The Outlanders

ON THE EDGE OF RUIN Finally Orris could see into Lon-Ser, could see the Nal itself looming above the horizon, its dark, massive structures par- dally obscured by the murky air, like mountains shrouded in mist. Standing on a small island of stunted grass, gazing at the dark haze that covered the Nal like an old blanket and at the defiled swamp that lay all about him, Orris could not help but think back to Tobyn-Ser and what Owl-Master Baden had told him about Lon-Ser. "The Nals are overcrowded," he had explained. "They've befouled the air they breathe and the water they drink. In short, they seek a new home--and we have exactly what they need in TobynSer." "The world building here is distinctive and impressive." --Publishers Weekly "The author's skillful storytelling and subtle characterizations make this tale of fantasy and intrigue a good selection for most libraries." --Library Journal Praise for ChlQren ofAmarQ, Book 1 of the LonTobyn Chronicle "A journey of delightful reading." --Realms of Fantasy "A very intricate tale with some excellent characterizations. I really enjoyed it." --Anne McCaffrey "In his first novel, historian Coe has crafted an elegantly written fantasy. Recommended for fantasy collections." --Library Journal "Coe writes well and creates engaging characters." --Publishers Weekly "A new author with a fresh voice and intricate characterizations writes an old story in a magical, innovative way. This debut novel is a rich, magical adventure." --Book Page i Tor Books by David B. Coe the lontobyn chronicle Children ofAmarid The Outlanders ii the outlanders book n - of The LonTobyn Chronicle david B. coe ATOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK MC}A/ V("lPh' iii NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. THE OUTLANDERS Copyright ©1998 by David B. Coe All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. Edited by James Prenkel , Maps by Ellisa Mitchell . A Tor Book Published by ToirfDoherty Associates, LLC 175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010 www.tor.com Tor* is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC ISBN:0-812-57113-4 Library of Congress Card Catalog Number: 9823672 First edition: October 1998 First mass market edition: July 1999 Printed in the United States of America 0987654321 iv In memory of my parents, Sylvia W. Coe (19221995) and Jacques Coe, Jr. (19191997), who taught me to love, encouraged me to dream, and allowed me to become who I am. v Acknowledgments ^?3/ Once again, I have many people I wish to thank: ^-^ Harold Roth, my agent and good friend; Tom Doherty, for his continued faith in me; James Frenkel, my editor, whose friendship and guidance have improved my writing and enhanced the entire process; Karen Lovell, Jim Minz, Jennifer Hogan, and all the other wonderful people at Tor; my friends Alan Goldberg and Chris Meeker, who again read early drafts of the novel and offered helpful comments and suggestions; and my siblings. Bill, Liz, and Jim, who, as always, gave me their love and support; Finally, my deepest thanks go once more to my wife. Nancy Bemer, and to our daughter, Alex. Nancy's astute comments on the manuscript and her constant love and encouragement made this book possible. And Alex's joyful spirit and tireless exploration and discovery of the world around her reminded me that there are other wonders in this life besides mages and cerylls. --D.B.C. 1 In considering the sum of my interrogations of the outlander Baram, I am forced to conclude that future encounters with invaders from Lon-Ser are inevitable. The conditions in Lon-Ser that prompted this first attempt to destroy the Order and seize control of Tobyn-Ser have plagued

that land for more than two centuries, steadily growing worse with the passage of time. They will not have disappeared. Indeed it seems likely that the intervening four years have served only to heighten the urgency felt by those who initiated the plot against us. It is up to us, therefore, to choose the circumstances of our next encounter: Do we wait for them to make their next move, and risk that this time we will be unable to withstand their assault? Or do we act first, and set the terms of the confrontation ourselves? Certainly, no one who knows me will be surprised to learn that I would advocate the latter. --From Section Nine of "The Report of Owl-Master Baden on his Interrogation of the Outlander Baram," Submitted to the 1,014th Gathering of the Order of Mages and Masters. Spring, Gods' Year 4625. ^^ The paper itself was a message. Immaculately ^-^ white, its edges were as straight as sunbeams, its corners so sharp that they seemed capable of drawing blood. It had arrived with first light at Amarid's Great Hall, Sonel had been informcrl rlp.livcrp.fl hv an Ahhnriii merchant who 2 sailed with it across Arick's Sea, through the Abborij Strait, and around the northeast tip of Tobyn-Ser into Duclea's vast ocean. Yet, despite the distance it had travelled, it still came rolled in a precise, narrow cylinder and tied with a shining, golden ribbon of silk. Indeed, it looked so elegant, so unnaturally perfect, that Sonel had known, even before she read the infuriatingly terse response to her own letter of several months before, what the flawless, ornate lettering would say. She thought now of her own note and she felt embarrassed. She had used the finest parchment in the land; she had employed the most skilled scribe in Amarid, and had tied her letter with the fine, blue satin used for all of the Order's communications. But when compared with this missive from Lon-Ser, the image of that first letter seemed to wither and fade. In her memory the parchment now looked dingy and rough-edged, the lettering coarse and uneven, the blue satin crude and inadequate. The letter from Lon-Ser's leaders made a mockery of her effort. Which, of course, was the point. The words printed .so finely beneath the gold seal of Lon-Ser's Council of Sovereigns made that much clear: c Owl-Sage Sonel: Regarding your note of this past winter: We have no knowledge of the events you describe, nor do we have any desire to become entangled in what are most likely internal disturbances endemic to TobynSer. That was all, except for the date, given in a notation that Sonel did not recognize, and a second seal pressed in gold wax beneath the message. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, smelling the sweet breads and shan tea that sat on the low table before her, still untouched, no doubt cold by now. Nearly half the morning was gone, and still she could not bring herself to stir. Twice already, Basya had come

