Unseen, unheard, the Sorcerer Kharadmon linked his conjury to the tide of the solstice noon. An actinic blast of illumination exploded over the dais. The ranking royal were rocked back and dazzled. They strove to reorient, unsure if~ should draw weapons, or what form of enemy might Through an inrush of winds like a rip in clear air, they heard the of the coin chest, fallen from the prince's grasp. Then the treble as the shadow-banes burst free, clanging and scattering the dais. Plucked off the boards like a captured chess piece, s'Ilessid no longer stood among them. The circle of light just manifest shimmered empty, while his chancellor and body/ gaped in terrified astonishment.

For Lysaer, seized fast by a presence that disallowed protest,/ upset plucked him bodily and hurled him through the howling eye~ chaos. He felt torn in half, upended, spun. Nausea threatened to up his guts. He battled to cope in riled anger. Led onc( a spell transfer across longitude, he recognized the forces of conjury just before the disembodied voice of Kharadmon him, "You are bound at this moment for Althain Tower in answer summons by the Fellowship."

Then transition ended. The wheeling cascade of snapped away. Lysaer felt his person restored to firm stone, but not the plaza at Avenor. The smells in this place were ozone and coiled through. an elusive, dark tang of oiled metal. He shielded ~ eyes, made out a black onyx floor underfoot. The fierce play streamed from inlaid strings of ciphers, arrayed in disquieting terns, concentric circles and interlocked rune lines yet limned white in the fast-fading shimmer of spent energies. He recognized stood at the apex of the power focus laid out in the keep's lower dun- geon. Its seamless walls were pale marble. Gargoyle sconces crouched leering at the major points of the compass. Lysaer's flesh crawled with chills, gift of Luhaine's nearby presence; then that cold intensi- fied as Kharadmon flanked him as invisible escort to prod his stiff step toward the stairwell.

"You won't get away with abducting me," Lysaer ground out in FUGITIVE I~RINCE.

10w fury. "Nor can raw power absolve Arithon's bloody crimes, nor the secret of your dirty liaison."

"You're no one's prisoner," Luhaine said, unperturbed. "As for keeping propriety, this meeting you attend shall be bent outside time.

Your absence at Avenor will last no more than the wings of an instant." He led up the stair shaft, his spirit reclothed as a courtesy in the image of a corpulent bald man from whose dimpled chin hung a cataract of silver beard. His stooped shoulders were robed in the dusty slate cloth favored by scholars and clerics, and his sandals fussed to a waxed shine.

Behind, manifest as a slim, dapper form cloaked in extravagant green velvet with slashed sleeves and linings of flame orange, Kharadmon showed his foxy smile. "Nor need you waste effort maligning your half brother." He wore a black mustache twisted to raised tips like crossed scimitars. His beard was a spade-point goatee.

The rest of his hair fell loose and long to his collarbones, argent combed through jet at the temples. He surveyed Lysaer's pique with eyes a sardonic, pale green. "The only man's fate held at issue today will be yours, scion of s'Ilessid."

Every inch the born prince, Lysaer stayed unruffled by the Sorcer- ers' cavalier handling. His tread on the worn, concave stair was assured, his bearing never less than a masterpiece of cool statecraft.

lie filed after Luhaine through the trapdoor to ground level, into the fragrant tang of cedar and the polished, frozen ranks of Paravian stat- uary. Though past high kings before him had cried aloud for sheer wonder at the antlered, stone majesty of the centaurs that raised hooves and towered above human height, Lysaer would not turn his b~_act. Royally assured, he displayed no catch of breath. Nor did he marvel at the unearthly, stopped splendor of the unicorns, posed in dancing steps, with their spiraled horns struck soft pearl in the muted gleam through the arrow slits.

That veneer of indifference soon became forced. The willful, steel nerve he sustained throughout taxing state councils in this place chafed thin, made brittle as a mask of varnished paper. Lysaer fought the poignant, swift tug at the mind that moved prior visitors to weep.

He refused for staunch pride to unbend. The Spinner of Darkness was the Fellowship's minion; moral duty compelled him to stand strong.

No matter the price, he dared not let the unworldly grace of a dead past beguile him into weakness. He walked as a man sealed deaf to temptation, while to the right and the left, the joyful, inspired artistry of the smallest ones, the sunchildren, ripped his heartstrings and begged him for laughter.

93.

JANNY ~URTS.

