That's where I belong, he thought, with the trusted servants, guarding and supporting, but not out here pretending to be a person in my own right. I wish I could run off like Firekeeper did.

He felt terribly awkward when Lady Elise came gliding toward him in her beautiful gown, but the anxious expression in her wide sea-green eyes set him paradoxically at his ease.

"Derian," she said in hurried tones so soft as to be almost a whisper, "I must... I need... Can we talk?"

For a horrible moment, Derian thought that as once before Elise had suffered an enchantment thatrestricted her ability to speak freely. The young woman must have intuited his concern, for she managed a wry smile.

"No, I can talk-I'm just... well... worried and I'm not sure that this is the place to talk, but I need..."

She grabbed him on one forearm. "Come and walk with me in the garden. It will be cold outside, but no one should miss me for a few minutes."

Derian grinned. "And no one will be looking for me at all."

Elise looked embarra.s.sed.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said indignantly. "Simply put, your parents aren't here wanting you to dance with this important person or say something flattering to that important person."

Derian opened a door that-from last summer's sojourn in the castle-he knew led into a side garden.

The man guarding that particular door looked surprised that anyone would want to go out into the chilly afternoon, but he schooled his expression to polite neutrality. His job was to keep intruders out, not to monitor the guests' behavior, unless that behavior seemed to promise violence.

"No," Derian said to Elise as they stepped out into the late-autumn sunlight. "My parents are at home hoping that I'm talking to this important person and asking that important person to dance-but it's all right if I leave the party since I'm with you. They count you in the list of those who are pretty important."

Elise laughed, relieved to be teased.

"Walk with me. We can pretend to be looking at frost-frozen roses or ornamental kale or something."

Obediently, Derian took her arm. Elise was shivering slightly, but that might be from nerves. The fabric of her dress, as he knew from inspecting Firekeeper's similar garment, was quite heavy.

"Last night..."

Elise began her tale without further prologue and with a conciseness that was not typical of her. She told Derian how Baron Endbrook had slipped a note to Lady Melina, how Lady Melina had responded, about Elise's own suspicions.

"The worst thing of all," Elise concluded, "is that I don't know if I'm simply unwilling to trust the woman, and so I am spinning shawls out of fog and moon dust. It's just that after what we learned last autumn..."

Derian nodded his comprehension.

"We know that Lady Melina is capable of inflicting both pain and humiliation to achieve her ends," he said bluntly. "Next to that, what's a little political game-playing? The Isles aren't actually our enemies, really, just less than perfectly friendly neighbors."

Elise sighed.

"What should we do?" she asked, steering him back toward the door.

Derian frowned. "Off the cuff, I'd say we should see where both Lady Melina and Baron Endbrook go when the festivities are over. That won't be easy, but it won't be impossible. Almost everyone is stabling something or other with my parents' stable-or through people we've contracted with. I can use that for checking. And you can talk to Citrine-cautiously, of course.""Citrine?" Elise was puzzled, clearly wondering why he would suggest involving an eight-year-old.

"Rumor says," Derian smiled a touch slyly, "that Ruby and Opal are going to winter at Revelation Point Castle but that Citrine is not. Presumably, she is staying with her mother and so will have an idea of Lady Melina's plans."

Elise showed her astonishment.

"How could you know that already? It was only announced yesterday afternoon!"

"Jet Shield looked into having a family sled reupholstered-or more specifically, he sent a servant to do so," Derian replied a trace smugly. "The servant explained that the young ladies were going south for the winter, but that their mother wanted them to have their own light flyer for attending parties and such."

"Amazing!"

The guard held the door for them. Elise smiled her thanks. Derian nodded and, when he was almost past, winked slyly at the man. After all, the obvious reason for going walking with a pretty girl wasn't to discuss intrigue and conspiracy.

Derian escorted Elise to the hall where Baron Archer was-without making it too obvious-clearly looking for his daughter.

"You're wanted," Derian said, releasing his light hold on Elise's arm. "I see that dance cards are coming out. Doubtless your father wishes you to make yourself available to dance with some of those important people you mentioned."

Elise looked as if she was tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but all she said in parting was: "Tell Doc. He's smart and..."

And, Derian thought without rancor as he watched Elise take her father's arm and give him a winning smile, you like him in a way you don't like me, but that's just fine. I'm happy to have you as a friend.

He felt infinitely cheered, no longer out of place-not because, he realized to his amazement, someone had given him a job, but because Elise had reminded him that he was at this function because some people valued him for himself.

