"Her whims threaten our health."

"And I think she must be a hussy."

"She should not be allowed to stay here. It is not right."

"Tomorrow morning I will speak to my husband, the Captain Hefhohn. My husband is not without influence. Something will surely be done."

Meaningless noise, no more significant than the hum of the insects, or the periodic slap of the giant winged c.o.c.kroaches flying from wall to wall. Luzelle shut her eyes, and the noises distanced themselves. She was deeply tired and sleep claimed her almost before she found time to wonder how Girays v'Alisante happened to be carrying two such unlikely items as a street map of Xoxo and a printed schedule of Ygahri riverboat departures.

HAD THE WINDOW REMAINED CLOSED against the unwholesome night air, the voices outside might not have disturbed her. As it was, the sound came pushing into the dormitory and into her dreams, whence it woke her. against the unwholesome night air, the voices outside might not have disturbed her. As it was, the sound came pushing into the dormitory and into her dreams, whence it woke her.

Luzelle opened her eyes. She had no idea what time it was, but sensed that she had slept for some hours. The oil lamp still glowed above, its diffuse light upon her bed mottled with the shadows of the giant winged roaches clinging to the netting. A m.u.f.fled exclamation escaped her. She slapped at the netting, and the roaches whirred off. Gingerly she parted the draperies and poked her head out.

Her Grewzian roommates slept on, their dreams proof against the chanting a.s.sault of native voices. Wide awake now, she sat listening for a moment. A small group, she estimated, perhaps half a dozen of them; men and women together, or possibly men and boys. Their rhythmic vocalization-half chant, half song-was not unpleasant, but something about it stirred the hairs at the back of her neck. Her mouth was dry. She was profoundly uneasy, even afraid, and at the same time blazing with curiosity. If they were performing some sort of native ritual, she could watch, she could write a monograph and submit it to the Republican Academy- No time!

Time enough for a short investigation, though. That much she would not deny herself. Rising from the bed, she made for the window, where the kiss of the night air on her bare skin recalled her state of undress. Look, she parades about in her underwear. Look, she parades about in her underwear. Not such a bad idea in this climate, but likely to attract attention. Not such a bad idea in this climate, but likely to attract attention.

s.n.a.t.c.hing up her clothes, she dressed quickly. The Bizaqhi tunic and divided skirt, still damp, clung indecently. Fortunate that the Grewzian officers' wives weren't awake to observe and comment.

Slipping noiselessly from the dormitory chamber, Luzelle hurried along the corridor, down the stairs, and out the front door into Xoxo's town square.

The night was warm and heavy as blood. The insects shrilled feverishly. Southern constellations never glimpsed in Vonahr glittered overhead, looking impossibly close. The moon had set but the streetlamps still glowed, their light washing the broad paved expanse of the square. Her eyes flew instinctively to the platform and the pillory at its center. The four prisoners stood there motionless in their bonds, stoic as ever, deaf or else indifferent to the voices of their compatriots. Less impa.s.sive were the two Grewzian sentries stationed before the platform. Visibly uneasy, they were scanning the square on all sides in search of the unseen vocalists.

If they spied her, they would doubtless detain her for questioning or worse. Holding her breath, Luzelle shrank back into the shadows, and the Grewzian gazes pa.s.sed over without pausing.

She resumed breathing. The voices she sought rose near at hand. She heard them clearly, but could not pinpoint their location. Behind her? Inside the darkened mouth of the alley? For a mad moment she thought she heard them in the air above her, and then they seemed to come from underground. Her nerves tingled and the gooseflesh rose along her arms, despite the heat of the night.

Ridiculous. She shook her head, half amused and half annoyed with herself, then stood still and listened intently. This time there could be no doubt. The invisible natives hid themselves in the darkness somewhere to her left, probably not more than a few dozen yards distant. Her eyes traveled and soon lighted upon a constricted pathway lying between a pair of the anonymous brick buildings edging the square. In there, beyond question.

Hugging the shadows, she stole forward on tiptoe. She reached the mouth of the pa.s.sageway, and the chanting was strong in her ears. Her heart hurried and her spine tingled. There was something uncanny about those voices, something almost inhuman in the crystalline soprano notes. She forced herself to peek around the corner, and confronted nothing but darkness.