to the dnnr nroinn har h-> aot 3 and offering to help her make preparations for tomorrow's opening of the Gathering, and twice Sonel had put her off. The third time could not be far away. Again she read the note, as she had perhaps a dozen times already. It was a dismissal, cold and disdainful. Little more, and certainly nothing less. She wasn't sure what she had expected, although she knew that it hadn't been much. More than this, though; she needed more than this. The idea of writing the letter had first come to her late in the fall, during one of Baden's frequent visits to Amarid. Once more, he had come to the First Mage's city to continue his conversations with Baram, the outlander. But each of Baden's. visits had seen the Owl-Master and the Owl-Sage spending greater amounts of time together, and Sonel's recollection of this particular occasion remained vivid and brought a smile to her lips, even as she continued to stare at the note from LonSer. Before that visit, it had been several years since she had lain with any man, and several more since she had passed a night with Baden. Her smile deepened, then faded as the memory moved past their lovemaking to what had followed. Lying together in these very quarters, as the glow of the moon seeped through the translucent white windows and illuminated the tangle of sheets and bare limbs, Sonel had shared with the Owl-Master her frustration with the Order's inaction over the last four years. Ever since Sartol, the renegade Owl- Master, was destroyed by the combined might of the Order in the Great Hall, and the band of outlanders with which the renegade had allied himself was defeated at Phelan Spur, she had tried to compel the Order to address the threat posed by Lon-Ser. But every proposed plan of action had drawn fierce opposition from a small but outspoken clique of older mages and masters, and, though a majority of the Order agreed that some action was warranted, Sonel had been unable to win support for any specific plan. The problem persisted even after Owl-Master Odinan's death, just before last summer's 4 Gathering, robbed the older mages of then- most impassioned voice. Indeed, if anything, Odinan's passing appeared to reinvigorate his allies, giving them a symbol around which to rally. With the venerable Owl-Master gone, a new leader emerged, Eriand, who, though revered less than Odinan, had proven himself an energetic and persuasive spokesman. "We haven't done a thing," Sonel concluded on that autumn night, lying with Baden. She had been unable to keep the desperation from her voice as she passed a hand through her wheat-colored hair. "For all we know, there's already another group ofoutlanders in Tobyn-Ser, and we've done nothing." Baden cleared his throat awkwardly before astonishing her with a confidence of his own. "They may be planning something," he told her,

taking her hand. 'They may even be on their way. But they're not here yet. That much we do know." And in this way, Sonel first learned of the psychic link that Baden and his friends had formed in western Tobyn-Ser. It was an old magic, first developed by Amarid himself after the death of Theron, his friend and rival, and the departure from Tobyn-Ser of Theron's followers. The First Mage had feared that the Owl-Master's disciples would return and seek to avenge their leader, and he had established a mind link among all the land's remaining mages, a web of consciousness that monitored the land's borders. Even after the First Mage died several decades later, the Order continued to maintain it. For nearly three hundred years, Amarid's psychic link guarded the land. But the link demanded a tremendous expenditure of power that drained both mage and familiar, and eventually, it was allowed to slacken, until it ceased to exist altogether. Now Baden and his allies had created a similar link in western Tobyn-Ser, smaller to be sure, but, if formed correctly, no less effective than Amarid's. And they had done so without any proper authority. The Order had rejected the reestablishment of the psychic link as an option several times 5 over the past few years, though the issue continued to be a point of bitter contention within the Order. For a time, before the mages learned that outlanders had been responsible for the attacks on Tobyn-Ser, Baden himself had spoken against the link. Later, he switched sides in the debate, but those against the link still prevailed. And now Baden and his friends had gone against the will of the Order. He had no right to do this. Sonel should have been indignant. But her immediate sense of relief and gratitude at learning of what he had done would not allow it. "You have every right to be angry with us," Baden told her, concern etched in his thin face, his bright blue eyes locked on hers. "With me really; it was my idea. But if Eriand and his followers learn of this, it won't matter to them that you weren't involved. You're the one they'll blame." She allowed herself a smile in response to his earnestness, his dismay at exposing her to this risk when his impulse had always been, had remained even to this day, to protect her. Then she felt her expression harden. "If they learn of your link," she assured him in a tone that would brook no contradiction, "I'll tell them that I knew of it from its inception, and that you had my blessing. Because if I had known, you would have." She paused, gratified to see him smiling at her with equal measures of surprise and pride. "So you'd best fill me in on the details," she added a moment later. "I'll want to be as convincing as possible." That Trahn and Radomil were involved came as no shock to her. The dark mage from the Great Desert was Baden's closest friend in the world, and Radomil, the portly, goateed Hawk-Mage who served Leora's Forest was, in his own quiet way, as courageous and steadfast in his devotion to the

