mention," he said with a glint in his eye.

Tallia did not wish to be reminded of their adventures in Ganport last winter. "I don't think Mendark is in quite that much of a hurry," she said, clapping Pender on the shoulder. "Now tell me, have you been keeping an eye out for Lilis's father?"

"Ah, Lilis," sighed Pender, and Karan was surprised to see a tear in his eye. "How I miss her. I keep wondering how she's getting on. The Great Library's no place for a kid, hanging around with books and withered old book grubs."

"But it's just the place for Lilis," said Tallia. "Nadiril is a kind old man. He'll look after her. What about her father?"

Pender sighed. "I've looked at every sailor in every port I've been to, and asked in every inn too, but heard nothing at all. He was taken too long ago. Seven years, eh!" he said, shaking his head. "Pressed sailors don't have a long life. I'm sure he's dead."

THE RAINBOW.

BRIDGE.

They stood at the counter of The Typhoon, the best inn in Flude, while Mendark made the financial arrangements.

"I'd like a room to myself," Karan said without thinking. Then she held her breath. Relations between her and Men-dark were no more than polite at the best of times, and she expected him to point out that paupers had to take what they were offered. Her debt to others was now so huge that she had ceased to count it, but she felt it on her back every day. She longed to get away from it and from everyone. To have control of her affairs again, at last.

Mendark gave her an enquiring glance, then nodded. Llian looked hurt but she didn't have the energy to explain. Taking the offered key, she ran up the stairs to her room, locked her door and lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. Peace at last! Blessed solitude! It felt wonderful. The only thing that could improve it would be a hot bath. Her last had been in Katazza months ago. Grabbing soap and a towel, she raced down to the bathroom before anyone else could take it.

After that she locked her door again and went back to the thoughts that had been chasing around her head for most of the journey. What talent did she have that Rulke wanted so badly, and what had Llian and Rulke done together in the Nightland? Maybe the two were related. Did Rulke know that she was triune? What was so special about triunes anyway? She didn't dare ask for fear of arousing suspicion.

After a moment's hurt feelings about the room, Llian had got used to the idea very quickly. Finding that it gave him so much more time, he began to work on his tale every spare moment. That irritated Karan too. He was so adaptable! Annoying man! Much more than she, for in spite of her feelings, she missed him day and night. Night especially.

Mendark seemed in no hurry to head east. They spent several days at The Typhoon, a large, comfortable place built massively in an old style: thick stone walls, slate roof, wide verandas and small windows which left it dark inside. The inn was raised on a little knoll five or six steps above the broad promenade that ran the length of the port. Llian's room had a large bed, a table for working and a balcony veranda outside. The weather was good, and an afternoon sea breeze moderated the summer heat.

Llian found Flude greatly to his liking, and now that Yggur was gone with his accusations and his threats, he felt a great weight lift from him. He rose each day with the dawn, not at all his usual habit, and immersed himself in his papers. From the moment he'd left Chanthed, Llian had begun to make notes of his experiences, and even before they reached Thurkad last winter he had been putting them into a framework for his tale.

He was in his element now, writing furiously all day, surrounded by his notes, enough to make another thick volume. By now every page of his journal, and a collection of scrolls and scraps of parchment, were twice or even thrice overwritten. Here in Flude he bought another journal to write in, a book of many thin pages. The cost was very high, six silver tars, and now Llian began to count with care the dwindling coin in his pouch. Into this book he entered all that had happened since Katazza, and began the first clumsy version, to be rewritten many times, that would become the third book of the Tale of the Mirror.

The evenings he spent carousing in the bar or on the terrace, entertaining everyone with his tales, laughing immoderately and drinking even more immoderate quantities of the resin-flavored green wine, or the strong and astringent purple, and staggering up the stairs (sometimes falling down them again) in the middle of the night. Sometimes Mendark joined him in these affairs, and seemed much younger and more carefree, almost as he had been on the road to Zile, years past. They nearly regained the companionship of that journey. Almost, but not quite; Mendark could not quite let go, and his laughter was just a trifle contrived, his gaiety a little forced. Nonetheless, Llian still looked over his shoulder sometimes, imagining Basitor creeping up behind him.

