"They're all out for what they can get."

"Who are you talking about?"

"Yggur, Mendark, not to mention Hennia the Zain! She's changed sides half a dozen times this year. Treacherous bitch, like all her kind."

Shrinking visibly, Llian turned away.

Karan tried to cover it up with jocularity. "Well, that's human nature, which is irreducible, as you should know."

"And mine is to go home and hide from my problems. I need Tullin just as much as you do Gothryme."

"Did you speak to Mendark about Chanthed?"

"His ship hasn't come in yet."

Shand's lodging was a disreputable-looking tenement with stained stonework and falling render, a place that looked damp and filthy under Thurkad's perpetually gray winter skies. It was not far from the room where he had nursed Karan back to health last winter.

"What a dump," said Llian, though a year ago it would have seemed a palace compared to his student's lodgings. "Haven't they heard of paint in Thurkad?"

"Are you paying for it?" Shand said coldly.

"I have no money."

"Then keep your thoughts to yourself. I don't want to draw attention to us. Alliances made in the heat of battle, in the trials of Katazza or the desolation of the Dry Sea, need not hold up now that Yggur is back in the seat of his power with his armies behind him."

"Pompous ass," said Llian under his breath.

Karan started to say something, then thought better of it. She hated Thurkad; always had. If the rest of the week was going to be like this it would be unbearable.

However, inside they found Shand's rooms to be well furnished and comfortable, though cold because of the wood shortage. Once they were safely installed Malien left them, going off to see Tensor. Karan stayed inside, since that was cheaper. She often thought about pawning the beautiful chain but could not bring herself to part with it-it was so connected with Llian. Every time she looked at it she remembered climbing the Great Tower, and the night after.

Karan spent most of her time working on her ledger in front of their pathetic fire, a thin candle fluttering in the end of a bottle beside her. She was preoccupied with the rebuilding of Gothryme and the re-establishment of the gardens on the uphill side of the manor, which had been trampled into the ground, though there was not a coin to spare for the work. This work of creation gave her more satisfaction than anything she had done in her life before. This was real. This was what she wanted.

Llian was miserable. He could not bear to be in the same room as Shand, whose contempt was all too evident. Since there was nothing else to do he went out. That was not pleasant either, for it was dismal weather. Being broke, he was forced to tell to earn his drinks, but his audience was only interested in the crudest of tales. He returned late that night feeling worse than when he'd left.

"Where have you been?" Shand snapped as soon as he opened the door.

"Telling yarns for a few drinks."

"Better not be about the Mirror!"

Llian scowled, began to defend himself, then went into the other room and crawled into bed. He hated Shand.

"He's doing it again!" said Shand. "Blabbing our secrets!"

"You heard him, did you?" she asked acidly.

"I know him, Karan!"

Nothing changed the second day, or the third. As Llian put his coat on, Shand attacked him.

"I'd prefer that you stayed here," said Shand. "This is not a good time to draw attention to ourselves."

"Well, I'm fed up with your dark looks and your conspiratorial exchanges."

"Trust needs be earned!" Shand said angrily.

"Impossible for anyone who is Zain to earn yours! I've already tried that. You've been muttering about my heritage since the first time we met."

"And I've been proven right!" shouted Shand, "as I told Karan in Tullin."

"Shand!" Karan said, but the damage was done.

"So, you admit it at last, you grinning hypocrite! Well, I've known all along. I overheard you agree to betray me in Tullin, Karan. How could you?"

Karan leapt up, knocking over the table in her distress. The candle landed on the rug. Shand sprang to put it out.

Llian gave the pair of them a look that could have burned through rock, and left abruptly.

Karan was distraught. "I can't do this, Shand," she wept. "The two people that I care for most, constantly at each other's throats."

Shand was in no mood to make concessions. "I warned you. I've seen this kind of possession before."

"I prefer to rely on my own judgment. Stop undermining Llian; leave him alone."

"Your judgment is clouded by your feelings toward Llian."

