The Winddreamer

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Table of Contents WINDDREAMER PART I Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 PART II Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19

Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Epilogue Amber Quill Press, LLC

THE WINDLEGENDS SAGA BOOK VI

WINDDREAMER by CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

Winddreamer An Amber Quill Press Book This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination,

or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2003 by Charlotte Boyett-Compo ISBN 1-59279-050-X Cover Art © 2003 Trace Edward Zaber Rating: R Layout and Formatting Provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

Published in the United States of America

Also by Charlotte Boyett-Compo At Grandma's Knee

BlackWind BloodWind DarkWind In the Heart of the Wind In the Teeth of the Wind In the Wind's Eye NightWind Prince of the Wind

ShadowWind Shards Anthology WindChance WindFall

The WindLegend's Saga

Book I: Windkeeper Book II: Windseeker Book III: Windweeper Book IV: Windhealer Book V: Windreaper Book VI: Winddreamer Book VII: Windbeliever Book VIII: Winddeceiver Book IX: Windretriever Book X: Windschemer

Dedication

To my precious Buddha Belly: You wanna indentify that confisticated pollography yet, sweetie?

Here's dreaming of you!

PART I Chapter 1 Teal du Mer draped an affectionate arm around Elizabeth A'Lex's shoulders and kissed her temple. "You bring a ray of sunshine to this miserable, overcast day, Milady!" Cocking an eye to the two young boys accompanying her, he squeezed her against him. "And some mischief, too, I think." Liza returned his hug, then extricated herself from his embrace. She nodded at the tall Necroman, regarding her from the top of the stairs leading to the second floor bedchambers. "How are you this morning, King Shalu?" she asked, sensing disapproval. "Until this moment, quite content," the big man answered. His dark eyes were hooded as he swung his stare to the smaller of the two boys a few paces behind her. His black face turned hard and his thick lips pursed as he returned his gaze to Liza. "Now, I am quite discontent." Liza's cheeks burned. She glanced at Teal, who looked back at her with an expression that said he also wasn't sure she had made a wise decision in bringing the boys to Ivor Keep. "Why are you still here, Milady?" Sentian Heil joined the others with a hint of gentle reproach. "Teal," Liza asked her old friend, putting a hand on his arm. "Would you take in the boys to break their fast?" "Whatare you still doing here, Liza?" an angry voice interrupted. She lifted her gaze to the balcony and saw her husband striding purposefully across the gallery. His boot heels rang out on the marble risers as he came down the stairs, Brelan Saur close on his heels. "Good morn, Milord," she answered, a tentative smile on her lips. "Answer me, Liza!" King Legion A'Lex snarled as he stepped from the last riser and faced her. "I thought I made it clear last eve you were to be gone at first light." He folded his arms across his chest. Liza's felt flush. "And I thought I made it clear I wouldnot be leaving." "The gods damn you, woman!" he shouted, making her and the others jump. "I will see you do as you are told!" Liza saw the tight rein he held over his emotions. She lifted her chin and locked her gaze with his stormy one. "I was sent here, Milord, and Iam doing as I was told! I do not wish to argue." Legion grabbed her arm in a punishing grip. "I told him last eve and I will tell you now in front of these men--I will not let you and Conar be together--to work magic or to cuckold me!" "I would not betray you." Tears misted her lowered lashes. She wrung her hands. "Conar would never--" "Has,Madame!Has betrayed me, or do you forget that?" "Legion," Brelan warned, touching his brother's shoulder. Legion jerked away. "This woman was willing to face a death sentence to protect the man who dishonored her! Conar is our brother, and I love him, but I will never allow him to touch her again!" "Legion, please," Liza pleaded, reaching out to him, alarmed when he stepped back, his face livid with rage.

