Harlol stepped aside as the brothers entered the dragon's head cavern between the stony dragon's teeth. Then he took up his position as guard, exactly as he had the night before, with his hands crossed on the swords at his waist. The Dragon Cave looked the same, the spirits painted on the walls even more lifelike in the filtered light of the Great Sun than by lantern. Dognut still slept in the corner by the stone staircase and Lluka again took the cushion at Llesho's left, with Balar to his right. Unlike in his dream, however, busy acolytes brushed by with whispered apologies to set up low tables and load them with food and drink. As Balar had said, most of them, dream readers and acolytes alike, were women, though a few were men. He recognized a boy his own age who had offered him an inch at the bottom of his jade cup to drink in his dream. The flick of a glance told him that the servant shared the memory.

"Welcome, Prince of Dreams." The Dinha gestured with a jut of her chin at the waiting food spread out before them, "Join us, please, in breaking our fast while we talk."

Llesho recognized the Dinha immediately from his dream. She looked the same except that her eyes were brown, with glints of amber that twinkled her amusement at him. He wanted to deny it, to pretend he didn't know this woman, this place, but the black pearl clasped in his fist gave physical proof of the impossible and no comfort at all.

The Dinha seemed to follow his thoughts. She reached to touch the jewel, and Llesho clenched his fingers more tightly, drawing it reflexively to his heart. Around them, from a noose of lives, rose a single breathless gasp.

"My lady." He bowed a deep apology, but found himself at a loss to explain his unwillingness to open his hand.

"I beg your pardon, young prince. It was ill thought. No one will take the pearl from you."

"What do you want of me?"

"We would only honor your gift with one of our own. Weightier discussion can await a full stomach, however." At a gesture, a young Tashek knelt before him with a basin.

"You will want to wash."

Drying mud still clung to the pearl in his grubby hand. He saw no head, no tail, no piggy feet, but felt a superstitious dread of drowning the goddess' gardener in his own bathwater. The Tashek acolyte seemed to understand his problem. She dipped a cloth into the basin, and wiped the back of his hand carefully with it, until he took it from her and cleaned the pearl with equal care. When the mud was gone, a fine tracery of silver wire was revealed, wrapping the familiar black sheen. Each threadlike curl led to a central keyhole loop: a setting for a jewel or a prison for a Jinn? Dreams and reality had tangled themselves so closely together that he scarcely knew one from the other any more.

The dream readers of Ahkenbad nodded approval in unison, and one of them, an old man whose knees squeaked when he levered himself upright, came forward with a silver chain offered in his outstretched hands.

"I know this chain." Llesho shuddered, and clutched the pearl more tightly in his hand. "In dreams, it hung around the neck of my enemy."

"A warning," the Dinha agreed. "But did you fear the chain, or the enemy who held it?"

Both, and more. Memories of other chains tangled themselves in the silver links: Lord Chin-shi's chain in Pearl Bay, his imprisonment in Master Markko's workshop, and Farshore's lighter bondage. He would have refused the gift if it hadn't echoed in all his dreams, like fate. But Llesho had no intention of sharing that with strangers. He let the old man slip the chain over his head, but hid the pearl itself in the pouch with the others he had collected.

After waking to find all his memories of Ahkenbad were dreams, and then sparring with the Tashek Dinha over the meaning of the pearl he had discovered on the mountain, breakfast seemed a mundane letdown. But Llesho had spent the greater part of his recent journeys on a diet of unidentifiable boiled fodder for humans that made him wonder if he wouldn't do better to forage with the camels. With its supply of water refreshed, Ahkenbad dug into its store of supplies to feast the visiting prince, and the wonderful smells drew him to the table as if a spell had been cast on his taste buds.

Vegetables, cooked just enough to bring up their colors and their aromas, dominated the spread, with a variety of pickles served over a millet dish cooked to tenderness but not to mush. Some dishes the acolytes served warm, and others came to the tables cooled by the waters of the Holy Well of Ahkenbad. Flatbreads and other grains supplemented the main dishes.

