"But . . . I heard the roar of the desert storm, Matriarch, and against it, we emerged."

"You speak of the Northern bard." No question there; a lift of gray brow, a sharp look, but no question.

"Yes. Kallandras." Her smile was brief, but genuine. "He has been a shadow in our lives, as have the Voyani-and it is all the proof I need that the Lord of Night does not rule the whole of the darkness." The smile dimmed, the gaze sharpened; the whole of Teresa's face shifted subtly in the silver light.

Yollana's frown added wrinkles and creases to the lines of a face scoured by wind and exposure to sunlight. "Your hearing is better than mine, Na'tere."

"But not, I think, better than those that serve Jewel ATerafin. If you have charms or wards, if you must let blood, do it now."

Yollana grimaced. "They will pay," she said almost absently. "For the use of my legs. They will pay."

She looked toward Jewel's tent.

The younger woman had stiffened, rising. Her right hand sought the belt beneath the folds of her robes; her left, the child's shoulder. The child.

The great, tined beast moved in silence, coming to stand by the ATerafin's side. She bent on one knee. Spoke to the child, her voice soft enough that no words carried the distance between them. Then she lifted the child as the stag bent its antlered head. The girl was utterly silent.

Jewel turned to the man who now stood, back toward her, facing the expanse of the desert's coming night.

"Avandar," she said.

"ATerafin?"

"There are no wolves in the desert, are there?"

"None at all."

She swore.

"So," Yollana said. "It begins."

"It continues," Teresa said, correcting her. "Come. I intend to survive to see its end, no matter how long that may be in arriving." She held out a hand, and Yollana gripped it firmly.

Their scent filled the air. Their warmth left its trail across the still night: If they were capable of hiding, they had chosen to do otherwise. Costly mistake.

The kinlord smiled. The leader of the hunters rose on two legs and walked toward him, breaking the sand with the force of curved claws. He could, when he so chose, make his tread invisible-but it took effort, and it cut his speed.

The kinlord had seen no need for such a precaution; what life there was in the desert was not sentient enough to carry a warning to the men whose knowledge the Lord of the Shining Court deemed dangerous.

He had scoffed when the possibility of danger from mortals had first arisen, but he had not yet seen the shadow of the Tor Arkosa in the dimming brilliance of night sky when he had been given his orders.

Yet he had seen it now, and it had stirred its bitter memories; he could still feel the spells which contained and protected it. Not for such a kinlord as he was the breaking of that spell, not for one such as he, the entry into that City. He could admit this now, in silence; it cost him nothing.

The hunter waited his word, aware of the difference in power between them; the kinlord was cautious. "Yes," he said softly, aware that he was not the only kinlord abroad. Others were hunting, and in terrain in which caution was forced upon them by the mortals who crowded this realm.

The Voyani had proved themselves a danger.

One City had risen. One line had returned to the desert. The Lord of the Shining Court desired there to be no others.

"Now."

Avandar did not speak.

Even in the privacy of thought, he was notably absent. But Jewel could feel what was not put into words, and she listened.

During the reign of man, such hunts as these were not infrequent; they were not unknown. Men did not travel in the desert unless they were prepared for battle, and such battles had proved a testing ground, a way of culling the weak and the unwary.

No such test was necessary now.

She felt his annoyance war with a sense of dark amus.e.m.e.nt; he had walked the length and breadth of the hidden byways that served as roads to those who had the power to navigate them. He had walked in company, and he had walked in isolation, and in either case, the kin had chosen to avoid any encounter that involved him.

Clearly, then, they did not understand what they faced.

The stag lifted antlered head, casting a shadow in the moonlight that was too long, and too strange, to suit his form.

The moonlight, he said, hearing what she did not say, is the Lady's. This is my form, he added, but it is not my truth.

Are you fearless?

I would be.

If?

If not for your command, Lady.

Obviously not the one in which I told you to call me something else.

He snorted. Ariel sat on his back, her hands bunched around folds of his thick fur. She looked at Jewel, and only at Jewel; the stag remained standing in such a way that the child could clearly see her.

The child, he said quietly, is mortal.

So is Kallandras.

He speaks with power's voice; the child does not speak. She is not even graced with a hint of gift.