Whistling would have been out of place, but Derian nearly did so as he strolled along the edge of what would become a dance floor but was now thronged with the mingling guests.

Here and there women were fluttering elegantly printed dance cards threaded on satin ribbons. To be invited to this wedding at all, one needed to have some political or social connections, but being n.o.ble-born didn't make all women pretty or young or popular. Many of those would be worried that their cards would remain empty, but for a token dance from some generous relative.

Derian liked to dance and he had no lady or patron to flatter. After watching the ebb and flow for a moment, he checked his own card for the names of some of the earlier dances. Then he walked up to a rather plain woman in Merlin colors and bowed deeply.

"If I could have the honor, Lady," he said, "I was hoping you might have the Prancing Dapple open on your card. My name is Derian Carter. I have the honor to be a counselor to King Tedric."The woman looked pleased to have been noticed, but she colored slightly. Derian had noted similar responses in much more humble settings. He guessed that her card was completely empty and that she was embarra.s.sed to have him see that he was the first to ask her to dance.

He glanced away, signaled a waiter, and accepted two cups of punch. Taking this reprieve, the woman looked up from marking his name on her discreetly shielded card.

Handing her one of the punch cups, Derian pulled his own card from the pocket of his waistcoat.

"If I might have the honor of your name..."

He sketched it in-she proved to be a lesser scion of House Merlin, much as Doc was of House Kestrel.

Then Derian bowed and thanked the woman in advance for the promised pleasure. Now that the preliminaries had started, Derian began enjoying himself.

As he cast around for another suitable partner, Derian felt a fleeting sorrow for Firekeeper. The wolf-woman did love to dance and here she was missing another ball. He hoped that wherever she was, she was happy and at least reasonably warm.

The rest of the reception flew by on-for him quite literally-dancing feet. He found that many ladies of t.i.tle and prestige, including to his astonishment the elderly d.u.c.h.ess Kestrel and a giggling Princess Anemone, were quite pleased to hint that they would like a dance with him. Apparently his reputation as a dancer had proceeded him, quite possibly from the Bridgeton Ball that had provided the opening skirmishes of King Allister's War.

Derian was glad when Earl Kestrel offered him a ride home on the box of the Kestrel carriage. His feet were so tired that he would have limped if he had made the long walk home alone-not that the drivers of any of the dozen or more carriages hired from his parents' stables would have let him do so.

After a long afternoon that had begun with the wedding, moved into the reception, the first set of dances, a light supper, and then a second set of dancing, Derian was astonished upon arriving home to realize that the hour was not unduly late. Winter darkness combined with physical weariness had conspired to fool him into believing it at least midnight.

Coming into the house, he found his parents and Damita awake, playing cards by lanternlight.

"Tell us," Dami demanded, setting down what was clearly a winning hand, "all about it."

And he did, talking even while he eased off his boots and put his feet in the shallow pan of warm water that miraculously appeared. He was aware of Cook and the housemaid listening from the shadowy kitchen door, that old Toad, who had retired from driving and now helped with the household's heavier ch.o.r.es and around the stables, had emerged from his attic room and was listening at the top of the stairs.

Cook brought out hot peachy and thin wafer cookies to prompt Derian when he flagged and Vernita invited the servants to join the family circle. Brock woke about then and curled sleepily on the hearth rug, waking only fully to ask yet another question.

Derian did his best not to leave anything out, to describe the gowns, the uniforms, the jewels. He told of every dainty served, answered questions about the wines (very good, but not excellent) and whether the gentlemen had worn swords (no). He listed every dance he'd danced and with whom, and by the end of his recital, his throat was hoa.r.s.e but his tiredness had vanished, replaced by a curious light-headness.

The only thing he didn't share was what Elise had confided in him, but no one would have expected that from him-not even Cook, who was the most accomplished gossip in the marketplace.When Derian finished, the hour was truly late, for the telling had taken nearly as long as the doing. Derian padded up to his room in his stocking feet and was just undressed and under the covers when there was a tap on his door, and Vernita entered. She sat on the edge of his bed as if for all the world he was still Brock's age.

"I just wanted you to know, Derian, that if running a stable or breeding blood horses is what you want, well that's fine with me and your father. We spoke seriously to you the other day about the possibilities open for your future, but never think we'd disown you or be disappointed if you chose another way."

She bent and kissed his forehead.

"We're proud of you, son."

For a moment, Derian didn't trust himself to speak. When he found his voice, he said a bit rustily, "I love you, too, Mother."