Ahead rose a staircase o stark, chiseled granite, centuries of torch soot. Althain Tower had been raised in haste to safeguard the records of the Paravian culture. Its the chronicles of the First Age, when the ravaging hordes of, raised to life by the drakes' dreams had led the world Sealed vaults and storerooms contained old weapons from times, rare artifacts of Paravian craftwork. Young by heirlooms recovered from the plunder of the high king's halls sha~ shelf space.

The grim stairwell between levels still reflected the primary func.

tion as a fortress. Stark, unfinished stone made a wrenching, gr~ contrast to the grandeur of the commemorative statues. Here, eve~ the most unflinching pride could not evade the imprint of despair The moan of the drafts and the squeal of a loose shutter bespc~ke des.

olation, undying reminder of tragedy and losses endured since the departure of the old races. Lysaer set his chin. He refused ~, ~i~e ~'a,: to emotion or embarrassment, and that hardened deter~i~,~ti0n t~ stand down Athera's past was not missed by the Sor~c'~'~'rs ~.~c escorted him.

They ushered him across the first landing, past the chamOer ~x~her~ the Koriani Waystone had been held secure since the first chaotic hour of the rebellion; they ascended to the next, where Althai~'~ ~'ar.

den kept his living quarters. On the third level, Sethvir ~irnsel!

awaited, the dusty, threadbare garments he preferred put a,ide i0: state formality: a robe of maroon velvet interlaced at sleeves ,~,~d co',.

lar in black cord, and belted with a girdle stitched with river ?c. arls His beard had been tidied. Silk cord looped his hair at his nat~, an~ his glance of greeting came sharp as a catchlight on fired t~t~,~r~,l "Welcome to Althain Tower, Lysaer s'Ilessid."

The prince's crisp nod offered civilized replacement for tt~ ~ald.

faced accusation, that in his hall at Avenor, hospitality did not i~ ~:tude being snatched off by force.

Sethvir met that unspoken fuming with a note of disquieting, pure pity. "Beware how you think in this place."

"I fear no one's censure," Lysaer said, and despite his best care, the pique showed.

"Perhaps not today, but the future's not written." Sethvir unfolded hands like gnarled twine and flung wide a door of iron-strapped ~,ak.

Inside, the tower's rough stone had been paneled over in li~en ~c,/d patterns of golden maple. A carpet of Cildorn weave graced the I'i,~'~c~r of a comfortable, warm chamber. The furnishings included a table, c~i waxed ebony, standing lions back-to-back as its pedestal, and ct~,~irs

94.

FUGITIVE I~RINCE.

upholstered in dark leather with exquisite, chased ivory finials.

Beeswax candles burned, both in tall stands and sconces. Rowed beneath the paned, lancet windows, and lent the rich depth of choice dyes, the banners of Athera's five kingdoms hung from bronze tapestry rods. The ambiance held a grandiloquent, trapped weight of history before which Lysaer paused, amazed.

"Behold, the chamber of the high kings. Here, your ancestor, Hal- duin s'Ilessid, knelt and swore oath to the Fellowship. That blood vow he gave became binding on his progeny, for the length of his line, and all time. No light matter." Sethvir's gesture encompassed the cleared space before the table, no invitation, but strict command.

"Through the duration of this audience, you will stand."

Lysaer bridled, mocked at once by Kharadmon's mercuric chuckle.

"You forget yourself, bantling. Your forefathers were crowned kings on Fellowship authority. Any claim you have to royalty originated here, ruling power granted in accord with Tysan's founding charter."

An added voice gruff in the grain as old bedrock lent that state- ment full weight. "This is not the world of your birth, to acknowledge right of arms or direct ancestry." Unnoticed until he straightened, another Sorcerer moved from his quiet, leaning stance against the ebon pilaster that flanked the fireplace. "You walk on Athera, in the hall at Althain Tower, where blood inheritance is fully revocable!"

Tall, worn to leathery leanness by centuries of life in harsh weather, Asandir was not clad for travel. The flames' ruddy glow touched and drowned in the velvet of robes the deep indigo of midnight. Sleeves, hem, and collar were sewn in silver braid, matching the glint of his hair. Named Kingmaker in legend for the royalty he had crowned, he looked the part: clean-shaven, with sable brows angled in lines like slashed pen strokes, his cheekbones and nose as rugged as if notched by an axe out of hardwood.

"What brings your complaint?" Lysaer assumed his place in pride- ful, combative challenge. "I refused Tysan's crown. The sovereignty I shoulder is none of your making, but springs from city law and a writ drawn by Karfael's mayor."

"Is that how you claim your right to set chains on free men, then subject them to branding and lifeterm of forced labor on the galleys?"

From the doorway behind, Sethvir sighed. "I think not." He added, "We're all here." Although he moved not a finger, the iron-strapped panel slammed closed.