The lay of the table jogged a memory from deep in Llesho's childhood. It drifted out of his past with the image of his mother's reception room so sharp in his mind he thought he could reach out and touch her chair. He had sat at her feet and quietly watched and listened as a delegation from the caravans out of the Gansau Wastes had stopped to pay its respects. When his mother had called for refreshments, she'd explained that the religious among the Tashek would eat only cooked food. The most holy castes among them took only plant material, never animal.

He'd seen Harlol eat meat when they'd had it, and with gusto, of course. Perhaps there were different rules for Wastrels, or spies. Whatever recipes those dancing gods on the walls demanded, the Tashek had made the best of them, however. The food gave up wonderful smells, pungent and sweet, that brought water to the desert of Llesho's mouth. He filled a bowl with vegetables and round slices of pickle, and gave only half a glance at the young woman who approached him with a tray on which sat an elaborately wrought urn of tea and his own jade cup taken from his pack. When she set the tray down in front of him, a flash of eye, an ironic twist of the lip drew his attention for a second look. Kagar!

"You're a girl!" he whispered, trying to keep the secret in spite of his shock.

"Since I was born," Kagar whispered back her admission.

The acolytes who attended them gave no sign of hearing the hushed conversation, but the Dinha drew away the veil of illusion with a wry smile. "Tashek women do not wander in the world as Wastrels. Though called to the dream readers' cavern, our Kagar wished to challenge the ordering of such things."

"I did it, too. No one ever suspected, except Lling, who kept my secret."

Llesho wasn't sure he was more surprised by the idea that Kagar was a girl or the notion that Lling had kept such a big secret from him. He consoled himself that it hadn't been her secret to tell, but he still felt like a fool for being the only person in the room who couldn't tell a girl from a boy.

"Now you are home," the Dinha continued with a gentle smile, "And a better acolyte for your experience of the outside world, I trust."

"Until the next time."

Kagar gave the promise that the Dinha seemed to expect, but the dream reader's smile faltered.

"Until the next time," she agreed. Her eyes became suspiciously bright, and Llesho wondered if only the parched weeks without water kept the tears from falling.

But his brother's awed, hushed tones drew his attention to the table, where Lluka reached hesitantly to touch the cup Kagar had set in front of him.

"Surely wonders have returned to walk among us," Lluka whispered with a shake of his head.

Balar's gaze quickly followed. "Have you lost your mind?" He took the bowl carefully in his two hands and lifted it for a closer look, his face paled and suffused with dark blood by turns. "Do you know what this is?"

"It's a bowl." Llesho felt an ages dead self looking out of his own eyes. The world he saw differed little from the one he had known many deaths ago, and he lowered his eyelashes to hide that knowledge from his companions. He wondered if that long-gone self had ever been wiser than he was now, and felt an echo of laughter skitter along his nerve endings. Who was to say what was wise, his past self asked him, and he had to admit he didn't know.

Llesho thought he had moved quickly enough to hide the lives that echoed within him, but his brother dropped his head in awe, and held out the bowl like a supplicant. "The universe turns on the head of a pin," he prophesied, "and you are that pin. Tell us what to do."

"Try not being an ass," Llesho advised him in a tart whisper, "and let me have my tea." He retrieved the bowl and held it out to Kagar, who filled it with a dare in her eyes. The drover warranted more thought, but not now, with his brothers asking questions and the dream readers of Ahkenbad watching every move he made.

"Where did you find it?" Lluka asked.

"A gift," he said, and sipped from it before setting it aside in favor of a plate of food.

"There is a room above this chamber." Between bites, Llesho pointed to the staircase at the back of the cavern, and the Dinha nodded to confirm the memory.

"I slept there last night, and dreamed of the black Pig-"

"You slept in the guest quarters on the outskirts of Ahkenbad," the Dinha corrected him gently, with a smile. "Sleeping, you joined the dream readers of the holy city. And in your dream, you had a dream in which the honored Jinn led you to the hidden spring that feeds the Holy Well of Ahkenbad."