"Pay close heed to what I tell you, Madame," he whispered, his face hard and set, coldness hissing in his voice. "If you do not leave this keep before nooning, I will lock your sweet ass in the bowels of this keep and have Conar shackled hand and foot in the tower! Iwill keep you apart!" Legion pushed through the men gathered near the keep's main portal and jerked the door wide. He stormed out into the misting rain as though he did not feel the chill. "I'll talk to him," Roget mumbled and followed his friend from the keep. "He doesn't understand, Liza," Brelan said. "There isn't anything Legion can do to stop what has to happen," she whispered. "We must be together, as one, in order to do what we have to." Liza glanced up at the balcony. The others did also, seeing their Overlord standing there, his hands braced on the elaborate wrought iron railing. Elizabeth A'Lex's heart broke as she looked at Conar. His blond hair was much shorter than when he had left Boreas Keep; it now curled gently around his ears and hung low on his neck. His blue eyes looked troubled, tired, but they gleamed a deep sapphire as he gazed at her. A day's worth of beard stubbled the cleft in his chin, but instead of making him look unkempt, the growth only added to his sensuality. His wide shoulders drooped with fatigue, but he stood tall, his six-foot frame unbent by the tragedies that had surrounded him nearly all his years. Though thin after his long confinement, he still looked whipcord strong and heavily muscled across his chest, thighs, and arms. As if aware of her thoughts, he cocked a tawny brow and grinned his most devilish grin. Liza blushed. "I can still make your heart race, can't I, Toad?" he teased, the words coming softly out of the Veil to her ears alone. "Be good," she answered, even though the words never left her lips. "I'm best when I'm bad." "How well I know, Milord." "All the original members of the Wind Force will be here come eventide," Shalu said, gaining Conar's attention. "All?" Corbin McGregor asked as he and his little brother came out of the dining area. "Imagine, Regan! The important men of the Wind Force all gathered together at one time in one place!" "Imagine!" the younger boy gushed with awe. "I can hardly wait!" "Me, neither!" Corbin giggled and looked at his mother. "How many are there?" "I don't know," Liza answered, looking away from Conar's penetrating gaze. "Fourteen, aren't there?" Teal asked as he ruffled Corbin's thick, blond curls. Brelan held up his fingers and began to count. "There's Conar, of course." He looked up at his brother, who smiled. "Then Roget and me, your uncles Grice and Chand and Jah-Ma-El, your cousins Rylan and Paegan Hesar, Tyne Brell, Chase Montyne, Holm Van de Lar, Sentian and Storm, and last, but certainly not least, Shalu." He nodded. "Aye, fourteen." As the men began to answer Corbin's questions concerning the other men who had helped to organize the Wind Force in Chrystallus--men like Ching-Ching and Pearl and Misha, the Shadow-warrior--Liza watched Conar's face fill with pride. He loves them all, she thought, and saw his lips twitch as he intercepted her musing. She looked at the marble floor. "Elizabeth?"

She turned when the door opened and her husband strode in, his hair wet, his leather jacket dusted with fine droplets of rain. He came to her and stared down into her worried face. "You plan on disobeying me, don't you?" he asked in a tight voice. "It isn't a question of disobeying you, Legion, it is a question of..." Legion looked up to where his brother stood. "It seems I can not stop you from seeing him, or speaking with him, or even doing your magic with him, but I can see to it that at no time will you ever be left alone with him!" "I can accept that, Milord," she answered. "Jah-Ma-El is well-versed in the arts, as is Chase Montyne and King Shalu. There is no conjuring Conar and I need do alone." The wind taken out of his sails, Legion snorted, then turned from his wife with a curse. "You know how I feel about this, Elizabeth." She cocked her head to one side. "Why have you changed your mind about he and I working together? Did Roget speak with you?" "Aye, he meant to have me 'see reason,' as he put it." He shot a hand through his thick mane of silver hair, tugging on the strand handing low on his forehead. "After du Mer was through with me, I had a visit from three of the others." He looked at Brelan. "Montyne and the Hesars have arrived. Van de Lar is with them." "That was quick," Sentian said. "They've come running to see Conar take back what hethinks is his," Legion snarled. "They hope to see him take the crown away from me." "Legion!" Liza gasped, outraged at his words. "That is not true! They love you!" "And that is what makes it so hard for me to bear the situation. I know they love me, but"--he returned his angry glare to the balcony--"they love him more." His voice had gone throaty, hard. She came toward him. "No! I need time alone to think." He headed for the library. "To think on what?" she shot back. "The many ways in which your brother and his men might betray you?" With his back to her, he opened the door and walked through. "No, ways in which to preventyou from doing so." He closed the door behind him. ---Conar drew in a long breath when he saw the hurt flitting across his ex-wife's lovely oval face. Deep sorrow filled her forest green eyes. He watched her slender hand move up to smooth a stray wisp of coal black hair from her coral-tinted cheek. "I wish it could be different," he said regretfully. She nodded, but did not look up at him. "Should I talk to him, Coni?" Brelan called. Conar shook his head. "It wouldn't do any good. Besides, I should be the one to do it." Liza glanced up. "Is that wise, Milord?" He shrugged. "Maybe not, but who better to try to put his mind at ease?" Shalu sighed. "I don't think that's possible."