Lysaer gave a start, but refused to acknowledge the arrivals who filed behind him. He took their measure instead as they assumed their seats at the table. The lead figure was hooded in a full-length J~ W~$.

white mantle. The face stayed shadowed and genderless sharp brilliance of candles. Lysaer recognized the collar linked runes in silver and gold which denoted a life initiate of Brotherhood. He sucked a grim breath. His prior suspicion firmed: the adepts were in sympathy with Arithon delegate's presence, an unpleasant, sure proof that their joined ranks with the Fellowship against him.

As dark followed day, a fifth Sorcerer limped after, his caped, short tunic, and leggings woven of somber black wool. A raven his shoulder, wings spread over a steel gray thatch of hair surveyed the prince and the assemblage of Sorcerers, but its and its thoughts were not avian. All of its_~ gence lay reflected in eyes the hue of ripe chestnuts.

"Traithe," Asandir greeted. A swordsman's swift step carried from the mantel to draw out a chair. His care for his collea, mity held deferent respect for good reason. Traithe of the had been crippled since the terrible day he had raised the wild to seal the passage at South Gate against the Mistwraith's His sacrifice then had cut off the invasion. Though fogbound, world had survived. If his quizzical smile and listen'mg eased Lysaer to amity, today, all the laugh lines were visage looked tired, his mouth a taut fold, grim with years and pain.

Sethvir chose the seat beneath the banner of Tysan, flanked: and left by the mismatched shades of Kharadmon and Between the one, rapacious as a gambler in a card parlor, and other, staid and somber as a judge, Althain's Warden might a maundering old man, prone to openmouthed dozing. Except eyes he raised to the prince were no dreamer's, but a surgeon's steel,. to flay skin from bone on a glance.

Lysaer resisted the coward's urge to plead. Fellowship were not subject to persuasion. Unlike his packs of recalcitrant: ors, they could not be swayed by sincerity. Trappings of ornament clothing would not impress them. At will, they could strip him dow~ to his naked spirit. To face down all five without trembling in dread required an act of main strength. Lit by the merciless flood of the can- dies, Lysaer felt sealed outside of time. The tower's very presence dis- tilled his perception into shapes too precise for forgetfulness. Grand causes and ideals were excised and diminished. The strivin~ 0i honor and the layered masks of selfhood became turned ai~.~~~.

reduced to flat copies in reflection, a purposeless circling like n~ ~.- ments of fish behind glass.

96.

pite the ,ke and ~f Ath's ~d con- nd this ~d had cloak, n rode e bird mind ntelli- ~ him infir- vship Orces 'sion.

, the once the's told 'ight tine.

the like the :ept FUGITIVE PRINCE.

Lysaer clasped his hands, steeped to acid resolve. He was the hawk in the falconer's net, and the Fellowship, deadly and powerful con- spirators acting in concert with a criminal. The right was not theirs to decry his moral destiny, or to accost him with binding judgment.

They could hurl their dire threats, and he could refuse. He had no stake to bargain beyond dignity and life; his sole weapon became his own staunch fiber of principle. Let the Sorcerers break him with brute force and conjury if they could. For the sake of all threatened and innocent people, he would do no less than extend his best effort to stand strong.

Traithe opened in shaded, soft sorrow. "You are aware, our Fellow- ship acts in accord with the Law of the Major Balance. We bring harm to none, nor does our practice force any man against his given will.

The talk in the cities of coercive spells and rituals raised out of blood- shed is no more and no less than the ignorant bluster of fear."

"If choice is still mine, then send me back, now." Lysaer inclined his head, every inch the magnanimous prince. "Or prove yourselves hypocrites, since the conjury which plucked me up out of Tysan was an act done without my consent."

"You will listen." Asandir sat forward, his eyes the washed, pale 0pal of the tiercel's, and his expression forbidding as granite. "Games of rhetoric will not serve, nor will we bandy obstructive, petty argu- ment. Do you realize, in truth, the place mankind holds in the order of this world? Or do you even care, in your self-righteous cry of pub- lic sacrifice?"

Kharadmon flicked one finger. Like the barbed parody of a stage magician's trick, a shadow-bane flashed and arced airborne. Asandir fielded the spinning coin in one fearfully capable hand. At first touch, as if the gold scalded, his mouth flinched into a line.

"Abomination," murmured the adept of Ath's Brotherhood. The soft, fluting voice was female, and young, and the shadowy hood turned a fraction. Unseen eyes bored into the prince and measured his regal stillness. "Ah, no," she said. "A mere hedge witch's sigil to ward against darkness could not turn the might of the Fellowship.