land as any mage she knew. Nor was the Owl-Sage surprised to learn that Jaryd and Alayna had joined them. Jaryd, Baden's nephew, had been the Owl-Master's apprentice. But more than that, both he and Alayna, who had once been Mage- Attend to Sartol. had niaved a nivotal role in thwartine the 6 traitorous mage's plot and defeating the outlanders. Now Sonel fully understood the young mages' decision to serve the Lower Horn rather than returning to Alayna's home near the Abborij Strait or Jaryd's home in Leora's wood. Sonel was surprised to hear that Orris, Ursel, and Mered had also joined Baden's little conspiracy. Mered tended to avoid political entanglements of any sort, and Ursel, though she had battled the outlanders at Phelan Spur and was closely allied with Orris and the other younger mages, had never seemed to Sonel the type to take such a bold step. And then there was Orris himself. True, the burly mage travelled with Baden, Trahn, Jaryd, and Alayna to Theron's Grove, and stood with Baden and Trahn against Sartol when the renegade accused the three of them of treason and murder. But Orris and Baden had never gotten along, and they often found themselves on opposing sides of the Order's most acrimonious debates. Even after all that had happened during the struggle against Sartol and the outlanders, Sonel found it difficult to think of them as allies. "It's an uneasy alliance," Baden admitted when she asked him about the burly Hawk-Mage, "but Orris has grown quite close to Jaryd and Alayna, and he and Trahn have always had a good rapport." "So that's why he agreed to work with you," Sonel ventured. Baden shook his head in response. "He's doing it because he believes it's the right thing to do. I've never met anyone who takes his oath to serve this land more seriously than Orris." Sonel considered this in silence for several moments, glancing at the two owls that sat perched together on the window sill across the room. She still had not gotten used to seeing Baden with his new familiar, though he had been bound to the creature for over three years. His owl resembled the bird to which Jessamyn, Sonel's predecessor as Owl-Sage, had been bound. She was an imposing bird,-a good deal 7 larger than Sonel's familiar, with feathers as white as snow, and bright, yellow eyes in a round face. After some time Sonel looked back at Baden, her mind turning once more to the Lon-Ser threat. "You've seen nothing, then? No sign of the outlanders?" "No sign." Yet. He didn't actually say it, but he didn't have to. It was manifest in his tone, in the shadows lurking in his eyes. They would be coming.

The Owl-Master seemed to read her thoughts. "We're keeping watch, but that's all. Certainly we've done nothing to prevent the next attack." Sonel let out a long breath. "I know. I've been considering calling the Order back to Amarid." "Why?" The question caught her off guard. "To discuss our options; to come up with a plan for dealing with LonSer." "What makes you think that we'll have any more success than we did at Midsummer?" "What are you saying?" she demanded irritably. "That we should continue to do nothing? That we should just wait for them to come after us again?" "I'm just wondering," the Owl-Master countered in a quiet, even tone, "why you need to convene another Gathering. You're the Owl-Sage; you lead the Order. I don't think you need to get prior approval for every thing you do in that capacity." He smiled, the dazzling, disarming smile she had come to know so well over the years. "It's just a thought." Sitting now in her chamber, with the tea and breads before her, she allowed herself a smile of her own at the memory of that last comment. Just a thought. Nothing Baden ever said could be dismissed so easily, and this particular thought stayed with her for the next several days, tugging at the corner of her mind like an insistent child, demanding attention. It was not until a week later, however, when a second visitor CaiTlft to hpr ^hamKat-o KAoyinrT r»o/o l-liot Rorl^rt'c cilor(TF*stinn 8 and her own frustration with the Order's inaction crystallized into a deqsion to draft her letter. It was one of those grey, cold autumn days that presages winter's approach, and Sonel had been wrapped tightly in her forest green cloak, with her chair set before the hearth and her long legs folded beneath her, when Basya knocked on the chamber door and announced the caller. Twice the Owl-Sage had to ask her servant to repeat the name of her guest, and even after hearing it for a third time, Sonel was not sure she believed it. But a moment later, Linnea, the highest authority among the Keepers of Arick's Temple in all the land. Eldest of the Gods, as she was properly addressed, swept into the Owl-Sage's chambers, her silver-grey robe swirling impressively around her bulky frame. As a young girl, Sonel had trained briefly as an acolyte in the Temple near her home, and, as she often did in the presence of the Keepers, she found herself having to resist an immediate impulse to fall to her knees in obeisance. Instead she rose from her chair, smiling broadly, her arms open in welcome. As the Eldest stopped before her, she bowed just slightly, enough to show proper respect for the Temple and Linnea's

