"He could have killed you!"

"I could have killed him, but didn't."

Holm managed to nod. "I'll be seeing to that son-of-a-demon," he stammered, gripping the knife. He walked on unsteady legs to the door, looked back, saw the young Prince watching him. "And it will give me the greatest pleasure to take thelive man home, Your Grace."

"Conar is my name," came the quick reply. He swept his hand toward the courtyard.

A knowing grimace touched Holm's face. "I'll see to it, Your..." He smiled. "Conar."

Brelan was silent until Holm left. "He could have killed you, dammit! How could you have taken a chance like that?"

Conar smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. "Don't you know," he said, looking at Brelan through the golden gleam of his long lashes, a mischievous boy's look aimed at allaying Brelan's fears, "I'm a were-tiger. I'll live long enough to see Kaileel Tohre in h.e.l.l!"

Brelan let out an angry sigh. "Don't take any more chances."

Conar was about to admonish his brother, to tell him it was his life, not Brelan's, that hung in the balance, but movement at the door brought his head around. He instinctively stepped back, into the deepening shadows of the afternoon light, wary of the threat of stomping feet and an explosion of furious breath.

"Dammit, Brelan!" a young voice snapped, "You could at least have come out to meet us instead of having us worry about you! Why'd you make us come looking for-" He stopped as he spied another man in the room. "Who's he?" Dyllon asked his brother.

"Oh, my G.o.d!" came a flat, disbelieving voice from the doorway.

Brelan looked at Coron's stunned face, realized from the position where he stood he could see Conar's face clearly.

Dyllon turned to Coron. "You look like you've seen a ghost!" Dyllon snickered, then saw the man stepping out of the darker portion of the room, his face lit by a beam of sunlight through the window. Dyllon's mouth dropped open. He looked for all the world as though some ancient sorcerer had turned him to stone.

Conar entered the full shaft of the sunlight and stopped. The sight of his youngest brothers was like land to a drowning man. He let his gaze wander over them, seeking its fill. Their stunned looks amused him, but as he felt their scrutiny crawling over the destruction of his face, he knew a moment of shame that pierced him to his core. He tried to speak through a throat closing with pain.

He couldn't.

Coron shook his head as though to clear it. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words.

Dyllon could. "This can't be Conar."

Conar stared at his youngest brother. "Dyllon, I know it's been a long time, but do I look that bad you don't recognize me?" "Bad?" Coron's attention drifted over the ravaged face. "I've never seen you look so G.o.ds-be-d.a.m.ned good." His eyes flooded with tears. He pulled Conar into his arms, hugging him with every ounce of strength in his body.

Conar took his left arm from around Coron, held it wide for Dyllon.

"Oh, sweet Alel!" Dyllon went into the embrace crying.

Brelan also went to them and put out his arms, hugging Coron and Conar, touching Dyllon's arm with his hand.

"Papa?" came a timid voice.

All three men moved aside so Conar could see the son he had not seen in six years.

He wasn't sure he knew this tall young man. There was a strong resemblance to himself. But the boy was taller than he, thicker in build, darker in coloring. The blond hair was the same ripe shade of wheat, worn the same way he had once worn his own-short and framing his face; there was a cleft in this stranger's chin that looked a lot like his own had at that age. But he couldn't believe this man was his son, his flesh and blood.

"Wynland?" Conar questioned. He couldn't move. He wanted to, but couldn't. The boy came toward him, hesitantly, awkwardly, shyly, looking at him with disbelief and confusion. A quivering smile pushed against Conar's lips. "Only yesterday you were looking up atme ; today, I am looking up at you."

"You're alive. You're alive, Papa!" Wyn's shoulders trembled with emotion. He buried his face in his father's shoulder and sobbed. Brelan looked up and saw another man standing in the doorway. "I bathed," Jah-Ma-El said softly. Brelan smiled. "Come on in. You're one of the family, too, aren't you?" * * *

The last thing Sentian Heil saw as theBoreas Queen raised anchor was the fog rising into the cooling cloudiness of a pardoning gray sky. As far as his eyes could see, there was ocean, shimmering, dark blue ocean. Limitless, soft ocean. No sand. No towering bluffs. No barracks. No dead men. Only a vast expanse of ocean.