Chapter 2 "Go away," Legion growled. "I'm tired of fighting." "I didn't come in here to fight," Conar answered, sitting down on the edge of the ornate oaken desk. Ignoring his brother, Legion continued to stare out the window at the misting rain. The monotonous tick-tock of the great clock in the hallway set his teeth on edge, but he would be damned before he started a conversation with Conar. "Say it, Legion. We're not strangers who--" "Aren't we? I no longer know you!" Legion fixed his brother with an ugly sneer. "You're an outlaw with a bounty on your head. You are a danger to this family, a danger to Liza and the children." "The family's well-protected. I'd never allow anything to hurt--" "The hurt has already happened. That day, in the Punishment Yard, brought terrible pain and suffering to our family." Legion shoved his hands into his pockets. "And it's still causing pain." Conar let out a long, tired sigh. "Do you blame me for everything that's happened?" "No!I blame myself!" Legion shouted, flinging out a hand in disdain. "For what? What was meant to be, was done." "You were my brother. I should have made them let me see you in jail! If I had, maybe I could have stopped them from taking you away." "There was nothing you could have done." Conar put a hand to his temple and rubbed. "Tolkan and Tohre had long been planning my downfall." "I should have tried!" Legion became aware of his brother's sudden pallor. "What's wrong?" "It's a gods-be-damned migraine." Legion let out a groan of frustration. "Now? We can't give you anything for it." He knew any painkiller would bring back Conar's withdrawal symptoms. "Is it bad?" "It's gonna be," came the defeated sigh. "Want me to help you upstairs?" Conar looked at the loveseat across the room. "I'll lie down there." Legion recognized all too well the tight grimace of pain on his brother's face. Jah-Ma-El's angry words to Sern Jamar, the nomad procurer, brought it home to Legion just how bad the pain might become for his brother... It had been soon after Conar lapsed into a coma and they didn't know whether he would live that Sern had been sent for. They thought Conar's confidant and drug purveyor might be aware of what ailed the Raven. The nomad had confessed, standing beside the bed, a glowering Jah-Ma-El behind him. "Did you know he has violent headaches?" Jah-Ma-El had snarled, shoving the nomad against the wall. "Now, we

dare not even give him medicine he'll need when those headaches come, thanks to you!" "Think you I would have given anything to him had I known?" Sern cried. The nomad's tears dragged down his oily cheeks as he stood clenching and unclenching his hands. It had been their first inkling that the nomad truly cared for Conar. "You'd have fed him his own piss if he'd have paid for it!" Sentian Heil had argued. Sern turned defensive, his love for the man apparent in the way he winced at every ragged breath Conar took. "I kept him away from the liquor as much as I could. Does that not show you how--" "You sniveling jackal!" Roget du Mer bellowed. "You damn well almost killed him with that poison, and now you quibble about the liquor? I'd rather see him shit-faced drunk than as he is now!" "I warned him the drugs were dangerous!" Sern sobbed. "I cautioned him to take only small amounts, else--" "Bastard!" Legion had shouted. "You're babbling about matters of little importance. We're talking about his life. You almost killed him!" Sern hid behind Jah-Ma-El, but his words found their mark with uncanny accuracy. "Ask yourself why he has done what he has done, King Legion. This was no accident! He knew what the drug could do to him if he took too much. He even asked if it would kill him. I told him it could. He meant to die! Was it because he had no desire to live or because he knew he could never be with the woman he loves?" Legion tried to get past Brelan, but Roget made a grab for him, blocking him. "And then," Sern spat, his dark eyes gleaming with fire, "ask yourself why it is he can not be with the woman the gods destined for him! Who stands in his way of having the happiness that has been denied him so long?" The nomad practically growled at Legion. "You have no one to blame for him not being able to receive a potion to relieve his headache but yourself, King Legion!" With a snarl of pure rage, Legion broke free of the hands holding him. He hit the nomad, time and time again, breaking the beak-like nose, smashing teeth and crushing a cheekbone before Thom and Bent could restrain him. Legion remembered Brelan's fist coming toward him, then darkness, until a pail of water was thrown in his face... "Legion?" He shook himself, coming back to the present. He saw Conar lying on the loveseat, his hand covering his eyes. "I love her, Conar." "I've known that for a long time, big brother." Legion hung his head. His heart broke. "I've always loved her. I can't loose her." He lifted his head and found Conar watching him. "Please don't take her away from me." "Don't worry," Conar sighed. "I won't. She's yours. I have no rights to her anymore."