The voices were not quite as near as she had thought, or perhaps their owners had retreated. Luzelle inched on. Her eyes adjusted and she descried the brick walls rising on either side, but saw no sign of the native singers. She could still hear them clearly somewhere up ahead, not far away. On she went to the end of the pa.s.sage, stepping out onto an anonymous narrow street lined with wooden houses on stilts, their lightless windows blindfolded with mats of woven rushes. The singers remained invisible, but their voices were still audible, still near, somewhere to the right.

She followed the sound down the street, around a bend, and along another walkway without catching sight of her quarry, then pa.s.sed through a darkened grove of ma.s.sive stone pilings to find herself back in the town square, a few buildings down from her starting point. The native voices rose and fell-somewhere behind her.

Lunacy. She had made some sort of mistake, probably somewhere among those pilings. She had better listen, really listen. Drawing a deep breath, she held it and shut her eyes.

Someone's hand touched her shoulder lightly. Stifling a cry, she whirled to face a tall figure clothed in a grey uniform. Grewzian. Loathsome. Alarm and hostility gave way to astonishment as recognition dawned.

"Karsler! Where did you come from?" In his company she did not need to fear the notice of the Grewzian sentries or of anyone else, but nonetheless she pitched her voice low, hardly above a whisper.

"From the house of the Acting Governor Janztoph, who heard that I was in town and offered me hospitality for the night." He too almost whispered. "How is it that I am not surprised to meet you here?"

"I have a way of turning up."

"Indeed. It cannot be an accident."

He was eyeing her very intently, and his gaze was fixed on her face, yet all at once she was acutely conscious of the damp garments molding every curve of her body.

"You have felt it too, have you not?" Karsler asked.

She stared at him, momentarily tongue-tied.

"You heard the voices, they called to you," he prompted. "You felt the power."

"I felt...something. I don't know quite what," she answered slowly. "I thought perhaps it was a native ceremony that I might watch."

"It is more than that. Do not attempt rational a.n.a.lysis, it will not serve you now. Listen now to your blood and nerves. What do they tell you?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I don't understand what you're talking about. I think I'd best go back to my room now."

"I do not mean to alarm you."

"You haven't-you couldn't. It's just this place-those voices-there's something strange and disturbing about them. They've confused and unnerved me-" She realized that she was prattling, and concluded quickly, "I'm perhaps not quite myself."

"You are entirely yourself, and your fear is based on sound instinct," he told her. "But I must ask you not to go back to your room quite yet. It is not safe. Something is going to happen here."

"What do you mean?"

"I sense a force at work around us, and I sense also the imminence of violent consummation."

"Violent! What's going to happen?"

"I have not the ability to predict. And yet I know that it is upon us, that we stand at the nexus of arcane forces, born of conjoined minds."

"Those voices out there-"

"Yes, that is the source."

"Who are they? What are they?"

"Tribesmen of the jungle, I think. Their shamans are reputedly accomplished. I do not know if you believe, probably you do not, and so I ask it as a personal favor. Humor my fancy, and come away from this spot. Will you?"

"Yes, if you wish," she replied without hesitation. His claims were fantastic, yet here and now she believed him completely. "Where shall we go?"

"It is localized. We need not go far, I think."

He extended his hand, and she took it. It seemed to her that a spark jumped between them, and she wondered if he felt anything of the sort. She looked up into his eyes and forgot about arcane forces, forgot imminent violence, forgot for an instant even the Grand Ellipse; forgot everything beyond the warmth of the current pa.s.sing from his hand to hers.

She did not want to think or to move, but he was drawing her along a dim little avenue, and she went unresistingly. They had not advanced a half-dozen paces before she heard a m.u.f.fled boom like subterranean thunder, and the ground beneath her shivered. Luzelle gasped and staggered, but stayed on her feet.

"Oh-it's true!" she cried.

"Come. A little farther," Karsler urged, his calm tones oddly underscoring the chant of native voices.

The ground groaned and shuddered again. Luzelle lost her balance, pitched forward, and would have fallen had not Karsler caught her and held her upright. For a moment she clung, then relaxed her grip and let him lead her on along the street, up a sloping incline to a solid, motionless summit from which they could view the town square.

