He looked around at them, curious to know what they wanted. He knew from experience that Chrystallusians were a polite race and did things their own way. He waited for one of the children, he suspected the eldest, to give him some indication of their purpose.

"I believe they are waiting for you to tell them a story," came an amused voice. He turned and found his aunt watching him.

His brows drew together in confusion. "A story?"

"I promised them you would tell them a story or two."

"I should have known," he snorted gently, eyeing her with admonishment.

"Be gentle with him, children," she said as she walked on.

He laughed and glanced around the group. "A story, huh?"

"Uh, hum," was the group reply.

He looked at the rose. There was a story of a rose, half-remembered from long ago, and it hurt him. He had told it once. He looked up, his eyes full of pain, and he felt a hand tug his left sleeve. He found the boy who had started the exodus to him, frowning.

"Story," he said in a clipped, authoritative voice, his eyes screwed into a gentle rebuke.

"Tell us about the Outlaw," the oldest girl said. He could see the dreamy, infatuated face of a young woman looking

back at him. "Weknow that story, Blossom!" the little boy said. "Shealways wants to hear about the Outlaw, Syn-Jern Sorn!" "Tell us something new, Uncle Conar!" a girl said, giving him the t.i.tle of respect Chrystallusian children were taught from birth. He took a deep breath, searching his memory for an appropriate story. "Anystory will do," said the boy who seemed to enjoy putting emphasis on his words. "What's your name?" Conar asked. "Kehoe. Avery masculine name in our society." Conar hid a smile. "Without doubt." "Do you know any stories about magical animals?" a girl asked. A memory stirred. Conar's face brightened. He gazed around the group and smiled. "I bet you've never heard the story about Maude Graystone's piglet and the privy, have you?" The children looked at one another, then back to him, and shook their heads. He rubbed his hands together. "Thank you Meggie Ruck," he said out of the corner of his mouth and began his tale. Throughout the afternoon, he regaled them with stories of strange contraptions Maude's grandmother had invented.

Had them in st.i.tches as he related the story of Greta Habersham's runaway windmill. Had them wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he spun the tale of how Tandie Janachek's husband, Mort, had lost his hair one night to a hobgoblin named Ball Ness, the monster from the Loss O' Hare Lagoon. Had them eating out of his hand as he wove story after story from the a.s.sortment in his memory.

When the light faded and the children were called by soothing voices to come inside for the evening, he smiled at each one as they came to kiss his cheek. That it was his scarred cheek they kissed did not escape his notice. He watched them go, waving to them as they disappeared into the palace, then drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly.

It had been a good day. "Ball Ness?" a dry voice asked from behind. He looked around to see his uncle frowning at him. "That's what they say took his hair," Conar said with a perfectly straight, perfectly innocent face.

"Umm," his uncle remarked and walked on, his hands behind his back, his nose in the air. He stopped, turned, and

asked in a toneless voice, "And preciselywhere is this Loss O' Hare Lagoon?" "North of Lake Myria and to the east of Lake Meadow." "Ah! That lagoon!" Tran continued on. Conar chuckled. It had been avery good day, eh, Kehoe? he mused.

* * * A tiny smile played on his full mouth as he heard Se Huan's tinkling laughter from the gazebo at the other end of the path. He had learned to distinguish her musical chimes from those of the other ladies of the court. Her merry laughter rang out, seeming to cover the other women's, he thought, or else, he had just grown accustomed to hearing it and now listened for it. Smiling, he pictured her delicate beauty and his heart felt at once light and carefree. She had been good for him.

He was finally pushing aside the melancholy that permeated his life for so long. After six months in the Imperial Palace of Binh Tae, he seemed to be stabilizing and was content. He knew Se Huan was chiefly responsible for his newfound peace of mind, but the children, who more often than not sought him out, had done more than their share to heal him. Their influence of laughter and playfulness had caused his grief to scab over; Se Huan's teasing introductions into the sometimes confusing, always exasperating, mind of a Chrystallusian maid, gave him something other than his miserable past to think about. She nursed him when the nightmares came, chased away the demons, made sure he slept untouched by the evils in his mind. The children brought smiles to his lips, joy to his heart, and peace to his soul.

