Oragien shrugged. "It is a question we have asked ourselves many times.

Once nearly all noble lords sent a younger son to study at the tower. So many came that only those with the greatest talent were accepted. Nowfew come willingly up the road to our tower, and we take in whoever fate sends our way. As you see, there are not many young men among us."

Travis gazed around the chamber. There was one small knot of a 312.

half-dozen boys, and a few men here and there who looked to be in their twenties, but nearly all the others in the chamber were older than Travis.

"Now the common folk have new reason to mis- like us," Oragien said, "although their fear is misplaced."

"The burning sickness," Travis said before he even really thought about it.

Oragien gave a solemn nod. "They came in the spring of the year, along with the terrible heat that 307 knows their origin or their purpose. But we do know their touch induces a plague that causes the afflicted to burn from within and die."

"Or to become like them," a runespeaker across the chamber--one of the few younger men--said.

Oragien glanced at him. "We do not know that, Temris. Not for certain.

There are only stories, and ones spoken by peasants at that."

No, Travis wanted to say. No, he's right. I've seen the pictures. It's not a sickness. It's a transformation.

But he couldn't find his voice. It was all impossible. Yet in a way it made sense. Why else had Brother Cy shown up? The burnt man, the twisted forms in the pictures Hadrian Farr had shown him, even the heat. All of it was tied with what was happening on Eldh.

"It was we who gave a name to the Burnt Ones," Oragien said.

"Krondrim, we called them. The Beings of Fire. However, doing so was a mistake. Because we named them, some began to believe that it was we who made them."

313.

It was ludicrous but believable. People always had a way of blaming the message on the messenger. And it explained the welcome Travis and his gray robe had received in the tavern; the townsfolk had thought him a bringer of plague. But that still didn't explain why he was here, on Eldh, in the Gray Tower. He drew in a deep breath. It seemed an awfully self- centered question, but he had to ask it.

"So what does any of this have to do with me?"

Travis kept his eyes on Oragien, but he was aware f the others shifting on their benches, and of new whispers being added to the ceaseless drone on the air.Oragien tightened his hands around his staff. "The Runespeakers have been unfairly blamed for a great evil. There is only one way we can bring respect to nn ".._. i i . _ tit- ."__.,. r>_ -i - --"..__ 308 * mark anthony to drive the krondnm away. And we summoned you to help us do it."

Motion was impossible as Travis fought to comprehend these words. He was not as certain as the All- master that driving away the Burnt Ones would redeem the Runespeakers in the eyes of the common folk.

Demonstrating power over them might only make it seem all the more plausible that the Runespeakers had created the kiondrim in the first place. And by the mutterings around him, Travis guessed he was not the only one who held this same concern. However, there was a greater flaw to the All- master's logic. His voice was like a dying man's croak. "But how can I help you against the krondrim2"

"Who else can help us, if not you, Master Wilder?" Oragien said. "Are you not the heir to the runelord Jakabar?"

The whisperings in the tower rose to a rushing noise that filled 314 Travis's skull. "Jack? Do you mean Jack Graystone?"

"Yes, Master Wilder. Jakabar of the Gray Stone was a runelord."

Oragien lifted his staff and pointed it directly at Travis's chest. "And so are you."

"What did you want to tell me, Grace?" Beltan said, a solemn note entering his usually bright tenor.

Grace glanced over her shoulder. She and Durge had drawn Beltan aside, leaving the others in the circle of stumps around the fire pit. Daynen asked questions Grace could not hear and which Lirith was evidently trying to answer, while Tira squatted on the ground, playing in the dirt with her burnt doll as 309.

on the hilt of his sword, his homely face hard--all except for his eyes, which were soft as they gazed upon the young baroness. Grace sighed and turned back to the two men.

"Beltan, there's nothing I want more than for you to come with us. I think--no, I know we can use your help. And I've missed you. We've missed you. But"--she gestured to the tree forts all around--"are you sure you can leave?"

The knight's yellow mustache curved down around his mouth. "What do you mean?"

Durge cleared his throat. "I believe, Sir Beltan, that Lady Grace is concerned your orders will not permit you to part from your troop."Beltan stared at them, then grinned. "Well, then there's nothing to worry about. I get to make my own orders. That was part of my bargain with Sir Vedarr when I joined the Order of Malachor."

"Sounds convenient," Grace said.

315.

"It is." Beltan met her eyes, and his grin faded. "But I haven't forgotten my duty, Grace. I was charged with the task of finding the source of the fires. And now we know that means the Burnt Ones. So it's only right that I go with you."

A frown chiseled furrows even deeper into Durge's brow. "How is that so?"

Grace looked at Beltan--like Durge, she failed to see the logic of his conclusion.

The blond man scratched his chin. "So you mean you don't think there's a connection between Travis's coming and theirs? The krondrim, I mean."

Grace's mouth dropped open, but she could find no words to speak. How could she have not seen it before? Everything had been right there in her dreams about Travis: the firedrake, the red star, the flames. And, once, the perfect black eyes with which he had gazed at her. But the dreams had ceased after her vi- Slr>n ,,r'n.-._... .. .1 .