But it was here, in the hollows of the carefully tended shrine, that Marakas el'Sol met Fredero kai el'Sol.

He did not see him at first, for he had not made peace with the Lady, and not since the rites that the deaths of his family demanded had he sought her shrine. He came as stranger to this place; he carried no water, no wine; brought no incense, and no candles. But he had girded himself with no weapon either, and he stared a long time at the words that time, wind, and sun had not defaced upon the standing stones.

A man did not bow at the Lady's shrine when the Lord's face was turned upon him; such obeisance, if offered, was offered when night had fallen and night thoughts were allowed their reign. He therefore felt no need to bend at knee, to bow head. But the compulsion-hated, cursed-coiled within him, demanding stillness, silence.

"Marakas," the kai el'Sol said, and Marakas turned.

To this man, he could bow should he so choose. But although he recognized the crest of the sun ascendant upon his chest, he offered nothing.

"To the Lady," Fredero said, "that which is the Lady's."

"In her time."

"In her time."

They stood, separated by shadows and foliage and the questions which, unbidden, remained unasked.

"Make peace with the Lady, if you can. Such peace is a thing that the Lord cannot take from you."

"The Lady failed them," Marakas replied, the bitterness of years undiminished. "I served her, as any with her gifts might serve, and in return, she failed me."

"Ah." The kai el'Sol rose, and rising, made Marakas aware of the fact that he had offered what no man was required to offer. "So."

"You summoned me."

"Yes."

"How may I serve?"

"You may not. Not yet. Where I go, there must be no fury, no hatred, no anger such as the anger that sustains you. I have watched you, this past year, and I have waited. I will wait longer, if that is necessary. But I wish you to be whole. What would your wife desire, were she beside you now? Think on it. The sun will fall, soon; the Lady's time will begin. Wait here."

Marakas had no desire to obey this command.

"And think. She chose you, and you her, for a reason. Would your wife have desired you to turn your back upon the gifts that you possess? Did she not, time and again, counsel you to offer comfort and aid to those who were less fortunate than she?"

Marakas felt his eyes grow round and wide. "Did you know my wife?"

"No."

"Then how-"

"You could have made much, much more of your talent than you did. You could have been a richer man, a more powerful one. You could have owned houses, serafs, and a place in the court of any man you chose to serve.

"But you came to the Radann. I believe that nothing happens without reason, even the bitter death of a loved one. And I believe that had your wife been a different woman, you would have had all of those things, in abundance-and I would not now have you. Forgive her for her absence. Forgive her for your failure." He turned and began to walk away.

Marakas did not call him back.

But something did; he turned, the robes of his office catching light and containing it. "I will come to you in the dusk, and I will ask of you a favor at that time."

In the evening light, Marakas par el'Sol awoke. He could not say why; no sound greeted him when he sat up in the confines of his poor tent. Such a tent as this had not been his home for some time, but he was Radann; he was not trapped by the finery that rank bestowed.

He could not stand in the small tent, but felt no loss of dignity when required to crawl through its narrow length to push aside its flap.

The Lady's face was bright in the night sky. There were clouds, thin as fine, Northern lace, that obscured the paler of the stars, but she was undimmed. Silver light shone. Without hesitation, he reached for his dagger and his wineskin. He broke dirt with the tip and the flat of unsheathed steel, making the most primitive of bowls by dint of his effort. Into these, he dripped water with care, and wine with abandon. She would understand.

The Sea of Sorrows was before him, and not even the most fanatic of her followers denied themselves water here.

On that day, too many years ago, he had made his peace with the Lady.

Funny, that he should think of Fredero during the Lady's time. It was Amelia who most often came back to him; Amelia and the ghost of a son whose smile was so bright, whose joy was so infectious, they could only continue to exist encased in memory.

But they stood in shadows this eve; it was the kai el'Sol whose spirit the Lady invoked.

And as he had done on that first day, Marakas par el'Sol bowed to the will of the kai el'Sol, and followed where he led.

Fredero could not have become the kai el'Sol without dint of will, display of force, cunning, guile; he could not have held that position without prudent exercise of the same. Although the par el'Sol did not speak, words could be coaxed from those who served them, and Marakas had, with a diligence that he had shown little of since his induction into the ranks of the Radann, coaxed those words, those tales, from any who could be moved to speak.

He built a story, a picture, a painting in progress, of the man who led the Radann. And when he was certain of facts-and facts were sifted for with the care of a man who has lost a diamond among grains of rice-he went at last to the one man who, he was certain, knew Fredero kai el'Sol better than anyone.

And during this time, Jevri el'Sol was available. He had not found it odd, then, although in retrospect he should have.

"Marakas," Jevri said, bowing. His rooms were spa.r.s.ely furnished; mats lay between the narrow stretch of walls, and upon those mats, a hard roll, and a low table. That low table now bore the weight of his plain, fine sword, and in a low, flat dish, a young lily.

"The kai el'Sol," Marakas said, kneeling as Jevri gestured toward the table. The older man rose, and from a corner of the room, in a small cupboard, retrieved two fine ceramic cups and a flask of sweet water.

He poured, with a grace and elegance that was absent from the rest of his movements-the remaining elements of his tenure as seraf to a high clan. "Yes?"

"Is it true that he survived three attempts upon his life as par el'Sol?"