But stronger powers lie dormant behind symbols. Beliefs cling to met- als. For those reasons, the cumulative resonance of your gold rings unclean."

Asandir held the coin cupped between his palms. Through a span of stilled silence, its cast glow of reflection seemed to light his seamed face from within. He spoke a liquid, clear word. The language he chose was the ancient Paravian, and the inflection shaped sound like struck crystal. Time stopped, suspended. The mystery in that moment

97.

JANNY W URTS.

held the potential to snap thought, or the latent might to rend m0un tains. But Asandir's summoning framed only kindness. Lysaer k~e~ ~ an instant of scouring, sore grief, that he was but fashioned of n~0rta'.

clay. He felt as a child shut in the cold dark, and the wrench all but felled him, that the Name gently spoken was not his.

The shadow-bane melted to that power of compassion. Both sigil and sunwheel flowed molten and smoothed. Asandir ~'as not burned. The disk he laid down and slid back across the t,~ble was transformed to a pristine blank. The Sorcerer spread his haT~ds flat and looked up while the prince was still nakedly shaken.

"Tricks and spells," Lysaer gasped. "Would any man arg~~e? Al _your bidding a stone mi~:ht be made to wail and weedy."

"Even so, the stone weeps for choice, by our code." Asandir's speech stayed dispassionate, uncolored by the fabric of sheer caring he had just summoned to redeem the shadow-bane. "What code shapes your life? The deceptive diffraction of Ath's order vor~ enc0ur- age shall afflict miseries to span generations. You style us crin~inals who break lives and spill blood. Do you not do the same for a feud?"

Lysaer snatched at argument to collect himself. "Why not t~,11 me?

Did Arithon s'Ffalenn weigh the full measure of consequence when he tore buildings in Jaelot stone from stone, or placed arms in the hands of Vastmark shepherds?" Flagged confidence returned, became ringing conviction. "What of the five hundred he murdered at the Havens? Or the mountains torn down upon Dier Kenton Vale to crush tens of thousands more beneath the Wheel?"

"Those spirits lived and died in free choice within Ath Creator's ordained order," the adept said in metallic soft sorrow. "Their beliefs and expectations held no more than error. They fought for lies, but not faith. The course you now tread would deny the prime source from whence springs all joy and all life."

Lysaer fielded that sentiment with contempt. "Are they any less dead for their choice or their truth? Arithon, also, can beguile to turn innocents. If I don't oppose him, who will?"

"Beware, false prince," Sethvir interjected, neither wistful nor dif- fused, but earnest in a concern that terrified for its mildness. "The fears you smooth over in the trappings of moral platitudes will counterbal- ance nothing. Neither can they build. You will find the just fervor you raise can save no one. In the end, your own followers will dictate v~ur actions. Their will shall rule yours with a needy finality that you will be powerless to gainsay. We can offer no help for you then."

"I was beyond help the moment I fell under Desh-thiere's curse,"

said Lysaer, succinct. His diamond studs flashed like ripped bits of

98.

FUGITIVE I~RINCE.

light as he snatched his small opening for riposte. "That was sup- posed to be your problem. By what right do you criticize my methods before you have broached your own failure?"

A pause seized the chamber. Sethvir and Asandir stayed wrapped in glass silence; the spirits of Kharadmon and Luhaine looked pressed into the air like stamped felt. The adept made a sound, in sorrow or dismay, and clasped bronzed hands to her lips, while the candles burned on in smokeless, unreal indifference.

A baleful, black cutout given life in a scene without motion, the raven splayed its left wing feathers. Its head swiveled sidewards. One bead eye stayed fixed, a spark of buffed bronze, as it balanced to its master's shift forward.

"There is no pretense here, Lysaer." Traithe's rebuke was rust swathed in velvet. "Desh-thiere's ill works pose the true danger, a peril shared by us all. Subject to a curse to kill Arithon you may be, but that does not rule out choice and action. Mind and will can be yours to command outside of your half brother's presence. Blind hatred can be fought." The raven preened on his shoulder, undis- turbed, as he entreated, "You are gifted to seek justice. Don't make that a weapon for righteousness. The misery you seed in your quest to kill Arithon might live on long past your death. Claim your cause as divine, and you found a tradition that will not be lightly shaken."

"You are swift to condemn my role as deceit." Lysaer's fine hair shone a pale, fallow gold beneath the flood of the sconces. When he raised his proud head, all the strain showed, his beautiful face stiff in his forced effort not to weep. "As one human ruler, ! may be in error.