"We will eat bamundi till we are fit to burst," Karan recalled delightedly.

"Indeed, and you are in luck, for the bamundi began to run again only two weeks ago, and I have never tasted better. Will you come to my house tonight?"

"I thought you lived in Ganport!"

"I did, but when I went into hiding I came here, and liked it as much as I hated Ganport, so in Siftah I dwell now and until the end of my days."

It was evident that Tess had done well out of the bamundi trade, for she lived in a magnificent old house nestled into the headland above the town, a villa with sun-drenched verandas and a courtyard inside with a jacaranda tree and a fountain.

The evening was hot so they sat on the veranda while Tess prepared half a basket of bamundi, grilling the vast pink steaks on a hot plate with garlic and rosemary. She served them with a garnish of chopped onion, fresh caper buds and wedges of aromatic limes from a bush growing in the shelter of the courtyard.

A flask of yellow wine was broached, and then another, an intense purple, while Karan told her tale from the day Maigraith had first appeared at Gothryme asking for help. Tess listened without comment, save for expressions of astonishment at each new escapade. Finally, when the stars had curved up across the courtyard and were on their way down again, Karan had finished the story.

"Well," said Tess. "That is the most remarkable tale that I have ever heard. And well worth another bamundi dinner, at least. But," she added, "old miser that I am, I'll save that until our next meeting, so you can tell me how the tale ends. You should have been a teller," she said with a grin and a quick glance at Llian, but he was asleep in his chair. "Hey, wake up boy! There's still half a flask left and you're not pulling your weight."

Llian looked morose and Karan knew why. He had been close-mouthed about their adventures all this time, as Men-dark had ordered, and he missed telling terribly.

"So, what are your plans now? I ask because things are not yet settled in Thurkad, you know."

Karan helped herself to another morsel of fish. Even cold it was delicious. "I'm heading to Gothryme, in Bannador, which is my home."

"I have to go to Chanthed first," Llian said abruptly.

"Chanthed!" Karan cried, staring at him. "You are banished, remember! Why do you want to go there?"

"Something Faelamor said in Katazza. I've been thinking about my original quest-who killed the crippled girl?-and I suspect I missed something in the library. I was looking through the sketches from that time just before I left Chanthed but I was ... er, interrupted." He went silent, reflecting on that night escapade in the library, which had led to his exile from the college. "I've got to go back. Remember that day in Katazza when Faelamor made me tell her about the Forbidding?"

How could she forget it? "Chanthed will add weeks to the trip," Karan said irritably. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I'm sorry-I've only just realized what it was. I'm not looking forward to pleading with old Wistan for the privilege of a few hours in his library, but I have to go. The Histories are my life."

"They're my life too," Karan snapped. "I still live the ruin my ancestors visited on our family!"

"Anyway, the festival will be on then."

Karan looked ambivalent. Once the Festival of Chanthed had been the height of her ambitions, but home called more urgently now. "Well, we'd better get a move on. I'm not crossing the mountains in winter again."

Tess had withdrawn to the kitchen during the argument. Now she reappeared with steaming mugs of tea. "Perhaps I can help you," she said. "As it happens I'm sailing to Gan-port in the morning. Come with me. I'm a little short-handed, so you can work your passage and eat bamundi every evening. That'll save you quite a walk. More?" She held out the platter.

Karan shook her head. "I'll burst."

It took four days to get to Ganport, days of wild weather when they were both seasick and Llian so bad that the whole time he only moved from his hammock to the rail, where he had to be held lest he go overboard at every heave.

They bade farewell to Tess in Ganport and set out upriver following a path that wound beside the Gannel River across the range, then south-west all the way to Chanthed.

The mountain crossing seemed to take ages, though the weather was mild and the track in good condition, relatively easy walking. Llian, utterly sick of travel, just longed for a place of peace and quiet. There was so much to think about, tie together and make sense of, and he could not imagine anything more important than keeping the Histories and writing the Tale of the Mirror. Somewhere in the tale there was a great enigma to be puzzled out, one that held the key to the future of Santhenar.