What he smelled first was the prevailing aroma of ocean. Something less recognizable wafted under his nose and he sniffed, not sure what the pleasant odor could be. His nose crinkled with delight. He looked at Grice Wynth, leaning on the rail next to him, and smiled.

The first thing Sentian Heil had felt when he and the others set foot on the crowded deck of theBoreas Queen had been the intense coolness rising up from the ocean. It had been a lung-filling coolness, sliding over them as though a G.o.ddess was plying her fingers on their bodies. It made it so easy to breathe, for the very air felt light and thin.

For two hours they had trekked away from the desert, the old guards from the penal colony behind them carrying every available pike, sword and whip they had confiscated.

Black smoke poured out of the central bluff and hung in the air. The smell of gunpowder from the charges drifted across the air and made their eyes water with relief.

One guard laughed. "Resurrection day. That's freedom you boys are smelling."

The smell grew more wonderful the closer it wafted to them. The coolness was, too. They could feel it through the soles of their boots, soothing coolness, overriding. Those unfortunate enough not to have had boots to begin with were laughing and joking that the sand was cool on this trip. The guards had helped them to wrap burlap sacks around their feet when they had left the Labyrinth, but the fabric wasn't needed now.

Close to sundown, a full three hours after they had began their walk, some eighty-nine prisoners and twelve guards approached the first of the two waiting ships.

Towering and beautiful, they looked like the antidote for all their troubles riding anchor on the glistening water. The two ships stretched out, long and lean, from the dwindling masts at the tops of the spurs to the broad hull that was two hundred feet across. A wall of soft wood, at least forty feet high, rose straight up on each side of the ship and connected with gleaming bra.s.s rails. A smell of tar permeated the outside of the ships and a dark black powder was lodged in the cracks and crevices of the wood.

"Up you go!" the captain bellowed, pointing.

Sentian was second in line, behind a man all of them knew although he had not had to introduce himself. He saw the man looking to the place where the captain pointed; there was nothing to see on the man's face as far as Sentian could tell. All he saw was a craggy face of darkly-tanned stone. But upon looking closer, he finally saw a break in the stone, an almost well-hidden crack spreading over the man's face. Before he could question the captain, a guard eased past him and took the man's arm.

"I'll help you, Your Grace."

Obviously the crack had been an illusion and was far thinner that Sentian had thought. Thin enough to let the brave man come through.

Climbing the gangplank, the man at the head of the line of free men stepped onto the ship and turned, waiting for the others. He held out his hand to keep Sentian from falling, bracing himself against the rail as the ship rolled.

Sentian withdrew his hand with a sigh of pleasure. "Thank you."

"Not a sailor, are you, Sentian?".

"No, Conar, I'm a landlubber."

"What the h.e.l.l?" Grice mumbled.

Holm turned and saw Grice staring at the ball of fur that had flung itself at him.

One of the crew laughed as he held up a wiggling form none of the men had ever seen, plucking it off Grice's chest where it was clinging. "Better tell them about these critters, Cap'n!"

The Captain folded his arms over his brawny chest and stared straight at Grice. "That's my pet monkey. His name is Jo-Jo and there are two more like him on board." He eyed the other men at the base of the gangplank. "They're friendly little chaps. They'll wrap their tails around your legs and hang on. If you don't pet them, they'll make you wish you had!" His lips twitched with glee. "My advice to you is not to ignore 'em!"

As the men came up the gangplank, they laughed and petted the little critter clinging now to the Captain's shoulder. Even Grice tentatively stroked the simian's fur.

The animal shot out a thin black hand and gently gripped Grice's hand.

Conar chuckled. "He likes you."

Grice frowned. "He's...sort of cute, I guess."

"Step lively," the captain warned. "We'll be sailing through some tricky weather soon."