He thought about asking her about what Heather had said, about the baker and about lost romances, but by the time his tired brain could frame the questions, he had fallen sound asleep.

Chapter XIII.

When the glade filled once again with the graceful and impressive figures of the Royal Beasts, the sky still held faint light, but the interwoven branches of the overarching trees sufficiently dampened the reddish glow so that it was as if shadows rather than substance kept company therein.

The first to pick up the tale was a Beast that Firekeeper had not noticed earlier in the day, a boar racc.o.o.n so burly and powerful that he might have been taken for a small bear. In the direct fashion of the Beasts, he did not waste breath on preamble, but took up the account precisely where the vixen had left off.

"And so we traded land for security and once we were gone from their ken, the humans preferred to forget our existence. A few adventurous types made forays into the mountains and occasionally beyond, coming after furs and such other things as humans treasure. Royal policy remained avoidance rather than confrontation, so those humans who returned told of thick forests, of untamed lands, of clear streams, but never of our kind."

The racc.o.o.n paused then and in the dim light Firekeeper, who knew how to see in the dark far better than did a human, could see him twisting and intertwining his dexterous black fingers as if undecided how best to continue.

Glancing about the glade, she saw signs of the same indecision and wondered at it. Before she could whisper a question into the One Female's ear, the puma gave an arrogant stretch and snapped his long, tawny tail against the rock.

"Much time pa.s.sed," the puma said with a growling purr. "How much, we cannot say precisely, for Beasts do not record time as humans do. Moreover, our lives-though long by comparison with those of the Cousins-are often shorter than those of humans. We think of time in terms of seasons-the summer when the deer ran as fat and thick as blackberries in a thicket or the winter when the cold was so severe that even the water in the deepest lakes and fastest running rivers froze."Suffice to say that much time pa.s.sed. We never forgot humans, but some of our fear abated, for they seemed content to stay east of the Iron Mountains and to fight among themselves rather than trouble us.

We told our cubs and pups, fawns, piglets, and fledglings enough to keep them cautious, listened when the winged folk brought happy news of war or sorrowful news of wide-sailed ships, and returned to our ways.

"Then came the day a raven-or was it a crow?-brought a curious tale."

"It was a raven," said the raven, interrupting without fear of the long claws that suddenly unsheathed from the puma's paws and sc.r.a.ped against the rock. "And this part of the tale is mine."

The enormous black bird fluffed out the feathers on his legs and neck, made a seeming of ears grow upon his head, and strutted up and down in front of Firekeeper-a clownish yet somehow also frightening sight.

"The tale the raven brought was one of death," the raven croaked in a voice so ancient and hoa.r.s.e that Firekeeper found herself convinced that this was the very raven who had borne the tale. "Death, but not from war, not from age, not even from murder or from intrigue. This was death from sickness-a sickness that spread with the speed of breath or touch, a sickness that caused the victim to burn from within not so much with fever but as if a secret fire that fed on the human spirit had been kindled within."

"We ravens watched freely and openly, for the deaths were so frequent and so plentiful that there was not a town or village, castle or cottage that lacked its flock of carrion eaters. Any who saw us glimpsed in our vast wingspans and triumphant swagger omens of their own deaths.

"Now you may ask," the raven said, turning a bright, beady eye on the listening wolf-woman, "were we not risking the wrath of the sorcerers? Initially, we were indeed chary of these, but some moonspans of watching taught us a great and wonderful thing. Those who burned fastest and brightest and who never ever recovered from the plague were those who practiced sorcery. From the merest apprentice to the mightiest wizard, they died.

"The talented fared somewhat better, but among these too-as far as we could tell-not a one escaped the sickness. Some of these, however, did mend. Nor did those without any hint of magical gift escape the plague, but among them it was more likely to leave behind battered, broken, and shaken souls who-if they escaped further illness, starvation, or murder at the hands of the wild ones who, seeing death all around, forgot law-then they might live."

The One Female rubbed her muzzle against Firekeeper's arm, for the feral woman had started to tremble at this cool account of chaos.

Firekeeper understood now why the humans always spoke of the plague in hushed voices and hurried on to other subjects. Even as a thing many more than a hundred years gone, it was terrible to contemplate.

She suspected, too, why there was so little magical talent among the Great Houses of Hawk Haven and-as far as she knew-Bright Bay and elsewhere. The plague had killed those with sorcery, weakened those with a trace of talent, and left those without either to rise to power.