Down on the plains of Folc they came to a town on the Gannel where there were river boats: flat-bottomed, slab-sided vessels that were poled along the meandering channels, or sailed if they were fortunate enough to have a following wind, which they often did. With Llian's dwindling coin they bought passage upriver almost as far as Chanthed. Karan asked after news of Bannador at every stop. She heard plenty about the war, though it was impossible to sort fact from fancy. Nowhere did she learn the news that she longed for so desperately-how Gothryme had fared.

Slowly they sailed on. It was well into autumn now and as they went south it became cloudier and cooler. Signs of war became more common, though they were still far from the center of things. News of Maigraith's deeds in Bannador were on everyone's lips, and that made Karan wonder even more. She also heard of Yggur's return and the fate of the Second Army. Llian drank all this in, hungry for news, but Karan did not want to know.

The boat ride ended; the Gannel was too shallow at this time of year. They found themselves on the road that led to Chanthed. Karan could not decide what to do with herself; could not find it in herself to make any plans. She must return to Gothryme and take charge of her affairs, but she was deadly afraid of what she would find there.

A week had gone by. "Not long now," Llian said. "Just around the next bend."

Karan trudged at his side, wiping sweat off her forehead. "I know!" She'd been to Chanthed quite a few times, though never from this direction. "Aren't you worried about going back?"

"I've hardly stopped thinking about it since we left Siftah."

They turned the corner. It was late afternoon. The Gannel was on their right hand, low and brown at this time of year. Across the river, fields of wheat were being harvested, the heads butter-yellow in the afternoon light. Karan saw a scatter of villages in the distance, and children diving off the ferry landing into the water.

Chanthed suddenly rose out of the haze in front of them, a tight little cluster of streets on the hillside, surrounded by a plain sandstone wall. It was a town of perhaps five thousand people. The sun slanted down the cobbled streets, warming the old buildings of honey-colored sandstone and green slate. At the very top stood the famous College of the Histories, its ancient buildings a riot of architectural ornamentation. Way beyond, the tips of snowy mountains could be seen.

They labored up the hill to the town gate. Two guards stood there. "We never had guards on the gate in daytime before," said Llian. He looked anxious, shabby and down-at-heel. "What if they won't let me in?"

"I'll do the talking," said Karan. "Stay behind and say as little as possible."

She marched up to the gate. "I am Karan Elienor Fyrn, of Gothryme Manor in Bannador," she said boldly. "And this is my man."

Something flickered in the guard's eyes. It was almost as if he'd heard of her. He looked down at her from his considerable height, then grinned. "You've been long on the road, my lady."

"More than a year! May we pass?"

"Bannador is always welcome here, my lady. And especially Gothryme!" He bowed.

Llian trotted through after her, the guards failing to recognize in this bearded and travel-stained man the acclaimed teller who had been banished a year ago. Just inside, a huge banner stretched from one side of the road to the other, proclaiming the coming Festival of Chanthed, only a few weeks away. The town would treble in size then and a bed could not be had for any kind of money.

"Oh, dear!" said Llian as they passed under the banner.

Not even Chanthed had survived the war unscathed. On their left a whole row of houses had been burnt and were now being pulled down and rebuilt. They saw destruction everywhere. Every coin that the festival brought in would be needed to repair the damage.

"Watch what you're doing!" someone shouted as they went by the last house in the ruined row.

Karan stopped, thinking that the man was yelling at her. Peering over a low wall, she saw two young people, one male and the other female, mixing mortar in a trough. The sloppy mixture was running down the sides. A red-faced overseer was shouting at them from a plank resting on scaffolding halfway up the side wall. Another youth was trying to push a wheelbarrow laden with bricks up a sloping plank. The barrow was too heavy, and kept tilting from side to side, the youth just managing to save it each time.

"Get that mortar up here fast, you clown," the overseer screamed at a girl carrying a hod on her shoulder. "More bloody bricks, you!" He leaned over the scaffolding to roar at the two at the mortar trough. "You've got too much water in it! Bloody students. Why can't I get any decent help? Stay there, I'll do it myself!"