"And yours by your prejudice against the Zain," she shot back. "Damn you, Shand, you're a mean-spirited old bastard. Don't ever mention it again."

Shand was quite shocked, then looked away, went into the next room and closed the door. An hour later he came out again. "I'm sorry, Karan. I've been a fool."

She looked up at him miserably, ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, leaving a tuft sticking up, and bent again to her work. The candlelight turned her hair to red gold.

Shand stood looking down. Oh, for such a daughter, he thought unguardedly. But that thought brought an unhappy one and he reached for the bottle on the mantelpiece. Karan looked up at the scrape of glass on stone. Shand had the bottle to his lips.

He caught her eye, hesitated, then held the bottle out to her with a rueful expression. She shook her head automatically-even half a bowl clouded her thinking, took away her will to work all day and half the night-but saw something in Shand's face and changed her mind.

"Not out of the bottle," she said. She dragged her table out of the way, found two bowls in a cupboard and filled them. They sat together, sipping their wine, not talking. The wine was a good one.

"More?" asked Shand, when the bowls were empty.

"Why not? The first finished any hope of work tonight." After half of the second was gone she put the bowl down. "What is it, Shand?"

He shook his head. His eyes were closed. There was a tear on his cheek.

Her soft green eyes met his deep-set eyes.

"I had a daughter once," he said.

She said nothing.

"She is gone, lost long ago. How I loved her."

His old face was quite broken. A grief that would last for all his life, that had colored every moment of his life since. Karan's heart went out to him. A tear fell on his beard and hung there, a single drop that flamed in the candlelight. Then it ebbed away like the passing of a life.

"My fault it was entirely. I neglected her, then she was gone. One day I had everything; the next: nothing. I can never forget her. Can never forget how I failed to keep my promise."

Karan said nothing, only hugged him.

"She was such a beautiful child." His eyes were blurry with terrible, distant sadness. "When I lost her all the joy went out of the world. It would have been her birthday today."

"That is why you gave up the Secret Art!"

He was startled. "How did you know?"

"You know too much, and you are too old and, dare I say it," she felt self-conscious saying it, and rolled her eyes so he would think it just a joke, "too wise."

"Wise I am not. Look what I've done to you and Llian. I'm sorry, Karan. I will try harder." He smiled at some secret thought. "Sometimes you remind me of her. You're right. In ancient times I did practice the Secret Art, and even had some modest success at it. No one knows that now, save Mendark, and you, and Nadiril of the Great Library. Do not speak of it, I beg you. I had a great love, and I was wealthy and powerful and proud. Too proud and too busy rushing around trying to alter the course of fate. But I minded everyone's business except my own, and with the passing of time I lost everything, even that daughter I loved more than anything. That was lifetimes ago, but still it hurts. I've never spoken about it before."

Perhaps that's why it still hurts so much, Karan thought. "How did it happen?"

"I don't know. The Zain had their revenge on me for something I did to them in ages past, I'm sure of it. Who else could it have been? That's why I've been so hard-well, you know all about that. She was gone, and all my efforts, great efforts you can be sure, discovered nothing. My wealth and power, wisdom-ha!-even the Secret Art, were revealed to be worthless. So I renounced them, and my duties and responsibilities, and took up the simple life in Tullin. No responsibility more onerous than to chop wood and keep the fires going, no duty except to the landlord, in return for meat and drink and a bed. And in truth, I found that the life suited me."

Karan raised a sceptical eyebrow. Perhaps you convinced yourself, she thought, but I doubt that a great past can be cast off so easily. "Then what brought you out of Tullin after all this time?"

Shand stared into the fire. They were burning wood from a house nearby, destroyed in the war. It smoked and steamed, poor stuff with little heat in it, choking the grate with white ash. A sliver of wood was sticking straight up like a spire, and Shand watched the smoke trail up from it, the wood slowly charring. The spire drooped down until it touched the main piece of wood. The smoke failed.