He lay on his back on the green velvet of his aunt's croquet court, his hands crossed under his head, and stared into the slightly overcast day where scuttling clouds formed magical and mysterious patterns above. No one would look for him here and he was more than content to spend a day to himself.

He reached down to his neck. Pulling his braid over his shoulder, he toyed with it, amused that it now reached below his shoulder blades. He grinned, thinking of Se Huan's insistence on braiding it every morning.

"I can do it, Se Huan," he'd admonished.

"But I like doing it," she'd answered, her fingers deftly looping the three thick strands together before tying them with a short strip of rawhide.

"How long are you going to let that thing grow?" Tyne had sneered only that morning.

"Until it reaches my a.s.s," Conar answered, his lips stretching into a guileless smirk.

That wasn't true, he thought as he lay there in the cool gra.s.s. The braid was as long as he was going to allow it to grow. It had simply become an outward symbol of his freedom, a rebellion against the forced cutting of his hair at the Labyrinth. Just the simple ability to govern how he wore his hair meant more to Conar than he could explain.

He threaded his fingers together, placed them on his belly, and crossed his ankles. A gentle breeze wafted over him. He felt the tug of sleep making his lids heavy. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.

When the shadow moved over him, he didn't flinch.

He slowly opened his eyes.

What he saw would have caused him fear, unnerved him, any other time. Now, thanks to the healing power of his aunt's people, he was merely curious about the tall, thin man who stood over him, blocking out what little light there was in the gathering gray. He felt no threat even though he couldn't see the face hidden in the shadows beneath the halo of light. Somehow he knew the man was smiling. He smiled back, then sat up and clasped his knees within the perimeter of his arms.

"Have you been made welcome, King Conar?" The man's voice was deep, cultured, with an odd accent.

"I have been treated very well, thank you." He motioned for the man to sit beside him.

Gracefully folding his tall frame to the gra.s.s, the man crossed his legs beneath him and sat facing Conar. His long, slender hands were lightly clasped together in his lap. His hair was jet black everywhere but at the temples, which were fanned with shocks of elegant white. His thick eyebrows slashed across a high forehead and his aquiline nose sat boldly between high, aristocratic cheekbones. His eyes were pale blue; clear, sharp, and direct eyes that did not look at Conar so much as absorb him.

By his dark mahogany coloring and long coa.r.s.e hair, left hanging to his waist in two long braids, the man could not have been a Chrystallusian, even though his eyes were slightly slanted.

"I am of the People," he said in way of answer.

"Those who settled in Serenia before my ancestors?" The man inclined his head. "There's a strong resemblance between you and the Chrystallusians," Conar remarked.

"Ancestors."

"Distant, though."

The man nodded. "Do you know who I am?" "The man I have been expecting." He held out his hand. "I am Occultus Noire." Conar gripped the man's wrist with his hand. He felt the deceptive strength in those thin fingers as they rounded his wrist. The fingernails were clipped short and no color adorned the surface. When the hand withdrew, Conar felt the puckered scars within the man's palm.

"Souvenirs from our mutual enemy," Occultus said, holding his hands, palms out, to Conar. He let his gaze wander over Conar. There was a long moment of consideration before he spoke again. "I can see why Tohre is so obsessed with you. You are an exceptionally beautiful man."