position within it, but not so much that Sonel compromised the standing of the Order and her own status as its leader. Such was the delicate balance that leaders of the Order had been striking in their interaction with the Children of the Gods for nearly a millennium. Ever since Amarid's emergence as a powerful figure in Tobyn-Ser, relations between the two institutions had not been easy. From the beginning, the Temples had distrusted the wild magic of Amarid's Children and had seen the mages and masters as threats to their authority. Where the Order could offer'Tobyn-Ser's people healing from disease and injury, and protection from the land's enemies, the Temples could offer only lore and faith. The Sons and Daughters of the Gods had found themselves unable to compete with the wielders of the Mage-Craft, and their influence had waned. And though the Order had rionc. 9 nothing overt to confirm their suspicions or undermine their power, neither had the mages gone out of their way to cultivate an alliance with the Keepers, an oversight the God's children had taken as an affront. Over the last several years, the Order had paid the price of that provocation. With the attacks on Tobyn-Ser by outlanders posing as mages, and the Order's slow response to that threat, the people of Tobyn-Ser had grown increasingly disenchanted with the Mage-Craft and had begun to turn back to the Temples for leadership. Bloodied and humiliated, the mages had hoped that their victory over the attackers at Phe- lan Spur would help them win back the people's esteem. But it had not. Indeed, any good will that might have been garnered from this success was more than offset by Baden's legitimate but unpopular insistence that Baram, the surviving outlander, be imprisoned and interrogated, rather than executed as the people had demanded. Not surprisingly, the Temples had revelled in the mages' fall from favor and had hastened their own resurgence by leading both the criticism of the Order's response to the attacks and the calls for Baram's death. The relationship between the Children of Amarid and the Children of the Gods had never been so strained; Sonel had not believed that it could possibly get any worse. And yet it had. Soon after Sonel's ascension to the position of Sage, Raina, Tobyn-Ser's Eldest for more than a decade, died, and the Keepers chose Linnea to take her place. Where Raina had been as accommodating and cordial as one could hope, Linnea had a reputation for confrontation and hostility toward the Order. Because she was relatively young, the ''Eldest" in title only, Baden and Trahn speculated that she had been selected for just this reason. And in the months and years that followed, Linnea proved them right, taking advantage of every opportunity to remind the people of the land of the Order's failures. 10 all the graciousness she could muster, Sonel could not help but wonder why Linnea had come. "Eldest," the Sage had said, still smiling, "be welcome in the Great Hall. You honor me with this unexpected visit." The Owl-Sage turned toward the doorway where her attendant still stood, staring at the two women with unconcealed curiosity. "Basya," she called

in a commanding tone, forcing the young woman to mind her du ties, "please bring us some fresh tea and something to eat." Basya flushed slightly and nodded. "Right away, Owl- Sage." Linnea watched the attendant withdraw, a sardonic grin on her broad, pale face. "Impertinent, isn't she?" the Eldest re marked when Basya was gone, a breezy arrogance in her voice. "I wouldn't call her impertinent," Sonel replied, fighting to keep the anger from her voice. She motioned for Linnea to sit in the chair nearest her own. "She's just young, and easily im pressed." Still lowering herself into the chair, the Eldest stiffened and opened her mouth to fling back a retort of her own. But then, surprisingly, she appeared to think better of it. And as she settled herself into the seat, awkwardly smoothing her robe with a meaty hand and nervously shifting her gaze around the chamber, Sonel wondered again why she had come. "You are well, I presume?" Linnea asked perfuncto rily, her pale, blue eyes finally coming to rest on Sonel's face. "Yes, Eldest, thank you. And you?" "Yes, fine." And then, as an afterthought, "Thank you." The large woman continued to fidget with her shimmering robe for several moments until, at last, she seemed to gather her resolve with a deep, slow breath. "Owl-Sage," she began, surprising Sonel with the use of her formal title, "I have come today seeking your-" A knock on the door stopped her, and Basya entered the chamber carrying a crystal tray of fruits, cheeses, and dry breads, and a pot of steam in p shan tea With nin^i- ^^^«^~: 11 cal movements the young woman placed the tray on the low table between the Sage and the Eldest and poured out two cups of tea, seemingly unaware that Linnea was following her every move with manifest impatience. "Thank you, Basya," Sonel said when the girl was done. "That will be all." Basya nodded and left, quietly closing the chamber door behind her. The Eldest appeared to consider offering another comment on Basya's manners. But instead she took another breath in an attempt to regain her composure, and began once more, her tone somewhat less subdued than it had been a minute before, and her eyes fixed on her hands. "As I was saying, I've come seeking your ... advice," she said, with obvious discomfort, "on a matter of some sensitivity." Linnea was full of surprises this day. "Of course. Eldest," Sonel replied.- "Whatever guidance I can offer is yours, and with it, a pledge of my discretion." The Keeper looked up at that and inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. "You remember Cailin?"