Fleetingly, she wondered if Zorana the Great, so revered in Hawk Haven, had been among those the Royal Beasts termed the "wild ones," the forgetters of law, but further speculation on this must wait, for a crow had taken up the tale from the raven.

It cawed loudly as if realizing that Firekeeper's attention had fled, and said:"Seeing how the Fire Plague touched those with talent, we feared for ourselves and our own, since-as you know-talents occur among Royal Kind. But these fears proved rootless. Even those among the ravens and crows who had dined on the flesh of sorcerers killed by the plague-a thing we did with enthusiasm and glee before we realized there might be danger of contagion-even these remained firm and fit and healthy.

"After much time, the Fire Plague burned itself to ashes and was no more seen, but by then the world had been transformed. The population of humans in this land had been reduced to a quarter of its former size-not all by plague, but by the attendant menaces the raven has already mentioned as well. There were no sorcerers remaining in the land and an aversion to sorcery in any form-extending in some places to even the relatively innocent talents-had become universal among humanity.

"Moreover, the Old Country rulers who had once dominated these colonies fled early in the plague cycle.

Perhaps they hoped for healing in their homelands-for by all reports the use of magic there was so prevalent as to make what we saw here seem nothing. If so, they were disappointed, for the Fire Plague had burned more fiercely in those lands.

"However, we crows believe that they fled because many of them had been cruel and contemptuous rulers, and they feared the retribution of their subject peoples even more than they feared the plague.

Those foreign-born who remained were more likely to die, though whether this was because they possessed more latent magic or whether they were simply less hearty, having had others to perform all labor for them, is a matter we never have resolved."

"Or," muttered the bear, "cared to resolve. It was enough to have them gone."

A jay took up the narrative as if the bear's interruption had been intended.

"Indeed, we cared not a dry berry husk. Other questions were raised at our councils-practically from the moment that we realized the extent of the plague and what it was likely to do to our onetime enemies.

"The foremost of these questions was whether we should finish what the plague had begun. Should we wipe humans from the face of the land? There was much contention on this point, but in the end the lesson of the songbirds was recalled and the council decided to let humans live as they had lived before-with one exception.

"One of the things that had made sorcery so terrible to us was that its power could be separated from its creator. We decided that these objects of power could not be left in human hands, that we would steal them, one and all, and..."

There was a slight awkward pause, and once again Firekeeper felt that something was being held back.

"And," chattered on the jay with perhaps a trace too much haste, "so keep them from being used against us in the future when humans might have forgotten their fear of sorcery. We were helped in this course by the humans themselves. Many a sorcerer's stronghold was burnt from the library outward, many a wand or staff was tossed into the flames. Still, there was work for us to do."

The One Female spoke. "Nor did we larger creatures leave all the thieving to the jays and crows and ravens. Royal Wolf packs crossed the mountains for the first time in living memory. We hunted down those bandits who had taken booty from their dead masters and when the bandits were dead themselves our winged allies bore away the spoils. Pumas hung from tree limbs and screamed from crags so that horses fled in terror. Herds of elk blockaded armies, braving arrows and spears to hold them.

Clever-fingered racc.o.o.ns and sly foxes slipped into camps and cottages, and removed artifacts tied into bags and boxes."Doubtless we took things that were not sorcerous in nature, for it was then a rare talent among us to be able to scent magic. Doubtless innocent books were consigned to flames, but we wished to be thorough.

"Even then," the One Female continued, "we had heard rumors of what Gustin Sailor possessed, but he had fled to a stronghold and always had an army about him. Since his contention with his former allies was over those very objects, Gustin Sailor took care never to let them leave his keeping, for he could not trust that Zorana Shield might not force or bribe someone to steal the enchanted artifacts from him."

"When," added the doe almost kindly, "the Royal Beasts saw no indication of magic being used by this first Gustin or the Gustins who followed him or indeed by any in his court or household, we thought the rumors were as dry gra.s.s: filling, but without solid sustenance. We thought that he-as had many of our own-might have been fooled by a certain shine or elegance in crafting into believing that such an ornate thing must be sorcerous."

"And," asked Firekeeper, "do you know otherwise now?"

The doe said honestly, "We do not, but we fear lest there be truth in the tales. Queen Valora-according to our spies-is an angry woman, one who would unleash a rabid dog even at the risk of being bitten herself. She has never seen the Fire Plague, has only a faint dread of magic. Now, like the sorcerers of old, she may see only a means to power, to domination of those who bested her, and to rulership."

"Your spies?" Firekeeper asked.