Conar stiffened, his face turning hard. Occultus shook his head. "I am not like Kaileel Tohre." He looked closely at his companion. "And neither are you." "I hope not." Occultus smiled. "You would know if you were!" His warm eyes twinkled with laughter. "I fear you have enjoyed the female population of your culture far too much and entirely too often to be anything other than heteros.e.xual." "Those days are over," Conar said bitterly, looking away. Occultus touched Conar's scarred cheek. "Do these scars hurt you?" Conar tensed him, but felt no repulsion at the light caress. Occultus' palm was cool, dry, his face mildly curious. "They hurt," he answered, moving his head just enough to put distance between him and the questing fingers. Occultus dropped his hand. "But the pain is not in the flesh; it is in the soul, am I right? Do the other scars on your body hurt you as badly as the ones on your face?"

Conar shrugged. "I don't feel anything on my back anymore. You could probably lay hot coals on it and I wouldn't

feel it."

"I don't believe we'll test that theory."

Conar smiled. "There's too much nerve damage for it to cause me any kind of sensation." He glanced at his hands.

"As for the other scars, none of them matter that much anymore." "What if it were possible to erase each and every scar? Would you want it done?" Conar looked up. "Maybe some, but not all." Occultus raised one thick brow. "Only some?" "Some don't matter." "But the ones on your face do." He stared at Occultus for a long time, probing the man for understanding. Finally, he gazed over the green expanse of lawn. "I've grown accustomed to the man staring back at me from the mirror even if I haven't accepted the sight of him." "Do you think you will ever accept the sight?" "What I see when I look in the mirror makes me angry, but mostly it disgusts me. If I can't bear to look at myself, how must others see me?" "Have children ran away in horror? Have women fled, covering their faces? Do men look at you with pity or laugh at your infirmities?"

Conar smiled sadly. "The people of Chrystallus are too polite and well-mannered. To make another feel embarra.s.sment would be to lose face."

"True. But if not one has ever turned, running away screaming, before regaining those inscrutably correct facades they are known throughout the Seven Kingdoms for having, then you are not nearly as painful to look upon as you seem to think."

"It's painful for me." He put his hand over his chest. "Here."

"Then we will deal withthat pain," Occultus said crisply. "I can remove even the faintest trace of your problem in that department, my friend."

Conar leaned forward, his gaze intent on Occultus. "Can you really remove the scars?"

"It is within the realm of possibility."

"Will you?"

"If you wish."

"My brother once told me that I wasn't vain. I never really thought about whether I was. If caring how others see you is vanity, then, I guess I am."

"Vanity has nothing to do with it. How a man views himself is the issue. If he sees himself as some ogre that will scare the animals and curdle milk, then his temperament will become such that he will scare animals and sour milk." He tilted his head and smiled. "But if he sees himself as pleasing to look upon, a man who sets maiden hearts to fluttering, he will either grow terribly flirtatious or unbearably arrogant." The smile widened. "Either way, he becomes a nuisance."

"But if he sees himself as just an ordinary fellow?"

"Then he will lead an ordinary life, with ordinary problems, and end up becoming very ordinary and very boring."

There was a slight smile on Conar's face. "I don't think I'd like to be described asboring."

Occultus shook his head. "I don't believe that will ever happen. So, what would you leave?"

"Among the scars?"

"Yes." Occultus cupped Conar's chin, turned his head from side to side, scanning the face as though he were an artist examining a man ready to pose. He traced a thin finger along a nick on Conar's right cheek. "We shall leave this razor cut. It adds a bit of maturity." He touched his finger to a white line that bisected Conar's left eyebrow. "And this rather s.e.xy scar. Ladies find such things immensely intriguing." The finger moved again, but Conar caught the slender hand.

"We leave this," he said and molded Occultus' hand over the twin furrows on his cheek. "Leave the scars on my back, and this also." He pressed the cool hand into the scar on his left palm.

Occultus looked at him with concern. "Why leave the scars that are most visible? Don't they hurt you the most?"

"Aye, they are the most painful."

"You say the scars on your cheek hurt you so greatly you fear looking in the mirror. Why not erase that material source of your pain?"