The night was tranquil no longer. Lights had appeared at the windows of several of the buildings overlooking the square, and by their glow Luzelle could see the jagged new fissures sundering the pavement. Men, women, and children in nightshirts and nightgowns were spilling from the inn, from the governor's mansion, and from the neighboring houses. Frightened voices rose in confusion, then the hubbub splintered to shrieks as the thunder underfoot boomed again and the ground quaked. White-clad figures fell sprawling, and the small cupola surmounting the governor's residence tumbled from its perch to hit the pavement below with a crash. At the same time the streetlamps bordering the square began to topple in quick succession, each extinguishing itself as it fell. Darkness encroached upon the square, then retreated as the flame from an overturned lantern caught the dry matting at someone's window and fire spouted from the second story. The screaming panic below intensified.

Girays. Almost certainly somewhere in the midst of it all. Luzelle's jaw tightened. Almost certainly somewhere in the midst of it all. Luzelle's jaw tightened.

"He will be all right," Karsler told her.

"What?"

"V'Alisante will not be injured. No one will, I think, for that is not the intent of this demonstration."

"How could you know the intent?"

"It is a feeling that I have. You need not fear for your friend."

"I wish I could share your confidence. But let me a.s.sure you, M. v'Alisante's welfare is no particular concern of mine."

"It is possible that you mistake yourself."

"No I don't." She hesitated. "What makes you think so?"

"Perhaps it has something to do with your present effort to squeeze my hand to a pulp."

"Oh! Sorry." She released his hand, and at once regretted the lost contact.

"See," Karsler observed quietly, "someone has already doused the fire. The quakes have ceased. There will be no further damage, the exercise is concluded."

"Another feeling?"

"Yes, but that is not the only guide. Listen. What do you hear? Or rather, what do you not hear?"

"The chanting, the voices-they've stopped."

"Their purpose is accomplished."

"What purpose? The ruin of their own town?"

"That square and its architecture are western in nature, designed to suit the needs of colonial administrators. They do not truly belong to this place, and I do not believe that the Ygahri natives would mourn their loss."

"But your own Undergeneral Ermendtrof-and your Acting Governor Janztoph-may view the matter in a different light. They won't hesitate to make their displeasure known, and the locals are likely to pay the price. Won't there be reprisals?"

"Perhaps."

Grewzian reprisals were notorious. Xoxo faced a sizable reduction in population.

"But it is not probable," Karsler answered her thought, or else continued his own. "Grewzland does not officially recognize the reality of arcane force. To punish the natives is to hold them accountable for the ground tremors that damaged the square. But how could such backward people control a natural phenomenon? Ygahri guilt confirms Ygahri sorcerous power, and that is something my countrymen will not openly acknowledge. Hence there was no crime, there is no guilt, and there can be no punishment."

"Very neat. I only hope that you're right. Certainly you were right about-how did you put it? 'The imminence of violent consummation.'"

"It is not difficult to detect."

"For you, perhaps. I remember what you said that night aboard the Karavise Karavise-that you learned in childhood to sense the working of arcane energy. I didn't altogether believe you then, but I do now. I'm sorry that I doubted."

"What intelligent individual would not question such a claim?"

"Didn't you say at the time that the training was part of some traditional form of Grewzian education?"

"Yes."

"If Grewzian tradition includes the study of arcane energy, then how can the Imperium refuse to acknowledge it?"

"The current administration values modern rationality, or at least the general appearance thereof. The Promontory, whose existence links the presence to the past, cleaves yet to the old ways and the old wisdom. But that is a matter rarely discussed with foreigners."

"I see," she murmured. Disappointment filled her, for she suspected that an explanation might furnish some key to the enigma of his character.

"It is not a topic of casual conversation," Karsler continued. "I will tell you something of the Promontory, however, because you seek knowledge, because it pleases me to remember, and because somehow I would find pleasure in sharing those memories with you. This is no violation of trust, but only a departure from convention, an indulgence that I will permit myself tonight."

"Don't tell me anything that you'll regret."