"Of course," Sonel answered, her tone suddenly flat. An image of the young girl flashed into the Sage's mind. Her straight, dark hair; the beautiful open face; the pale, blue eyes, much like those of the woman who now sat with Sonel in her quarters. And the sadness that had resided in those eyes. For Cailin was the lone survivor of the massacre at Kaera. During one night of blood and flame and terror, this child had seen her village utterly destroyed, and her parents, her friends, every person she knew in the world slaughtered by two men posing as mages. She had been quite literally, the only shred of Kaera that they had left intact. And she had lived only because the outlanders had chosen her to be their messenger, so that she might be an agent of their campaign to destroy the Order. Tr* th^ nt*-^----?*!. ^f /.11 4-1.:^ *l,^ ?.-1 l,«/l K^^^ l,.-/,..-,U4U^^l, 12 to Amarid where the Order assumed responsibility for her up_ bringing. But Cailin continued to blame the Children of Amarid for her parents' deaths, even after it had been explained to her several times that the men who destroyed her town had only been pretending to be mages. When several of the Keepers came from Arick's Temple demanding that Cailin be placed in their care, Sonel refused. But she could not refuse Cailin's own request that she be allowed to leave the Great Hall. In the end, Sonel found herself forced to give the girl over to the Keepers, who wasted no time in making Cailin a symbol of both their own redemption and the Order's inability to protect TobynSer. "Of course I remember her," Sonel said again. "How old is she now? Ten?" Linnea nodded absently. "I think so. Yes, ten." "Is she all right?" "Naturally she's all right!" the Eldest snapped, her eyes flashing, and her round face growing red. "The Keepers vowed that we would care for her! Do you doubt our word? Or do you think perhaps that we lack the compassion necessary to raise a child?" 1 "Neither, Eldest," Sonel responded soothingly. "I meant no offense. You have come here seeking my advice and asking if I remember Cailin. In what way was my inquiry inappropriate?" Linnea closed her eyes and said nothing. After some time she managed a slight grin and shook her head. "There was nothing wrong with your question, Owl-Sage. This is ... difficult for me." She opened her eyes. "Please accept my apology." "Of course," Sonel assured her, returning the smile. "Now, please, tell me about Cailin." "She is a fine child: still beautiful, as you no doubt recall her being,

and clever. She excels in her studies. She loves to read, but she's good with numbers as well. And she's as citron r»rtn/t mml^lj^ Of Qt-llr f}f tl^Q Rt-Mrc- In tllA TotYlt^lo " T fnnaq 13 wore a wistful smile as she spoke, and it occurred to Sonel in that moment that the Eldest genuinely cared for the girl. In the next instant, however, Linnea's smile fled from her lips, and her gaze turned inward. "There is, as one might expect, a sadness to her. But it's strange--it can materialize almost instantly, under any circumstances. One minute she will be laughing, or speaking with passion of the latest story she's read, and the next she'll grow silent and a darkness will come into her eyes." The Keeper shook her head slowly and took a sip of tea. "More recently, these bouts of melancholy have been accompanied by a rebelliousness that we hadn't seen before." "And this is why you've come," Sonel guessed, brushing a wisp of light hair from her smooth brow. Linnea smiled wanly and shook her head again. "I've dealt with a child's temper tantrums before, Owl-Sage," she said evenly. "If it were just that, I wouldn't be here." "So there's more." "Yes." The Eldest hesitated, but only for a second. 'There's no delicate way to approach this, so I'll just say it: for more than a year now Cailin has shown signs of possessing the Sight. We considered coming to you then, but thought better of it. Last month, though, she bound to a falcon. She's a mage." Sonel couldn't have been more shocked if Linnea had said that she herself had bound to a hawk. But the Sage's astonishment gave way almost instantly to rage and indignation. For more than a year? Last month? "The Order should have been informed immediately!" she stormed, hurling it at the Eldest like an accusation. "I'm informing you now!" Linnea returned hotly. Sonel propelled her lanky frame out of the chair and began pacing in front of the hearth. "I want her returned to the Great Hall at once!" Linnea glared at the Owl-Sage defiantly. "I won't allow it!" 14 "You must!" "I won't! And neither will Cailin!" "You don't know that," Sonel replied, less sure of herself. "Yes, I do," the large woman told her, seeming to sense the Owl-Sage's uncertainty. "You still haven't heard everything, Sonel." The Sage halted in front of the Eldest and crossed her arms in front of her chest as if to shield her heart from a blow. "Tell me," she demanded.