"Brought me out?" he said absently. "I suppose it was your father."

"My father?"

"I knew him well. I told you that once, remember?"

"Of course I remember. It was when we were in Ganport, after you had taken pleasure in my humiliation-the famous bath, if you remember!"

Shand laughed and it gave Karan pleasure to hear it. "I could hardly forget it."

"I would not say that we were the best of friends, for we were too different for that. But he was very kind to me when my memories troubled me most. I was shocked to hear of his death-he was the kind of man that you think will live forever. Then your sending from the ruins above Tullin roused me to my responsibilities.

"Once I realized that it was you, the past woke in me. It put me in a great conflict and it gets deeper every day. This hanging about, waiting on the whim of Mendark when I could be minding my own business in Tullin, drives me into a rage!" He banged the table, making the empty bowls jump.

Karan stayed up late, working on her plans until after midnight in spite of the wine, and worrying about how she would ever afford to fulfil them. Shand had been asleep for hours. Llian had not come back. Finally she went to bed, but woke in the night at some noise outside. Her heart was racing, and she felt uneasy. Where was Llian? Doubtless in some low bar, drinking with new-found friends, equally low. She drifted back to sleep.

She was woken in the morning by a muffled conversation outside, then Shand opened the door. She sat up sleepily, looking away from the bright lantern.

"Was that Llian?"

"No, he's still not back."

The night's foreboding stabbed her in the belly. Karan leapt out of bed and threw her clothes on.

"What's the matter?" said Shand.

"Something's happened. I'm going looking for him."

"You'll never find him."

"If I was in trouble he'd come looking for me." She shrugged on her greatcoat, took her hat down off the peg.

"Do you want me to come too?" Clearly he didn't want to, for his eyes strayed to the bottle on the shelf.

"I'd prefer to be alone. Oh, who was that you were talking to?"

"A messenger. Mendark arrived a few hours ago. It's said that he looked very worn."

"Will there be trouble with Yggur?"

"More than likely, though doubtless they'll try to get along for as long as suits them."

She trudged the sodden city all day, asking at every inn she came to, but found no trace of Llian. The backstreets of Thurkad were a labyrinth and her talent told her nothing either.

Karan returned in the early evening, not daring to walk in such places after dark. Saturated, freezing, she was shaking with a chill that was surely going to get worse. At Shand's question she shook her head. "Not a trace. I don't know where to turn. You haven't heard anything?"

"No!" he said.

"Something's happened to him."

"It's beginning to look that way. I hope-"

The tone of his voice annoyed her. "Don't start on that again. It's nothing to do with Rulke!"

"You can't know that."

"I know! He's in trouble. Shand, you've got to help me. You have contacts here. Please, Shand."

He writhed.

"I'm sure my father would have wanted you to."

He twisted, but in the end could see no honorable way out. "I suppose I could ask my old friend, Ulice, if she's still alive. I'll go in the morning."

"Could you go now?" she asked desperately.

Llian went out into the Thurkad night, into the wind and rain and smoke from countless chimneys, which hung in the streets like greasy yellow fog. Contrary to Shand's opinion he did not have any particular destination in mind, as he had only a few coppers earned from a previous begging tale. He was in no mood to repeat that tonight. He wandered the streets for hours, till his wet clothes stank of smoke. It felt as if it was raining misery and it did not stop at the skin-the unhappiness washed right through him, saturating every cell and nerve.

He paced on, head bowed into the wind, an anonymous and shabby figure, pathetic as any of the tramps, derelicts and street people that he passed. None met his eyes nor showed the least interest in him. Why would they? He had nothing to offer them.

Well after midnight, Llian turned into a narrow street that was vaguely familiar. Tallia had brought him here, he remembered, the night he'd sneaked into the citadel just before the disastrous Conclave. Yes, there was the house, still recognizable though burnt to a roofless masonry shell. Llian climbed through a window like an eye-socket and perched on the rubble inside, sheltering from the wind.