No?

You know this.

And she did. She had not known it until this moment.

Then why?

I do not know. But she is under no spell; the only protection offered her here is offered willingly, by you.

Jewel nodded.

In another time I would ask you why.

I know. And in another place I would hate you for asking. We are what we are. She needs me.

Only because you need to be needed.

You sound like Avandar.

He laughed. His eyes, round and luminous, opened fully upon her. Do you disdain him so much because he does not need you?

Pardon?

An idle question Lady. It pa.s.ses time.

I don't . . . disdain him.

No?

The first of the kin crested the distant horizon. In the chill of night, the wavering lines of heat were distant memory; everything was clear for miles.

Jewel glanced at the child; the child met her gaze, steady and silent.

"Ariel."

She nodded.

"You've seen these before."

She nodded again.

"He will not let you fall, no matter what happens. If you lose sight of me, he will protect you, and when it is safe, he will bring you back."

She nodded again, her silence unnerving.

"Lady?" Celleriant's voice, clear as bard's song, cold as night.

"Lord Celleriant?"

"Will you allow us the privilege?"

As if it were a game.

She nodded before she thought to ask who "us" referred to.

Had her answer as Kallandras of Senniel College joined him in the moonlight, his weapons gleaming with a strange light that she knew was not dependent on the height of moon, the lack of cloud.

Another creature joined the first, and another; Jewel counted five in all. They were of a height and not even the night sky could grant them the illusion of mortality. They were as large as the stag, and they moved with a deadly, supple grace that belied, in every possible way, their size, the awkward build of their fore and hind legs. Sand seemed to shroud their feet in a cloud that was always a few yards behind them.

They moved.

The Serra Diora and the Radann par el'Sol came to stand at her side.

"Where are the others?"

"Coming," Yollana said brusquely.

Stavos joined them; Serra Teresa, lending weight and strength to the older woman, joined them as well.

The Radann par el'Sol drew his sword and Jewel flinched; it burned the vision with its pale, blue fire.

Across the plain, the demons saw its light; they stopped a moment, then rose on two legs. Their song was a cry of recognition.

"Serra," the Radann said coldly.

But the Serra Diora did not cower. Instead, to Jewel's surprise, she smiled. "I believe," she said softly, "that you move too slowly."

He raised a brow. Turned his back upon her and gazed out at the two who now stood ten yards ahead.

"I ask, as a favor, that you put up your sword," she continued, her voice as demure and soft as a Serra of her rank's could be-and as steely, as cool, beneath that facade.

"There is a danger here," he said softly.

"The danger that is perceived is the danger that we might face-we, the Matriarch, the Northerner, and her ward." Silent as shadow, Ramdan stood behind her, his hands by his sides, sleep and weariness shorn from his face by the demands of his duties: her presence. "It is for us that concern was shown.

"Watch," she said, speaking not as Serra, but as a denizen of the Lady's Night.

"But-"

"Watch and listen. The wind is speaking."

He raised a brow. Frowned. "Do you trust the voice of the wind, Serra?"

"The wind," she said serenely, "has only one voice, this eve."

Lord Celleriant drew his sword. Summoned his shield.

He gazed at Kallandras, and at the weapons he held. "You have courage," he said softly. "In the heat of our last battle, I did not notice what you wielded."

"They are mine."

"For the moment." His gaze was a mixture of appraisal and approval. But it held more than that; his eyes were alight with an excitement that he seldom showed. "I will take the leader," he said, "if that is agreeable."

Kallandras smiled. "Among my brethren," he replied softly, "the honor of the kill was merely the honor of being summoned to serve. I fear I will be an unsatisfactory compet.i.tor if you hope to count kills."

Celleriant laughed, and his voice was a cascade of music, a wild echo of the song that Kallandras had heard for the whole of his adult life. "You are so very different," he said at last.

Kallandras smiled as well, the expression graceful and easy. "I am. I am no longer a youth. I fear I am not your match in speed."

"Haste makes a poor warrior."

"Indeed." He leaped, then, his legs straight, toes pointed groundward. The light of the ring upon his hand flared white in the darkness, captured essence of starlight, cold and perfect. He did not touch the ground again.