"That's what I thought." Llesho licked the sticky pickle sauce from his fingertips. "You said you wanted to help me," he reminded the Dinha. "What did you mean?"

"We are the Tashek dream readers," she began, needlessly at this point. "From your brothers we understand that young bridegrooms who receive magical gifts of your goddess find their own way to mastery. This was not always so, however. The royal family of Kungol once received tutors from all the lands that made use of, Theb-in's high passes. Although the passes are now closed to us, the dream readers of Ahkenbad offer themselves as tutors to the princes of Thebin, a post they filled for your father's father, many summers past and which they have filled for your brothers since the fall of Kingol. Stay with us a while, until you learn the art of your gift."

Llesho helped himself to a serving of dates and figs in honey while he considered the offer. "You haven't helped my brothers much," he pointed out.

Balar pinched him, a reminder of royal manners. But it was true, and the Dinha took no offense.

"We have taught your brothers patience, and a mastery of their own minds, but their gifts are not those of Ahkenbad. You are ; in gentler times, our tutors would have sought you out in your own holy city. Now, we have but a brief reprieve to do our duty before you must continue your journey."

Llesho wondered what she meant by a brief reprieve. Master Den had advised that he needed a dream reader, but that was before the Harn had taken their company prisoner. Even if he accepted that his dreams had more meaning, more power, than he knew, how could he abandon his friends and brother to the tortures of Master Markko while he developed his inner gifts? And Shou was himself a favorite of the mortal goddess SienMa. She would doubtless take offense if he allowed the Harn to murder the emperor, whose death would also plunge the Shan Empire and its neighbors into chaos. As his first act of statecraft, making an enemy of her ladyship while unleashing havoc upon the civilized world seemed a poor choice.

"The times do not call for patience," he pointed out.

"I understand." The Dinha bowed to acknowledge the truth of his words. He suspected that the dream readers understood more than he would have liked. The Dinha gave him a rueful smile, as if she read his mind. "We cannot regret the good you have done for Ahkenbad, however, and would repay the service you have done us. You have seen one in your dreams, a magician on a white horse-"

"Habiba," Llesho agreed, while an acolyte poured water over his sticky hands and offered him a soft cloth to dry them.

"You are right that he can help you, but so can the dream readers of Ahkenbad. Soon you will need us both. Don't reject our aid because you don't like the manner in which you were brought to find it." With that the old ones closed their eyes.

"We've been dismissed." Lluka rose effortlessly to his feet, something Llesho did with considerably less grace. Balar followed, and together they made their way out of the cavern of the dream readers, and found themselves once again bathed in the heat and light of the Stone River Road.

Master Den's words in the dark of a caravanary carried the force of a prophecy. "The Tashek have the most revered dream readers," the master had said. But had he spoken as a wise teacher or as trickster? For the good of the dream readers or for Llesho's own quest? The universe seemed to turn under him in the yellow dust, tumblers falling into places he still couldn't see. The almost-vision of it made him dizzy.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"ARE you all right, brother?"

Lluka tightened a hand on his shoulder. He brushed it aside and wandered farther into the road, staring up at the cliffs where waves of color broke against a sea of sandstone bleached pale in the sun. Somewhere beyond the cliff city a presence wandered; he cocked his head and listened for a change in the wind that would tell him the storm was coming. The wind stayed quiet. Llesho dug deeper, into the place where dreams and hunches lurked, for an explanation. Not the dark oppression of Master Markko's questing eye; he'd recognize in an instant the magician's pressure on his mind. A little thrill of anticipation ran through him. Llesho walked out to meet it. Troubled, his brothers stayed where he left them, but Harlol was right on his heels, nervous, with his hands on his swords' hilts.

"Where are you going?"

"To meet my destiny," Llesho gave him the flip answer. He hadn't figured out what was drawing him into the desert, and likely wouldn't have told the Tashek warrior anyway. He just knew he had to go out to meet it, whatever it was.