"Because they are the visual reminder of what was done to me. The scars on my back and face were put there by the same man. Kaileel Tohre. I need to be able to see and feel and relive the pain he gave me." He brought the slim hand to his face again and pressed it against his scarred cheek. "I need to be able to reach up and touch the physical source of the agony I endured at his hands. Only then will I be able to bring myself to do what I must do." He removed his hand from Occultus' but wasn't surprised when the fingers stayed on his flesh. He could feel them moving over the scars, gently caressing the ravaged flesh. "I need to be reminded that Tohre, not the evil of what he did to me, but the man himself, is the enemy looking at me from the mirror."

There was deep sorrow in the man's face. "I understand."

"I know."

The slim fingers withdrew. "There will be a convocation of the men who will be the power structure of your force, Conar. In all, with a few who were chosen personally by me to aid you, there will be twenty who will train you. I am having special armor and weapons forged for you and your men. Many hours of preparation have already been made to place you in your rightful niche in this world. I want to know now if you will be capable of fulfilling your obligation to your people. If you will accept the mantle of leadership against all costs. If you are not willing, I would know now before we begin, for I will tell you...if you decide you want to fulfill your destiny, there will be no turning back. You will see it through or I will destroy you. It is as simple as that, for the specialized training you are being offered is for you alone. No other will ever be worthy."

"What makes you think I'm worthy?"

"I have no doubt of your ability. Neither does Brelan nor Shalu nor any of the others. The doubt is in you alone. If you do not find the faith in yourself, you will be utterly lost."

"If I can crush Tohre and his Brotherhood, I will be content."

Occultus stared at him. "How much are you willing to give up to gain your desire?"

"How much more is there to lose?" Conar snapped. "They took away everything I ever held precious. My wife. My children. My ident.i.ty. They tore me from my world and imprisoned me in a place so vile, so wretched, by comparison, h.e.l.l would be a resort! They tortured me, maimed me, d.a.m.n near destroyed me! I ask you again...how much more is there left for me to lose?"

"Yourself."

"You think I haven't already? What is there left of me that was there before I was sent to the Labyrinth? All the things I prided myself in are long gone. My pride. My sense of self-worth, my courage, my belief in my abilities. All gone. I never dreamed I would ever go to my knees to another man, but I did. I did it to survive, Occultus, and to keep my woman safe. I never thought I'd ever beg not to be hurt, but I did. I wasn't given a choice. I never thought to question my masculinity, but I have." He gripped Occultus' wrist in his hand. "You say I can lose myself if I undertake this thing? I just might find myself again if Ido!"

"There is one problem you seem to have overlooked."

"Such as?"

"The woman." He gently removed his wrist from Conar's taut grip.

Conar kept his face under complete control. "Everyone wants to talk to me about her, don't they?"

"They won't until you are ready."

"But you will."

"It is a subject that must be broached." He flung a dismissive hand. "I don't mean the particulars of the situation. I ask only because I am curious to know what you will do about her."

Not one emotion showed on Conar's face. "When the time comes, I will reclaim her. She is mine by right of matrimony. I don't give a d.a.m.n what the Tribunal says. I will take her back by right of sword. She was destined to be mine. Mine she will be, and mine she will stay!"

"Even if in the taking you destroy something, or someone, very precious to you?"

"There is nothing, no one, more precious to me than my wife." One tawny brow rose in challenge. "Do you think I can not best the man to whom she now clings?"

"Once your training is complete-and you will not leave here until it is-there will be no man who can defeat you." He stood, arching his back to work away the tightness. "When the time comes you must decide if the man you will fight is a man with whom you truly wish to engage in mortal combat, for that is what it will be with him. He will accept nothing less; neither will you."

Conar stood also. "She is worth fighting for."

Occultus frowned. "I have no particular aversion to women, but they can be a nuisance to a warrior. You would do just as well without the burden."

"I have no wish to do without her. I have for a long time now. Too long. Anya Elizabeth McGregor will be mine again. If there is no other way to do it, then I will shed that man's blood and never think twice about it!"

"No matter who he is?"

"No matter who."

Chapter 4.