"I will regret nothing." Karsler reflected a moment, then commenced, "The Promontory is a granite fortress, austere in aspect, ancient beyond memory, enthroned upon a high crag overlooking grey seas at the northern extremity of Grewzland. This structure is the stronghold, training ground, and-I believe the Vonahrish term would be 'retreat'-of the group known in my country as 'Laagstraften.' In Vonahrish, that is 'the Confraternity.' You have heard of this?"

Luzelle shook her head.

"I am not surprised. The order of the Confraternity, though greatly revered, so consistently shuns public attention that its very existence is hardly noted beyond the borders of our homeland. And even there the order contrives to efface itself. Yet this group has figured prominently in Grewzian affairs. Its influence has altered the course of war, guided the destinies of princes, shaped national history.

"The membership comprises the sons of the n.o.blest and oldest of our Houses, relinquished in early childhood by their families and raised in seclusion within the confines of the Promontory. There the young aspirants are subjected to the most rigorous discipline; enrolled in a program of training designed to strengthen and purify them in body, mind, and character; schooled in varied arts and sciences, some of them all but forgotten elsewhere; fortified against the power of magic; taught the secrets of totality and transcendence; in short, required to fulfill the highest potential of their own talents and abilities. Such a difficult and prolonged regimen hardly suits all natures, and the attrition rate is high. But those remaining to complete the program are tested upon conclusion, and those successfully meeting all such challenges win the t.i.tle of Elucidated, which grants them full privileges of membership. In Grewzland this is regarded as a great honor."

"And you have won this t.i.tle?" asked Luzelle.

"Yes. I entered the Promontory at the age of four, and never set foot without its walls for the next seventeen years. At the end of that time I am Elucidated, and my blood is declared aflegrenskuldt aflegrenskuldt."

"Declared what?"

"Aflegrenskuldt-that is, either 'virtuous' or 'battle worthy,' depending upon the context. It is a tradition of my country that the heart's blood of the Elucidated must quench the steel composing the weapons and armor of Grewzian royalty, in this manner imparting battle worthiness to the finished products. Originally, the blood was obtained by means of human sacrifice-"

"But that was in the distant past, surely."

"The custom continued unchanged up until the end of the last century. Perhaps that sounds barbaric to foreign ears, and yet you must understand that the heart's-gift is the ultimate and highest act of patriotism, and the donors regard themselves as privileged. Within the past fifty years, however, matters have altered and the Elucidated are more often than not accorded the luxury of natural death."

"More often than not?"

"I had thought to remain immured within the Confraternity's stronghold for the whole of my life," Karsler continued. "I expected to study, to teach, to administer, or to contribute my blood gladly, should that have been asked. I knew no other way of life, and desired none. My reading and my conversations with those more knowledgeable than myself woke in me no desire to explore the mad world beyond the Promontory's walls. Quite the contrary, I learned to prize the order and tranquillity of my existence.

"It was not to continue, however," Karsler observed with regret that contained no hint of self-pity. "The wars commenced, and my services were required. We Stornzofs must take up arms, you see, in times of conflict-it is the way of our House, and so it has always been. Nor does such labor in the service of Grewzland violate the principles of the Confraternity. Thus I exchanged the Promontory for the army, where my family name alone instantly won me an officer's commission. I had not earned it and did not deserve it, but that is the way of this world. Fortunately for all concerned, I displayed some apt.i.tude for the work-it is in the Stornzof blood, after all. I proved useful in certain capacities, promotions followed, there was constant activity to keep me occupied, and I grew as accustomed to the military life as ever I had been to the contemplative life that preceded it. So I have pa.s.sed the last five years, and they have not been unhappy. And yet it is curious-there has never been a single day in all those years that I have not thought of the Promontory, never a day that I have not heard its call."

"Will you ever go back?" asked Luzelle.

"For a very long time after leaving, there was no question in my mind that I should return at the first opportunity. But the wars continue, the years acc.u.mulate, time and distance alter all things. When the fighting ends at last and I am finally free, I think that I shall find myself so greatly changed that I will not belong to the Promontory. There will be no place for me there."

"Perhaps that won't be true. But if it is?"

"Then I will look back no longer, but content myself with present reality, which offers its own considerable rewards," he told her. Before she could a.n.a.lyze the remark, he added, "Your patience in listening is one such reward. I hope this monologue has not too greatly wearied you."