Harlol fell in step beside him.

"Why are you following me?"

The Wastrel cut him a sideways glance, indicating with a raised eyebrow that he didn't, in the strictest sense, follow Llesho. Having made his point, he answered the spirit of the question. "It's my job. The Dinha charged me to defend , so where you go, I go. It would be a lot easier on both of us if you would just stay put."

"Not going to happen," Llesho advised him. He didn't slow down.

"You could at least tell me where we're going." "I would if I knew." Llesho kept walking. "Then you'll probably need this-" Harlol didn't expend his energy on argument. He reached into his coat and drew out Llesho's sword. "If we will need more than our blades, an army, for instance, tell me now."

"It's enough, thanks." Llesho attached the weapon to his own side. Then, pulling hoods and veils over their heads to protect them from the elements, they marched in step, out past the cave city and into the desert.

They walked for an hour or more in companionable silence. Sweat beaded at Llesho's pores and dried before the drops could fall, but the call across the wide expanse of desert kept him moving. During a pause to catch their breath, Harlol offered a waterskin. "I hope this is more than a whim," he said. "Something is out there." Llesho jerked a shoulder in the direction they walked, away from Ahkenbad. His companion did not look pleased with the answer.

"Ahkenbad has protections against strangers, but we are about to pass beyond their reach. If we don't turn back, whatever you feel out there will find us." us."

"Perhaps I want to be found." Llesho's step suddenly felt more buoyant. Sunlight found a corner of his heart that had lain in dreaming shadows. They had passed outside of Ahkenbad's defenses.

Harlol glared at him. "The likelihood that good will come out of the desert looking for you in this exact spot is vanishingly small. Our enemies, however, have the power to find a single pebble in the gravel pits of Dhar."

"You underestimate our friends," Llesho assured him with a sudden grin. He knew this consciousness pressing toward him. When the cloud of dust appeared on the horizon, he ran to meet it.

"No!" Harlol grabbed his arm and swung Llesho around to face him. "Distance in the Gansau Waste is deceiving. The heat reflects the image of what you see like a mirror, over many li. Your friends may be coming this way, or they may be on a different heading altogether. But even if they sense your presence, as you sense theirs, they have a long way to go before they reach us. Hours still, and they have horses while we are on foot." He gave Llesho a shake, snapping the hypnotic grip of the dust cloud on the horizon.

Llesho shook off his arm, took another step. But Harlol was right. Between them they had no provisions-the Wastrel, in desert fashion, had carried a bit of water for emergencies. That was almost gone, and neither had picked up food before they left Ahkenbad. They were ill prepared to go any farther.

If the newcomers didn't change course, they would ride right into Llesho and his companion, anyway. Better to conserve strength and wait. "We will stop here," Harlol repeated, "make a tent of our coats, and wait."

"A tent?"

"If you don't want to bake your brains out in the Gansau Wastes, we will make a tent, yes." Harlol gave him one of those superior Wastrel looks, like the one he'd given Shou before he'd tried to slice and dice him. "It will take both our coats. And your sword."

He undid his own scabbard from his belt and began to undo the ties on his coat, so Llesho followed his example. Letting his coat fall to the dust was easy. He held onto his sword long enough to try the Tashek's patience.

"You still mistrust me for the fight at the caravansary.

I told you before, I never intended to hurt the healer, Adar. I didn't didn't hurt him, you know." hurt him, you know."

"And Shou?" Llesho asked.

Harlol shrugged, the color rising in his face. The Wastrel was embarrassed, Llesho realized, and he knew how that felt. "I meant it as a test, of sorts. He shouldn't have been able to counter the prayer moves." Harlol sounded indignant. "When he did, I had to see how deeply his skills ran. I was just . . ."

"Showing off?"

"Yes." The air seemed to leave the Wastrel like a punctured bubble. "I underestimated him, badly. The next thing I knew, I was fighting for my life, or so I believed. He could have killed me at my own discipline. I would have thought no outsider could do that."