It took nearly an hour of twisting, turning, and settling for all the men to board the two vessels. The upper decks were jammed with men rigging tarps to protect themselves from the now gently falling rain.

"Might get a bit rough out to sea," Holm remarked, handing the s.e.xtant over to Mister Tarnes before he swung a rope across to the other ship.

"Aye," Korbit agreed. "Can't believe you men pirated that prison ship!" He looked at theVortex. "You'll make a good captain for her, Gil."

Mister Tarnes looked surprised. "Think he'll let me keep her?"

"He will," Conar said. He put a hand on Tarnes' shoulder. "You deserve her."

"I'll take good care of her, Majesty," Tarnes said, blushing.

Conar slapped Tarnes on the back and walked off, heading for the sternmost portion of theBoreas Queen. He had seen his men to as much comfort as the two ships could provide and now he wanted privacy. He stared at the retreating harshness of Tyber's Isle.

The rain grew heavier. Conar's lashes were spiked with droplets, his face glistening with rain. He was soaked through, his shirt plastered to his chest, water ran down his nose and dripped to the railing beneath his light grip. But he didn't want to leave, didn't want to find the warmth and comfort of the cabin Holm had insisted he take on the trip to Chrystallus.

Watching Tyber's Isle disappear into the curve of the ocean, Conar sighed. He hoped to the G.o.ds he had seen the last of that terrible place with its white-hot heat and clinging sand.

The thought of the sand took him back to his first half-hour on board theBoreas Queen. Wyn had led him down to the hold, pointing out a place near midships where a thick blanket of dark earth spread out over the hull.

"What is it?" Conar had asked.

"Holm had that prepared for the coffin, Papa. It's Serenian soil."

Conar hunkered down and grasped a handful of the thick, dark gray silt. He inhaled the fecund, rich loam. This was not the hot, infertile sand of the Labyrinth; this was the cool, fertile sod of his homeland. The nurturing soil of his birth.

"Are you all right, Papa?" Wyn asked.

"I will be now," Conar whispered, reveling in the texture of the earth. It felt like home.

He looked past Wyn as men filed into the room with Hern Arbra's coffin.

Conar asked to be alone. He placed his hand on the coffin rough wood. "We're going home, Hern," he whispered. "I won't be there to see you buried, but I've told Holm what I want on the marker. I told you once I'd haveHe was feared carved on your stone. Remember?"

He lowered his forehead to the musty wood. "Well, that won't be the words on it after all." Tears glistened in his eyes. "I've decided it will read...He was loved."

PART III:.

Chapter 1.

Chrystallus was a country of enigmas. As were its people.

For the most part, the land was lush with well-ordered, well-groomed gardens that grew among rocks and timbers and granite statues. Everywhere was a sense of peace, of tranquillity, of order. Man-made waterfalls cascaded over lava rocks, and graceful arched bridges flowed over the streams where tiny, darting silver and gold fishes played among smooth stones and flowing water lilies. Lotus flowers were abundant in even the meanest garden s.p.a.ce, and twisted, stunted trees grew according to the Master Gardener's command and scheme.

While the people of Chrystallus were peaceful and as tranquil and disciplined as their gardens, they had a darker side, a warrior side, that could turn their peaceful world into a blazing war zone when they had been intruded upon by outsiders who did not understand their lifestyle.

Such was the case when Kaileel Tohre tried to invade the land of the Lotus. The people had rebelled with a ferocity that had stunned its invaders and sent them scurrying back across the ice-covered mountains with their tails tucked between their legs. The invaders had been kept away all the years of Conar's imprisonment and were still kept away.

Their Emperor and his lady were looked upon as being the representatives of the G.o.ds. Given G.o.dlike qualities by his subjects which often amused the Emperor and his Empress, Tran Shimoto nevertheless took his position as the ultimate authority to be his rightful due. Having his peoples' complete faith was of the utmost importance, for when he told them they would be fighting, to the death, for their homeland, his subjects did not waver. They took him at his word. Rather than live in captivity, under infidels who smirked at their gentle lifestyle, those captured during the fighting had found ways to honorably end their lives. The invaders who had been captured had died deaths meant to warn their fellow warriors.