He spun around, straight into the path of the wheelbarrow, which ran over his foot. "Shit!" he cried, dancing on one foot, then took a great swipe at the boy, who let go of the handles in fright. The plank tilted and the wheelbarrow toppled, in a cascade of bricks, into the mortar trough. Gray mortar splattered everywhere. The barrow boy clung to the scaffolding but the overseer followed the load down, landing flat on his back in the trough.

Karan burst out laughing. The overseer slowly sat up, groaning and screaming invective as he tried to clean the stinging mortar out of his eyes. "Bloody useless lot!" he screeched. "Go back to your stupid college."

The girl on the scaffolding calmly tilted the hod and a bucket-sized clot of mortar fell, to splatter on the overseer's head. She laid the hod on the plank, took off her overalls and dropped them into the trough, then sprang over the wall.

The man's eyes lit on Karan, who was still laughing. "Rack off," his mortary finger wavered at her, "or I'll have the dogs on you."

Karan and Llian followed the student up the road, still smiling. They went as far as the college wall. There was plenty of damage here too. The ancient Arch of Knowledge, the gate through which the masters and students passed through into the College of the Histories, had been smashed and defaced. Masons were busy repairing it.

Llian stood looking in through the gate. Karan heard a sniffle. "I thought you hated this place," she said.

"I did, at the end. I couldn't wait to get away. But now that I'm back ... Well, it's the greater part of my life. Let's go; there are cheap places just down the road."

"I know," said Karan. "I've stayed at The Orator, and it's the cheapest there is."

"That flea-bitten hole! We're not that poor!"

Karan felt ashamed of her penury. They found a marginally better inn, took a room, and Llian sent a street boy with a message for Wistan. He was still master of the college and the formalities must be observed. They bathed, washed their tattered clothes and went down into the street to a cheap cafe.

"I used to eat here all the time when I was a student," said Llian.

At that moment someone shrieked "Llian!" A tall, buxom young woman leapt out the door and threw her arms around him.

"Thandiwe," Llian whooped, hugging her and dancing halfway across the road.

Karan examined the competition, scowling. The woman was striking-long in the limb, full in the chest, with sensuous lips and a mischievous sparkle in her eye. Their reunion seemed rather too passionate for Llian to be her long-lost brother.

"I've missed you so much, Llian," said Thandiwe. "What happened to you? Wistan would never say. And have you heard my news? I'm a chronicler now, and I'll be telling at the festival. You must come."

Karan stopped with her hand on the door lever. She felt most uncomfortable. Why were the women that Llian liked all so damnably tall, bosomy and beautiful? And why did she always look as if she'd been dragged through the dirt? She overcame her feelings with an effort.

"Hello," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Karan."

"Thandiwe Moorn," the other replied, inspecting her minutely. "Are you a chronicler too?" she asked in dubious tones.

Karan felt horribly embarrassed. Her clothes were now practically falling to bits and she had no profession at all. "No, I'm ... on the land."

Thandiwe looked amazed, though she hid it quickly enough.

"I'll leave you two to talk," said Karan, desperate to get away. "I'm starving."

She hurried inside, Thandiwe's throaty laughter following her, and the door banged.

Eventually Llian appeared, but to Karan's dismay the woman followed him and sat down at the table. Karan sipped her tea, conscious that the lovely Thandiwe was inspecting her surreptitiously. Eventually she spoke.

"Where are you from, Karan?"

"Gothryme!"

"Where is that, pray?"

"You would not have heard of it. It is in the mountains of Bannador."

Thandiwe stared at her, realization slowly dawning. "Then you are Karan of Bannador-Karan of the Mirror!" Her face lit up like a miniature sun.

Karan hated talking about herself to strangers. She always felt so self-conscious. "Yes," she said in an almost invisible voice.

Thandiwe leaned across the table to take her hand. "You are not ... what I imagined, but what does that matter? You are famous here. I told your tale for my Graduation Telling. But I never expected ..." She eyed Karan up and down.

