Talen turned. The glass master stood with his hands on his hips. Talen had met the glass master when Uncle Argoth had introduced them last spring. He'd complimented Talen on his aim with the bow. But today the man had a hard look that suggested to Talen there was probably no helpful question that would ease this man into a conversation.

"Zu, your daughter was showing me her fine saddle. We were talking in the courtyard."

"Atra," he said and waved her out.

She turned to Talen and curtsied. "I'm sorry," she said. "I hope your horse was well watered."

When she'd walked out, her father looked at Talen. "I want you off my land."

"I was hoping to get your help," said Talen.

"I don't care what you were hoping."

"Zu," said Talen.

But the glass master turned and walked out.

Talen followed.

"Zu," said Nettle. "We need your help."

"I trust your father, Nettle," said the glass master. He looked at Talen. "And I've never had anything against your da. And so I'll give you a warning. Stay to your own race. Atra's too expensive for you, even if you were to be adopted by your better half. Now, I need you to leave."

Talen turned and looked up at him. He had not said that with malice. But Talen wanted to respond. "You know what's down in Whitecliff has nothing to do with me." Talen pointed at Nettle. "Do you see his ear? I've been falsely accused of Slethery. Him of aiding. We're here to ask for an escort. If you won't do it for me, then do it for Argoth's son."

"I don't have any men to spare."

There was nothing Talen could say to that. Talen looked past the man's shoulder and saw Atra glance at him, then enter the house. Her bride price was probably set at more than his father made in five years. But he couldn't let it lie. "Sleth blood does not run in Koramite veins. It does not run in mine."

"I didn't say it did, boy." The glass master didn't say anything else, just folded his arms across his chest and waited.

Talen knew there was nothing he could say to ease this man, so he tugged on Iron Boy's reins and walked out of the yard. He glanced back at the house and saw someone at the window.

For a moment he thought it was Atra, but it was Elan flapping her hand at him with that simple grin on her face.

Talen waved once. He would never be able to afford a girl like Atra. He probably couldn't even afford Elan. And it wasn't because of the money. When they pulled out on the main road, Talen climbed onto the wagon and let out a heavy sigh.

"You can't listen to people who make glass," said Nettle. "What do they know?"

"They know who they want their daughters to marry. They know that it was a Koramite in Whitecliff."

"You didn't learn anything back there, did you? The glassmaster was never interested in you. I say good riddance."

Easy for Nettle to say. Talen had learned plenty and it had nothing to do with the glassmaster. He'd learned that Koramites would never rise as long as they protected and hid the bad elements among them. He'd learned that no matter what he did, his blood would drag him down. He'd learned the smith's wife had stolen from him, stolen from them all. Talen flicked the reins and started Iron Boy walking.

First he's beaten by villagers who know him. Next he's attacked by hunters and accused of Slethery. Now this. It would only get worse. There was only one way to turn things around. He had to prove in some way that evil did not run in his blood. That it didn't infect all Koramites.

He'd told the glass master he had nothing to do with Sleth. And yet he himself was falling into the trap, hiding the bad elements.

"I'm going to turn in those hatchlings," said Talen.

"You do," said Nettle, "and you start the wheels of your own doom. They'll pry your name out of that little blind one. What then?"

"Look," said Talen. "We wouldn't hide a thief or murderer, why then should we hide Sleth, which are both? There's got to be some way to deliver them and preserve ourselves."

"There's only one way to do that," said Nettle.

"And that is?"

Nettle gave Talen a sober look. "Dead. You'll have to deliver them dead."

ALLIANCES.

R.

ubaloth stood on the portico, the sun-warmed marble under his naked feet, the warm breeze washing across his legs and bringing the sulfur scent of the hot mineral pools. Behind him in the chamber, the lord of the Fir-Noy, the one they called the Crab, lay on a couch, trying to gather his wits.

"Pour him another cup of the tea," Rubaloth said to Leaf, the dreadman who was his guide. Rubaloth had just performed a seeking and then a minor binding on this man, forming a link between the Crab and an escrum, a weave that would allow them to communicate over distances. Bindings disoriented a man, made him dizzy and stupid. But Rubaloth did not have the time to let this man sleep it off. It would take a few days for the binding to cure completely, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be useful before then.

He heard the clink of the teapot, the sound of a cup being filled with wizard's tea, then Leaf's footfalls over to the couch.

Rubaloth had been cold the whole time on the sea and rummaging through this man's mind made him feel filthy. He ached to submerse himself in the hot water that lay at the end of the marble path.

"This is a bitter brew," said the Crab.

Rubaloth did not reply. He waited for the clink on the platter that would signal Leaf had returned the empty cup.

"So what is it you want us to do?"

"I want you to find out all you can about this Captain Argoth. Where his family is from, his business dealings, the types of foods he eats. I want to know if he has a regimen of exercise."

"Exercise, Great One?"

"I want to know what he puts in his body and what comes out. You'll dig in his privy. You'll search his pantry and root cellars." Anyone who used the lore needed to eat certain foods to keep the body from wasting. They needed to exercise in a certain way to prepare the body for the moment of quickening.

"Do you suspect him?"

"I suspect everyone, Clansman, including you."

"Argoth's sister married a Koramite," said the Crab. "There are a number of us in the Council who have never trusted him."

"You will provoke nothing," continued Rubaloth. "He must know nothing. His wife must suspect nothing. You will take action only upon my command. And that will come through this minor binding."

"What about questioning the Koramite?"

"Your tower is not secure. You'll move him immediately. Far from Whitecliff."

"Yes," said the Crab.

"Do not touch him." If the Koramite had anything to do with the rebellion here, if he had any secrets, Rubaloth would seek them out himself. He did not want to risk incompetent men killing or damaging the man.