So it was that when theBoreas Queen and her sister shipVortex were spotted on the horizon some nine months after the escape from Labyrinth Prison, a hue and cry went up. The people of Chrystallus were well-armed and ready by the time the ships dropped anchor in the bay outside Binh Tae, the capital. It was not until the royal flag of Chrystallus was hoisted that the people turned to their Chief Minister and awaited instructions.

"It is the Empress' nephew, I believe," the man told them, and sent word to the Emperor.

It was a tired group of men who stepped out of the longboats onto the sh.o.r.e at Binh Tae Palace. The sight made the people of Chrystallus lay down their weapons and stand reverently along the sh.o.r.e and above the docks on the rock promontory circling the city. To the men who walked through the dwindling depths of the ocean waves to the steep wooden steps leading to a landing high above, the eerie silence greeting them was unnerving. Almond-shaped black eyes followed their every move, and not one smile touched upon the thin, almost straight line of their lips.

Brelan was in the first longboat that anch.o.r.ed in the shallows. The people recognized him and heads nodded, features relaxed, but the black eyes swept over the other men in the longboat beside him and narrowed in speculation.

Tyne Brell, Storm Jale, Thom Loure and four others waded ash.o.r.e along with Saur, wary of the silent greeting.

"They look none too happy to see us," Tyne mumbled.

"It's their way," Brelan whispered.

The second longboat with Roget, Chase, the Hesars: Xander, Rylan and Paegan, Belvoir and two others slammed into the sh.o.r.eline ahead of a crashing wave and the boat nearly capsized, but no one came to their aid as the men fell into the lapping water. No one laughed either. Only the soft rustle of the trees along the promontory and the gentle lapping of waves against the stonework seawall lent sound to the utter stillness.

The third boat containing eight prisoners from the penal colony landed and the men disembarked, looking at the people who were trickling down from the promontory to spread out along the water's edge.

"Howdy," one prisoner said to a wizened little man who had come forward with hunched shoulders and a scowl on his ugly face. The man didn't return the welcome.

It was when the fourth boat dispersed its cargo of humanity that a quiet hum began among those gathered. Hands lifted, shielding eyes; fingers pointed; people nodded excitedly in agreement with the observation of their neighbors. Two soldiers left their position beside the Chief Minister and ran as fast as they could toward the palace.

In the beautiful sing-song language of the Chrystallusian people, the volume grew as people gathered along the rock promontory and drifted down the sh.o.r.eline from either side of the coast. Laughter rang out. Knees and backs were slapped as the people of the Lotus became aware of the man who cleared the side of the fourth boat and who, even then, was standing in thigh-high water.

He stared at the people coming down the steep steps. With his gleaming blond hair, freshly washed just that morning, his build, his stance and the deference being shown to him by the other men climbing from the boat, there could be no doubt who he was. There was no other like him, and the voices gathered in volume until a roar of excitement raced through the air.

"The G.o.ds are merciful," the Chief Minister whispered as he saw those legendary blue eyes even from his high place. "Itis him!"

The Empress Dyreil Shimoto stood with one hand shielding her face to the glare of the sun as she stopped at the top of the stairs leading to the beach. She was relieved to see Dyllon, Coron, and Wyn safe, but then she looked at the man her guards had come to tell her about. She turned to her husband. "Tran, can it truly be him?"

Tran shrugged. "We shall have to walk down these steps to make sure, Beloved. I believe the young man is mired in the water where he stands." He smiled and his heart ached as his slim wife clutched a hand to her bosom, her lips moving in prayer to whatever G.o.ddesses governed this Serenian lady. He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "We shall have towalk, Dyreil. As yet, us G.o.ds have not learned the magic of flight." He winked at her and watched as some of the confused lines in her beautiful face began to relax.

Conar finally saw her and his heart lurched, allowing his feet movement in the shifting waters.

"Belias A Regius, Conar Regius," a little man called in a clear voice.