"Inasmuch as men who serve the Lord would stoop to such measures, yes, it is true."

"And true as well that he defeated Caranos par el'Sol for possession of Verragar?"

"Yes. I see that you have been . . . busy."

Marakas had the grace to color.

"But is it of these events that you have come to speak?"

"Yes."

"Ah. There are others. Before he rose to the rank of par el'Sol, there were also difficulties. Men consider the name Lamberto to be a challenge, or perhaps a judgment. He was almost embroiled in a delicate trap involving his brother, and he avoided it with care." The old man lifted his cup and waited.

Marakas joined him, guest to his host. He drank first.

"But surely you would expect no less from one who has become the kai el'Sol." There was a slight pause. "Ties of blood are ties of honor that demand loyalty; abjure those, and the most base of behavior manifests itself. The Radann are not brothers; they are equals in the eyes of the Lord."

"And the Lord's laws."

"Indeed."

"There are other stories."

"There will always be other stories."

"It is . . . the other stories that have brought me here."

"Ah." Jevri set the cup aside, his eyes piercing and clear as the water it contained.

"Is it true that one of the Radann in the Tor Leonne fathered a child?"

"Many have."

"And are the laws of the Lord not clear?"

"They are clear."

"But the man was not executed."

"No."

"At the will of the kai el'Sol."

"Indeed."

Marakas was silent; he lifted the water; he drank. It slid down his throat as if it were air. "The kai dismissed him from the ranks of the Radann."

"Yes."

"And he sent him to Mancorvo, to his brother's house."

"You have delved deeply. Yes. With the woman and the child. His brother met him, spoke with him, and judged him worthy of employ. He serves the Lambertan clan."

"In what capacity?"

Jevri's eyes narrowed. "I dislike wasted words. You must know of this, or you would not ask."

"I know of what is said, but many things are said. I want the truth."

"Truth is difficult. The man serves as Tyran to the Tyr' agnate."

"Even though he is an oathbreaker."

"Even so."

"And Lambertan honor?"

"The kai el'Sol sat in judgment. He considered the man's youth, his crime, and his honesty."

"What honesty?"

"He was young," Jevri said quietly. "And the woman came to him for protection in the village to which he had been sent. She, too, was young, and fierce in the way the young are. Saving her life was a bond that the young Radann could not break; he understood that in his absence there would be no protection for her, for she had lost her brothers to skirmishes with the bandits that season.

"He therefore took it upon himself to bring her here. And here . . . things unfolded as they often have.

"A different man would have dismissed her. A different man would have understood the threat she posed. And when . . . things developed . . . a different man might have had her killed; if not, he would have disavowed the child of that union; it was not a son."

Marakas bowed his head. Against the word of a Radann, the word of a disgraced, kinless girl would count for nothing.

"But this man?"

"He came to the kai el'Sol. He came in fear, but with dignity, and he confessed his crime against the Lord, and against the Radann." The old man's eyes seemed to cloud as they gazed past Marakas. "Fredero heard all that the young man had to say, and then he dismissed the Hand of G.o.d, and spoke to the man alone.

"He said, 'Not all men serve the Lord best by joining the ranks of the Radann. And not all men learn the unsuitability of that life with grace or with honor. What you have done, you cannot do in service to the Lord, for the men of the Lord must be seen to be men who favor no family, and who own no ties greater than the oaths they have taken to the Lord.

"I remember that man," Jevri continued softly. "I remember that he stood, alone, shoulders bowed, face pale. Of the Radann, it was only the kai el'Sol that he feared, although any of the others could also have been his death. And I would say that it was not fear of death that moved him then. He admired Fredero."

"You admire Fredero."

"Yes.

"Fredero asked him why he had not chosen to hide the woman, and the child. Why he had not disposed of them; they were poor and without family, and their absence would have been beneath notice.

"The young man's reply was simple enough. 'They have no one,' he said. 'And they trust me. I have already betrayed your trust, and in the end, betraying theirs would not regain it.'

"'I might never have known.'

"'No,' he said. 'But I would know.'

"Fredero looked at the man then, looked long, and said, 'You have not betrayed my trust, Renaldo.'"

Marakas closed his eyes.

"'You may serve the Lord yet. I will send Jevri el'Sol as your guide and your companion; heed him. He will take you to Mancorvo, and in Mancorvo, you will be granted an audience with the Tyr'agnate. Accept it. Tell him only what you have told me. I believe that he will find use for you in Amar.'

"'What use?' the young man asked. 'I have done nothing with my life but learn the use of this.' And he touched the hilt of his sword.

"Fredero simply smiled. That was all."

But it was enough. Marakas set the cup aside. "I do not understand the kai el'Sol, but when he leaves the Tor Leonne ten days hence, I will travel with him."

"If I am not mistaken, Marakas el'Sol, you will travel a long road at his behest, and by his side."

24th of Misteral, 427 AA Sea of Sorrows Are you ever mistaken, Jevri el'Sol? Were you ever mistaken in your youth? Marakas wondered what had become of Jevri, although he could guess: The sword of the Radann kai el'Sol had gone missing after Fredero's death. Peder had not given the order to search for the sword; nor had he given orders to search for the missing Jevri.

And that said much.

I did not intend to walk this road without him. I am not sure I know how.