Linnea swallowed. "Whatever you might think of us, know this: we are not stupid, and we do not underestimate the power that you wield. While we will not give Cailin over to your custody, neither would we allow her to use the Mage- Craft as she would a toy. We have instructed her in the ways of the Order and explained Amarid's Laws to her." Another pause, and then: "She has refused to submit herself to them." "What?" Sonel hissed. "You can't be serious!" "I'm afraid I am. She still blames the Order for the death of her parents--" "Yes!" Sonel spat, "I'm sure you saw to that a long time , ago!" Linnea shot to her feet, her round cheeks flushed with anger once more, and she leveled a rigid finger at the Owl- Sage. "You can't place this on me, Sonel! The Order brought this poor girl's hatred upon itself!" "We didn't kill her parents or destroy her town! You know we didn't, and yet you perpetuate these lies!" "We never accused the Order of attacking Kaera," the Eldest countered, her voice suddenly low, her choler under control for the moment. "We would never have said such a thing." Sonel started to protest, but Linnea stopped her with an abrupt gesture. "Let me finish! We never accused you of murdering Cailin's parents, but we have held you responsible for the promises you failed to keep. You mages have pledged yourselves to guarding this land, and you've enjoyed a thou15 your forebears in honoring that pledge. But the Order as we know it now, the Order that Cailin has come to know in her few years upon this earth, has proven itself incapable of protecting the people of Tobyn-Ser. Cailin doesn't think you killed her parents--oh, she did for a time, but she's understood for several years now that it was the outlanders posing as mages--but she blames you for allowing this to happen. And, quite frankly, so do I." Linnea started to say more, but then she stopped herself. She was breathing hard. The fierce anger in her pale eyes was gone, leaving something else, something unexpected. Not self-righteousness, or exultation at the Owl-Sage's discomfort, but pain. Sonel had no answer, either for the Eldest's words or for the look in the heavy woman's eyes. She and Baden had been saying much the same thing about the Order for nearly four years; she could hardly fault Linnea for speaking the truth. There was a dryness in her mouth, like dust or ashes, and she took a long drink of tea. She felt spent, and, when finally she spoke, it was in a voice scraped raw by the emotions of the af' temoon. "So you want to know what you can do about Cailin?" she asked. "How you can control her power?" "Yes." "Actually," the" Sage began, again brushing the strands of hair from her

forehead, "there's very little that you can do. We police our own; the collective power of all the mages in the Order keeps the individual in line--that, and the oath we take upon earning our cloaks. There's nothing really magical about Amarid's Laws; there's no power in the words themselves beyond the honor and scruples that each mage brings to them. From what you've told me of her, I would expect Cailin to be bound to the spirit of the Laws by her strength of character, even without taking the oath." "I would hope so," Linnea agreed thoughtfully. ^ "The danger lies in her age, and the rebelliousness of which you spoke. So young a child, regardless of her normal disnncitir^n mirrht ka £'nl-*ia/'*- ^f rtr>r»^>y T'kol-'o »i/l-i^*f» 16 you'll have to be careful--you'll have to teach her to control her temper. And I don't even want to think of what you'll face as she enters her adolescence." The Sage shook her head slowly and stroked the chin of her owl, which sat perched above the hearth. The bird opened its eyes and began to preen itself. "I've never heard of anyone binding so young," Sonel murmured, as much to herself as to the Eldest. "You say it was to a falcon?" "A small one, yes. A kestrel, I believe." Again, the Sage shook her head. "Remarkable." "Is there anything more that you can tell me, Owl-Sage?" Linnea asked, rising from her chair with a rustle of cloth. "Not much, I'm afraid. Frankly, I would feel much better with Cailin in the Great Hall, under our supervision, but I will accept what you say: that she would not agree to such an arrangement. Short of that, I would just tell you to raise her as you have been. To the extent that it's possible, you should treat her just as you would the other children. She shouldn't feel overly special, nor should she be given reason to believe that she's feared." Sonel took a slow breath and offered Linnea a thin smile. "I don't envy you this task. Eldest. But if there's anything more you need from me, don't hesitate to ask." The Keeper gazed at her for a moment. Then she nodded once. "Thank you, Sonel. I'll keep you apprised of Cailin's progress." She began to leave, but, as she reached the door, she paused. At last she turned and faced Sonel again. "I don't know if you'll believe this, Sonel, particularly coming from me. But we in the Temple didn't wish for the Order to fail. Certainly, we've taken advantage of your loss of prestige, and I make no apology for that. But we know that, ultimately, To- byn-Ser will be served best by a strong Temple and a strong Order working side by side. I personally look forward to a day when that will be possible." Caught off guard by the Eldest's admission, Sonel stared 17 had said, but still the Owl-Sage found it difficult to accept that such sentiments could come from this woman. In the end, she merely nodded in