Tallia was better company. She had the knack of being at home with whoever she was with, and making them feel at home as well. Once or twice she joined Llian at the revelry, drank with him bumper for bumper, topping each ribald tale of his with one of her own. She was in the highest of spirits, for she was on her way home. But she had many preparations to make for the journey, and after the second such night, to everyone's regret, she did not come again.

The Aachim, who had gone to a different inn right across town, were morose, indifferent or absent according to their mood, and seldom came to the revels. Their circumstances had cast a pall over all, and when the gaze of the revellers fell upon Tensor sitting silently in a corner, or Selial, white-haired and thin as a bundle of sticks, all the joy fell from them.

Shand joined them on the first night, but like Karan he was withdrawn and became more so with each succeeding day. It was not that he disapproved, rather that the frivolity became less and less relevant as time went by, as he plunged deeper into remembrance of things long gone until he found himself in a place where nothing outside could reach him.

Several days after their arrival, Karan was sitting by herself, brooding, when she noticed someone consulting a calendar on the wall. She idly asked the date.

"It's the seventeenth of Thisto," said the man.

It seemed somehow significant, though Karan puzzled for some time before remembering why. Today was the anniversary of the Graduation Telling. It was a year ago today that she'd first met Llian.

She went back to her chair. Karan often sat there for hours, watching Llian tell his tales, or gazing at the sunset or the moon on the water (for the party was often held out on the veranda overlooking the quay), or the stars, or listening to the waves lapping at the quay. Since that night out on the salt with Tensor she had become more reserved. What she had done to him had shocked her deeply, as her rare fits of violence did. It was as if it had been someone else.

Karan spent her days and nights in introspection, with increasing irritation at Llian's frivolity and his loud enjoyment of life. Haunted by what Tensor had told her about herself, she delved deep into her childhood, trying to find out what her potential might have been. Other curious incidents in her early life came to mind. Her father had been a great shaper, she realized. Even Tensor had not been able to completely undo what Galliad had begun in her. And then the dreams started again.

One night she dreamed of Rulke; the next, about the Ghashad, who were leading her across the soaring aerial walkways of Shazmak to their master. Rulke stood spread-legged on his construct, waiting for her. He had always been waiting for her, it seemed. She was the key to his whole purpose.

Did he want her because she was a despised triune? Was that why Tensor had done his best to prevent the flowering of her talents? And had he? Had he broken her or made her? There were no answers.

So the days passed, and then suddenly Mendark was anxious to go. On the fifth morning he appeared on the promenade where Karan and Llian were breakfasting.

"We're off! Don't expect us in Thurkad before the winter to go all that way and return to Thurkad can surely take no less than four months."

"Little need for us to hurry then," said Llian, stretching his legs out luxuriously under the table.

"And remember, keep our adventures secret. Don't go blabbing them in every inn you come to." He fixed Llian with a particularly gimlet-eyed stare. "Especially you, chronicler. I know what you're like. Swear that you will keep silent, or by the powers, when I return I'll make you suffer for it."

"I swear it," Llian whispered.

They waved Mendark, Tallia, Osseion and Pender off at the pier. The Aachim remained, waiting for a boat, for those that had been there on the first night had melted away just when they wanted one.

"Soon a ship will come-tomorrow, or the next day."

So the Harbor Master kept saying. But the days went by and still no vessel had come into port. Karan began to grow impatient. At first she had enjoyed the peace, and being able to have a bath or a swim whenever she felt like it, but once her friends Tallia and Pender went, the delay began to chafe at her. She missed Tallia particularly, missed the long walks they used to take together in the early morning or the cool of night, and the shared confidences about their other worlds. Tallia's life had been so different from hers.

"You're very withdrawn lately," Shand observed the following morning, as they strolled along the beach.

"I've a lot to think about."

"What Tensor told you out on the salt?"

Karan had forgotten how perceptive Shand was. She'd not told him anything about that night. "That, and other things. Home, mostly."

He did not question her and she volunteered no more.

The pangs of heartache for Gothryme grew ever stronger. A year had passed since she'd set out for Fiz Gorgo with Maigraith. It felt like half her life. When she left Gothryme, her estate had been in trouble after four years of drought. How much worse now, after war as well? How had her people fared in the war? How was poor old Rachis coping? Perhaps he was in his grave and she never knew it. Tears sprang to her eyes and Karan wept bitterly for all that she had left behind. The threat of Rulke meant far less to her than the fate of her own people and her home at Gothryme. Home might not be hers much longer, if she could not pay her debts.