"You do not want us to press him?"

"What did I just say?"

The Crab bowed. "Please forgive my stupidity, Bright One."

"Be faithful over these few things and you shall be made ruler over many. Fail me, and you will be cast aside like rancid meat."

He heard the Crab rise. His voice slurred slightly. "My heart is given to Mokad," he said.

His heart was given to Mokad only because he saw that as his path to glory. Rubaloth felt that clearly during the seeking. He also felt nothing to suggest the Crab was part of the cabal that had murdered Lumen, which meant such ambition could be used.

"Prepare yourself. Wait for my command to use the weaves I've given you."

"Yes, Bright One."

Rubaloth turned the screw one last time. "I expect great things from you. Remember, the Glory is searching to replace Lumen. Which means he is also looking to raise one or two as candidates. It is not"-he paused-"impossible for a man of your experience and talents."

The Crab's voice echoed strongly off the floor, which meant he was bowing deeply. "I will not disappoint you, Bright One."

Rubaloth dismissed him. Leaf walked the Crab out. When he returned, he said, "Do you trust him?"

"I trust his ambition." Rubaloth took a breath, satisfied with this part of his plan. "Where's Uram?"

"He's coming, Bright One."

Moments later the sound of studded sandals echoed down the hallway and stopped in the room. "My Lord?" said Uram in his pleasing voice.

"Argoth must come to the ship willingly. That is your mission. If he tries to escape, subdue him, but avoid killing him at all costs. When we're out to sea, I will be more comfortable pressing him. But not a moment before. Defer to him, treat him as you would a lord."

"May I respectfully suggest that we do not know the enemy's size or strength. Will it not be safer to take him directly to the ship, Bright One?"

"Safer, yes, but also less effective. This enemy is a serpent, Captain. The moment it feels threatened, it will attack or flee. And so we shall give it no cause for alarm. When he's cut off from all help and all prying eyes, I shall crack his mind like a nut. In that moment, surprise will be on our side. We will know his secrets. And if he is Sleth, then I will direct our allies here to quickly and quietly move on them all."

"Yes, Bright One."

"You may go, Uram. I will see you on the morrow."

Rubaloth turned to Leaf. "Now our part. We cannot let a pack of traitors think we are uneasy, can we?" He held out his arm for Leaf to take and turned to the pools. "Have you got the wine?"

"Yes, Bright One. I have arranged for a massage."

They walked out of the chamber and down the path arm in arm. At that moment a clamor arose ahead, punctuated by screams.

Rubaloth felt for Leaf's mind so that he might see. Had they underestimated the enemy?

Through Leaf's eyes, he saw a number of knee-high, red-faced beasts run across the path. A troop of green-and-white-clad servants ran after them with sticks and stones.

"G'alls!" he exclaimed. "Woodikin?"

Leaf drew the sword he kept at his side.

The beasts ran up the hill on his left and disappeared over the top with many screeches. The servants followed, throwing rocks and ringing bells.

Another servant carrying the wine walked along another path as if nothing were happening. Leaf called to her. "Hoy, what is this?"

The servant bowed deeply. "Monkeys, Zu."

"Monkeys?" said Rubaloth.

"Yes, Bright One, we must be ever vigilant to keep them from the baths."

Rubaloth shook his head in disgust. "What Lumen saw in this land I will never know." He released his hold on Leaf's sight. It was not something he wished to do often, for after long periods of that a man could lose himself, leave his body and not return. He and Leaf continued to the pools and their fingers of softly curling steam.

______.

Argoth sat upon Courage, his tall black warhorse, sandwiched between five dreadmen who rode ahead and five who rode behind. A breeze blew crossways and carried the dust from the horses' hooves out over the half-mown fields of hay on his right.

The bright, brass armor of the dreadmen clinked and clattered and blazed in the sunlight. Beneath it they wore close-fitting scarlet tunics and black pants. But this armor was meant only to dazzle the eye. The metal of their cuirasses was exceedingly thin. Brass was not a metal to stop swords.

If they had wanted protection, they would have worn steel segments or plate on top, a chain mail tunic underneath, and padding beneath that. They would have worn helms with faceplates. All the better to deflect arrows. But they weren't worried about being attacked by cohorts of men. They were worried about him escaping, about facing a smaller group of attackers. That much was transparent.

And why would the Skir Master expect a loyal servant to run? He wouldn't. He would only expect it from someone he didn't trust. These dreadmen would be on their guard, watching his every move.

His plan was simple. He would bind the Skir Master and force him to reveal who knew about his secrets. His plan hinged on getting a great quantity of Fire, which he would use to quicken a weave that had been in his family for generations, a weave that would enthrall the Skir Master.

Argoth had sent a messenger to Matiga with two requests. He knew the Skir Master would have the man followed, but what other choice did he have? Besides, the messages would be coded. The messenger would simply relay the news of the Divine's arrival, then he would ask if she was going to need any help this year preparing her garden for the frost. That was her signal to bear the Grove away.

Next the messenger would say that Captain Argoth wanted a sour apple pie for dinner this evening. Matiga was known for her pies and tarts. In fact, there were some in Whitecliff who sent servants to fetch her pies once a week. What was not known was that this specific request from any of the Grove meant one thing-they needed to tap into the Grove's reserve of Fire, something that could only be done in extreme need. Matiga held the Grove's weaves, two of which were stores of Fire.

When he got the Fire, he would replenish his guttering flame. Then he would quicken the weave that would enthrall the Skir Master.

It would not be an easy task, but it was less risky than declaring open war. Keep small, keep quiet, avoid attention-that was the way the Order had survived all these years. But this time he did not want to run. And if he failed? He would fire the ship, sending all who sailed upon it to the depths.