acknowledgement and said, with as much feeling as she could muster, "I look forward to such a day as well. Eldest." , Without another word, the Keeper departed. Listening to the sound of Linnea's footsteps retreating across the Gathering Chamber, Sonel came to a decision. Notwithstanding the accommodating words with which Sonel and the Eldest had concluded their encounter, the frayed relations between the Order and the Temples would not be easy to repair, nor would the reputation ofAmarid's Children be rehabilitated overnight. But the Order had done nothing for too long. And now, in Arick's Temple just a few miles outside this city, a ten-year-old girl was mastering the Mage-Craft with no mage to guide her. The time had come. Moving to the folding wooden desk by her bed, Sonel took up parchment and writing lead, and began composing an unauthorized letter to Lon-Ser's Council of Sovereigns. Since her conversation with Baden, the Owl-Sage had given a good deal of thought to what she would say in such a correspondence, and the words came to her easily. To the Council of Sovereigns: I write to you as a representative of the people ofTobynSer and as the leader of this land's Order of Mages and Masters. Nearly four years ago a band of Lon-Ser's citizens entered our land and, in the guise of mages, began a campaign of vandalism and violence against our people. Although we eventually succeeded in defeating these invaders, killing all but one of them, their actions resulted in considerable loss of property and life. We seek no compensation for the crimes committed against us, but we do wish to avoid future hostilities. To this end, I oronose a meeting, at a niarf and time ofmu18 18 DAVID B.COE tual satisfaction, to discuss the events I have described and any outstanding conflicts that may exist between our peoples. We did not seek this conflict, nor do we wish to prolong it. But know this: our desire for peace is matched by our determination to remain free. In friendship I am yours, Sonel, Owl-Sage of TobynSer By the end of the following day, the letter had been scribed and sent. Sonel told no one, not even Baden, who, having said what he needed to say that night in her bed, never broached the subject again. Nor did she speak with anyone of her conversation with Linnea. Cailin's binding, she decided on that autumn evening, was a matter to be broached at a Gathering of the whole Order. And so, silently bearing the burden of her secrets, she waited. Through

the cold snows and wind of winter, and the grey, damp chill of the rainy season, she struggled to control both her fears and her hopes, all the while watching for acolytes of the Temple, who occasionally brought her news of Cailin, and anxiously anticipating a response from LonSer. As the last of the rains blew off to the east, however, and the warmth of the growing spring gave way to summer, Sonel's anticipation gave way to a dark foreboding. In the winter she had looked forward to the arrival of each new merchant ship, thinking that perhaps this one would bare the Council's reply, but she now came to dread the dockages and the grim vigils she found herself keeping for several hours after each ship began to unload. Thus it seemed an irony that on this, the day before midsummer, the reply should arrive at dawn, coming from a vessel that had docked late in the night, as she slept. It was small consolation, given what the letter contained. Or, more ex 19 THE OUTLANDERS 19 actly, what it didn't contain. Smoothing the radiant white paper with a careful hand, Sonel read the message one last time. Such a letter was worse than no reply at all, she realized despairingly, because now she had no idea what to do. For the third time that morning, Basya tapped lightly on the door, and, for a moment, the Sage gave no answer. Then, reluctantly, she rose. There would be visitors soon, she knew: mages and masters arriving in Amarid and making their way to the Great Hall to offer greetings and to try to divine her mind on their dearest issues. It was a ritual of sorts; as much a part of the Gathering as the Opening Procession, as much a part of her duties as calling the mages to order. She still recalled with fondness her own audiences with Jessamyn, when she had been ^ust another mage and Jessamyn led the Order, and she found herself wondering if the diminutive, white-haired woman's cordial hospitality had served as but a cover for burdens as great as her own. "Of course it did," Sonel said out loud as she raised an arm for her^dark owl. "Why should I think that I'm any different?" The bird flew to her, hopped up to her shoulder, and regarded her in silence. Another knock, a bit louder this time. "Yes, Basya," Sonel called, with forced brightness. "You may enter." The young woman opened the door tentatively and seemed surprised to see that Sonel had risen from her chair. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Owl-Sage, but you have visitors." Sonel smiled reassuringly. The girl was, after all, merely doing her job. "You're not disturbing me, Basya. Please show them in." "Right away, Owl-Sage." Sonel saw the girl turn and motion, heard voices drawing near, and, as she did, she remembered the piece of immaculate paper that she still held in her hand. Quickly, unobtrusively, she concealed the Council of Sovereign's letter within 20