And another need had begun to grow pressing-the little germ of a longing that had sprouted not long after she left Gothryme. The need to provide it with an heir and, just as important, someone to whom she would pass down the family Histories. How was she going to accomplish that amid all these troubles? She wanted to talk to Llian about it but a barrier had grown between them lately and she did not know how to overcome it. She was afraid, without any good reason, that he would laugh at her domestic dreams, or refuse her entirely. So she said nothing, put the dream away and busied herself in another. She must get home.

Several times she went walking with Shand, but they were only short walks now. Shand had come to some personal crisis, but whatever it was he would not talk about it.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked on what was to be the last of their morning strolls. "You seem so sad."

"I-I've a lot of things to think about," he said slowly.

"What things?"

"It's ... something that happened a long time ago. It was the turning point of my life. I can't get over it."

"Where did it happen?"

"Oh, far from here-near Booreah Ngurle, the Burning Mountain. I sometimes go there on the anniversary. I really don't want to talk about it," he said sharply.

"All right," she said, knowing his moods. The sand squeaked underfoot. "Shand?"

"Yes?" he said absently.

"I'm frightened. I keep having dreams about Rulke. Dreams that I'm helping him."

He answered vacantly, unusual for him. His mind was far away. "Dreams don't mean anything, Karan. They just reflect what you're worried about."

She walked beside him, silenced by his indifference. My dreams have always meant something. He wants me; I'm triune! she wanted to say, but Shand had been so remote lately that she could not bring herself to tell him that shameful secret. It was so awful that she had not even told Llian. She hoped that Tensor would take it to the grave.

The next morning she found Shand's note under her door, and all it said was, "Fare well! I will see you in Gothryme in the winter."

Karan felt abandoned. For the first time in ages she ran to Llian, seeking comfort from him. "Llian, Llian, Shand's gone!"

That roused even Llian from his stupor of writing and he went with Karan while she questioned the Harbor Master, the fishermen, the ostlers and anyone else who might know where Shand had gone. By the end of the day they learned that he had boarded a fishing boat in the night, but there was no way to find out his destination. Karan was desolate.

"Why did he go alone?" she cried to the empty sea. "We shared so much together. Why would he not share this with me?"

The swell surged and a wave broke over the end of the stone jetty, drenching her with spray. She leapt back; Llian opened his cloak and swept it around them both. He rested his chin on her shoulder and spoke into her ear.

"Shand has a very curious past. Who knows what he's worried about?"

"He did so much for me. Why won't he let me help him?

"He's a strange man," Llian replied. "I keep thinking about what he said to me in Tullin, before I met you. More than once have I raged against fortune. I raved, I swore, I vowed to stop time itself, even to fling it backwards. It broke me anyway, and took away everything I cared for.

"Have you seen how angry Mendark gets with him? He asked Shand for help several times in Katazza, but Shand would not. Who was he, that even Mendark would look to him for aid? Who is he, that he would refuse?"

Karan did not answer, though she had often pondered the same questions. A leaden overcast clogged the pores of the sky. The wind was rising, and the swell; the spray now swept head-high across the end of the jetty, smashing into their faces. She scrunched herself more tightly in Llian's arms, staring out to sea.

"Come inside," he said in her ear, but she made no move, only brushing the wet hair out of her eyes.

They remained there, not speaking, as the wind built up. Darkness came down suddenly, like a bucket of pitch poured over the sea. A lonely lantern illuminated the boards of the jetty. Then distantly, almost as in a dream, Llian heard a cry. He craned his neck, staring toward the horizon.

"Did you hear that?" he shouted over the crashing of the waves.

"It's the landlord calling us in," she said carelessly.

The fellow was running toward them, waving his arms. Llian drew her away from the rapture of the sea, which was becoming dangerous.

"Come on. Wherever Shand is, there's nothing we can do for him."

When they stepped onto the shore the landlord pointed urgently to the north. The clouds were building into a black wall rent by purple lightning. Momentarily the wind died away to just a feathery ripple across the water.

The whole foreshore was deserted now but for people fastening heavy shutters over the windows and doors. "There's a great storm coming, a typhoon," said the landlord, a big, cheerful, freckled man with two fingers missing on his right hand. "Get inside."

"Typhoon!" Llian repeated, as if the elements conspired against him.