Karan felt more embarrassed than ever. "What did you expect-that I would prance about in silks and furs?" she said acidly, withdrawing her hand. She felt an irresistible urge to flee, then Llian took her other hand under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She mastered herself. "How did you hear of it?"

"The tale was all over Meldorin last winter. A scribe fleeing from the war brought it here."

"In Chanthed we have a particular hunger for new tales," Llian explained. "Students at the college have been known to fight each other for the privilege of telling a new one."

Thandiwe seemed to feel that her dignity had been impugned. "I did not fight anyone for your tale," she said stiffly. "I had heard parts of it long before it came from Thurkad, and it called to me. I realize why, now," she said, glancing sideways at Llian. "I put my case to Wistan and he agreed that I was the best to make the tale. Perhaps you would like to hear it sometime."

"Perhaps," Karan said very politely, desperate to get away.

"The very idea!" she raged to Llian later that night. "Why, her breasts were practically falling out of her dress. To think that I would want my tale told by her."

"You misjudge Thandiwe," Llian said, treading as delicately as he could. "She has the greatest respect for you and tries to show it as best she can. She's just a student, after all-she's done nothing with her life. While you are quite famous in Chanthed. You are in the Histories!" He said it with emphasis, as if it was the greatest honor that anyone could wish for. Which it was.

"I don't want to be in the Histories," Karan sniffed. She knew exactly what Thandiwe wanted.

"Then you're the only person on Santhenar who doesn't," Llian retorted. "Better be careful, else the students will think you ill-mannered and proud, and that you regard yourself as being better than them. They are mostly poor, after all, not like you who have a manor and land and forest; no matter how old and shabby that may be," he added to forestall her. "And Thandiwe is one of the poorest. She's worked very hard to stay here."

"Oh!" Karan said, drying a tear. "Was I proud and rude? I would not have her think so. I will try harder next time."

Early the next morning they were summoned to Wistan. Though a year had gone by since Llian's banishment, he was apprehensive about the meeting.

"Karan Fyrn!" exclaimed Wistan, clasping her hands in his gnarled paws. "I have heard your tale more than once, and liked it more each time."

Karan eyed the hideous little gnome uncertainly. Llian's tales had rather colored him in her eyes.

Wistan smiled. "I knew your father. Galliad was a very clever man. He often used the library, though I don't think he found what he was looking for."

Karan was immediately disarmed. "I came here with him many years ago. I sat on the floor while he talked to you-it was over in that corner. And it was you who sent Llian off to find me last autumn, so I owe you more than I can repay."

Wistan glanced at Llian, twisting up his thick lips. "What I did was ... not from the best of motives. If it turned out well it was not of my doing. Now, to business! We followed your tales eagerly, the fragments that have reached us over the past year. But we're desperate to know what really happened, especially since the Conclave."

The war and the Ghashad had shaken the townspeople out of their prosperous complacency. Wistan now understood the value of powerful friends. Despite Mendark's fall last year, it appeared that he was still powerful. No one could afford to be without allies these days, and Llian's name had been mentioned more than once in tales about the war and the Mirror. And Wistan had the chronicler's craving for news. Who better to give it to him?

Llian told him the news, briefly.

"You are much changed," said Wistan at the end of it.

Llian knew that he was. He could scarcely bear to think of the callow youth that he'd been then. He had learned much; suffered much. There was more to the world than himself.

"I am," he said. "I'm sorry for the trouble that I caused you. It was just a game to me then. It's all too real now."

"No matter," said Wistan. "You may do us great service if we survive the coming storm. I am very glad to see you."

"You're different too," Llian observed. Wistan was as withered and ugly as ever, but he seemed less cold now, less manipulating. Perhaps he'd never been as bad as Llian had made him out to be. And the destruction had shocked him, making him realize that he was too old to defend the college any longer. It needed a new master, one who was not only a great chronicler but who had strong allies.

"Tell me," said Llian. "Where's Trusco?" He had not seen the big, cheerful captain anywhere.

"Poor Trusco," said Wistan. "He was killed in the war, defending the college."

"I'm sorry. He was your friend and I liked him."