"I know exactly what you mean," Llesho admitted. And he did. "Shou is full of surprises,"

They were alike in a lot of ways, and it was easier to forgive the warrior, not much older than he was himself, for doing his duty than to make sense of his brothers' part in his abduction. He had a feeling that was all going to be irrelevant when the cause of that dust cloud arrived, however. Llesho handed over the sword.

With a quick, sharp, downward stroke, the Wastrel drove the points of the scabbards into the dry ground, so that the swords stood upright, separated by the span of his arms. One coat he looped over the pommels and draped facing east, and one he stretched from the swords in a westerly direction, creating a small tent with the swords as low tent poles. They had no pegs to hold the ends in place, but Harlol crawled inside and reclined, his shoulder pressing down the edge of one coat tent cover. Llesho crawled in beside him and sat, hunched over his own crossed legs.

"The dream readers believe in your ability to foretell the future," Harlol said once he was settled. "I honor your gifts with our comfort, since we would be hard-pressed to defend ourselves with our swords tangled in our coats like this."

Llesho didn't think they were very comfortable, but he wasn't worried about the oncoming dust cloud. If Master Markko pursued that closely, he would feel dread like a trickling poison. He had no such foreboding now, and he realized that included Harlol. Whatever the Wastrel's part in all of this, he didn't mean Llesho any harm. Unfortunately, he already showed signs of boredom.

"So tell me," Harlol prodded, "what brought you to the Moon and Star Inn on the Imperial Road?"

"The Ham conquered my country. I am on my way home to take it back."

Harlol looked, of all things, offended. "I am not unschooled," he sniffed, "but we have a long wait, and I saw the way you handled yourself in Durnhag. You've fought in combat before. I thought the story might pass the time."

"I work hard at not remembering." Llesho didn't want to relive his past with this young and inexperienced warrior, but Harlol reacted with shock to his admission.

"Other people give us our names," the Wastrel admonished him. "Who we truly are is recorded in our histories. To give up your history is to give up your self."

"You didn't make that up yourself." Llesho meant it as an insult, but Harlol solemnly shook his head.

"The Dinha sows wisdom in the desert soil of a Wastrel's heart," he said, "and, sometimes, her wisdom takes root."

Llesho figured he had a choice: tell the Wastrel his story, or listen to him preach the word of the Dinha on memory. Better to do the talking than the listening, he decided and began the tale.

"The Harn attacked during my seventh summer. They'd come into the holy city with the caravans, and sneaked up into the palace through the kitchens. One of the raiders killed Khri, my bodyguard, but he didn't see me hiding on a chair behind the curtain. While he was cleaning his sword on Khri's uniform, I pulled my knife. I wasn't strong enough for a killing stroke, but I fell off the chair, the knife slipped between his ribs, and the raider died. Later, when they caught up with me, I threatened to do the same to their leader. They were killing the children-too much trouble on the march- but my threats amused them, so they kept me alive for the slave pens."

"I heard you tell your brother that you made the Long March," Harlol said, and Llesho nodded.

"We left our dead on the wayside across half of Thebin and all of Harn, into the heart of Shan. In the slave market of the imperial city I heard the overseer tell the Harnish slave trader to slit my throat. "Too young for hard labor, too old for begging," he said, "and not enough endurance left to satisfy the perverts-I'd never earn back the cost of feed." I didn't know what any of it meant until later, except the throat-cutting part. By then I was grateful that Lord Chin-shi had come to the market looking for Thebin children to dive in his pearl beds."

"That's how you became a pearl diver?"

As he told his story, Llesho had fallen more deeply into the spell of his own past. HarloFs question tugged at him like a lifeline, and he followed it back to the present.

"Yes. Pearl Island wasn't too bad, really. There were people my age; that's where I met Lling and Hmishi. And old Lleck came later. I had known him at the palace, and he helped me."