the folds of her cloak. There would be plenty of time for such matters over the course of the Gathering. This was a day for welcomes, and friendships renewed. As her first guests reached her door, however, a thought occurred to her: if sending a letter did not get the attention of Lon-Ser's leaders, perhaps sending a group of envoys would. 2 Not surprisingly, the governing structure ofBragorNal is far more complex than anything that exists here in To- byn-Ser. Indeed, the only suitable comparison I can find is to the land tenantry system that has developed under the Potentates ofAbborij. In Bragor-Nal, as in Abborij, a single ruler, whom Baram calls the Sovereign, presides over a complex hierarchy of Overlords, Lords, subordinates, and hirelings. Moreover, like the Potentates, Bragor-Nal's Sovereign, and presumably the Sovereigns of the other two Nals, encourage and profit from competition among their underlings. This, however, is where the similarities end. For while the Abboriji tenantry structure creates wealth through husbandry, and maintains its stability through homage and tribute, the leaders of the Nals gather their spoils through corruption and extortion, and guard their status with a violent campaign of intimidation and retribution. --From Section Five of "The Report of Owl-Master Baden on his Interrogation of the Outlander Baram," Submitted to the 1,014th Gathering of the Order of Mages and Masters. .Snrino rinds' Ypar 4fi9S 21 ^?a/ Melyor surveyed the bar, her casual bearing and in- ^y different expression masking the keenness of her gaze. In another part of the Nal, not too many quads from here, her dissembling would have fooled no one, and every man and woman she encountered would have quailed at the merest touch of her glance. But in this place, where no one knew her, Melyor blended into her surroundings, as much a part of the bar as the drunks slumped in the corners, or the glowing signs, aged and dingy, that hung above the drinks- counter at which she sat. It helped, of course, that she was wearing the sheer, brightly colored body scarves of an uestra girl--purple and blue, to offset the amethyst studs she wore in her ears and the sapphire lenses with which she had altered the color of her eyes from their usual bright green. The crowd seemed a typical one--she might just as easily have found the same assortment of uestras, break-laws, and sots in a bar in the Fourth Realm of the Nal. Except that she would not have looked for Savil in her domain. Any more than he would be looking for her in his. Melyor suppressed a smile and took stock of what she saw around her. The drunks, of course, would not be a problem, and most of the break- laws appeared to be absorbed in then" own affairs. There was one group, however, at an adjacent table who had been drinking and carrying on loudly for the better part of an hour, and they had begun, a short while ago, to eye her and the other girls with an

expression she knew quite well. But, for now, there was nothing she could do about that. Savil had not arrived yet. "Ale," she said to the tarnished chrome dispenser beside her. "Pale or dark?" came the metallic voice in reply. "Dark. And not chilled," she added anticipating the machine's next question. "Cash or credit?" She almost slipped. Almost. Normally, she did everything by Credit, because normallv- hack in the Fourth, no one ever 22 tried to collect. Nal-Lords were afforded certain privileges, even by the barkeeps. But here, in Savil's Realm, it wouldn't do for anyone to overhear her announcing herself as Melyor i Lakin, even to a dispenser. She had planned for too long, and gotten herself too close, to give herself away in that manner. "Cash," she answered, pulling two silvers from the small purse that hung from her sash and depositing them in the slot beside the speaker. An instant later, she heard the clang of the metal tankard and the soft hiss of the ale being pumped into it. Taking the mug from the machine Melyor grinned in spite of herself. Only three-quarters full, even with the head. Some things are the same everywhere, she observed silently. She sipped the ale and looked around the bar again. And, as she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the far side of the counter. The heavy makeup gave her normally soft features a sharpness to which she was not accustomed, and, despite all her preparation, she was momentarily surprised to see the gentle waves of her amber hair teased into soft ringlets and lightened nearly to blond. Actually, it was a look she liked, she thought with --the flicker of a smile, as she passed an absent hand through the curls. Her expression sobered quickly. More importantly, she looked the part. Perhaps too much so, she amended with an inward grimace. Her eyes still fixed on the mirror, she watched one of the men at the nearby table pull himself to his feet, drain his glass, and saunter over to where she sat. Slowly, she placed her ale on the counter and took a deep breath. Carefully, she cautioned herself. "You're new here," the man said to hei, leaning against the counter so close to where she sat that she could feel his breath x>f the side of her neck. He stank of whiskey. "Am I?" she asked in reply, not bothering to look at him, but shifting her position slightly to create some space between them. 23 "Yes," he told her, moving with her to close the distance once more. "I

make it my business to know the uestras in this part of the Nal, particularly the good-looking ones. I'm certain that I would have noticed you. I'm Dob, and I'm very pleased to meet you." She glanced at him briefly, looking him up and down with an appraising eye before facing forward again. He was a big man, a full head taller than she and broad in the shoulders and chest. His hair was black and he wore it long and unkempt so that it fell down over his shoulders and in front of his cold, blue eyes. Like most of the break-laws in the Nal, his beard was rough, but not quite full, as if he hadn't shaved in several days. It was, she had concluded long ago, an appearance that the break-laws cultivated. On the other hand, unlike the other men of his kind, most of whom had managed to have their noses broken at least once, this one had a straight, aristocratic nose, indicating to Melyor that he was either very good at what he did, or very new at it. Given the man's swagger, she assumed the former. All this Melyor gathered from her brief look in his direction. All this, and two other things that were, under the circumstances, far more significant. First, the man was well armed. He wore a thrower on his belt, a long-handled dagger in a sheath that was strapped to his thigh, and sharpened spikes on the toes of his black boots and on the stiff wrist cuffs of his long, black coat. And second, judging from the position of his thrower and blade, she guessed that he was better with his left hand. "I'm Kellyn," Melyor said at last, her tone cool even as her mind wandered to the long, thin blade of the dirk that lay hidden within her boot, nestled comfortably against her calf. It ^s, thanks to the body scarves, the only weapon she had dared carry with her, the only weapon she could conceal. Uestras didn't normally arm themselves; they usually had no need. Not that she doubted that the blade would be enough, DUt Shft hnrM»d it IX/ruil/l n^t