Chapter 3 When Conar was up and about after his latest migraine attack, he began to train as he had done in Chrystallus. He rose at the crack of dawn to swim with Paegan, or trained with Shalu, Rylan and Chase. He ate hearty meals especially overseen by Jah-Ma-El, and slept and relaxed according to the way Occultus Noire had taught him. He had

no desire for the liquor brought back to the keep to test him. It sat uncorked and untasted. Not even wine the others drank with their meals passed his lips, nor ale and beer his men liked to drink after a strenuous day of exercise. "I can't handle it," Conar told the others. "One drink leads to two. Two lead to three. It's best I not drink anything at all." Around the first of February in the Year known as the Wind's Edge, word came from Occultus that the men would need to perform a Rite of Allegiance, admitting Elizabeth A'Lex into the circle of warriors who would defeat Kaileel Tohre. The day Chand and Grice Wynth arrived at Ivor Keep, it began storming. At first it had been only an occasional sprinkle that stopped within hours, then it became a steady drizzle that hindered much of the training activities. Finally it changed from a drizzle to a steady onslaught, heavy enough to keep everyone inside. No thunder or lightning accompanied the foul weather, but the rain began to make a quagmire of the courtyard within the bailey as well as the surrounding countryside. "I was planning on exercising the horses tomorrow, but it doesn't look like I'll be able to," Sentian fumed, glaring out the window. "A little rain hasn't ever hurt a horse," Belvoir, the aging warrior, piped up. "Then you think I should take them out?" Sentian asked, looking to Conar. "Wait and see if it slackens," Conar said. "I'd rather you men stayed inside unless it's absolutely necessary. There's nothing that can't keep." "We're going to need more wood, though," Sentian remarked. "It's getting damned cold in here." "Remember when we stayed at the Briar's Hold that time?" Liza asked Conar. "When it rained like this?" "I recall," he answered, lowering his gaze to his plate. Other memories from that time many years before he remembered all too well. "Harry burned some of his furniture to keep us warm." "Harry Ruck?" Legion inquired. Though his brother smiled, Conar knew the time he had shared with Liza, a time that excluded Legion, poked at the man's vitals. "As stingy as he is, I'm surprised he didn't let you freeze." "He didn't know who Conar was." Liza giggled, smiling as Conar looked at her. "He didn't know until the next day, and that's when Conar found some of the chairs and a table missing from the inn." She winked at Legion. "Being the true monarch he was, your brother was his most imperious self, as I remember." "How so?" Tyne Brell asked, digging his fork into a healthy mound of creamed potatoes. "His usual high-handedness, I would think," Chase Montyne said and chuckled. "Back then, he was rather full of himself." "I paid them for the chairs and table," Conar said, cocking a brow when Liza laughed. "I did, and you know it." Legion cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Did it storm like this, then?" Conar nodded, cutting into his steak. He speared a chunk and brought it to his lips, then plopped the juicy morsel into his mouth before pointing his fork toward Liza. "What she's reminding me about is the weather. It poured for--what? Three days?" When Liza nodded, he shrugged. "We couldn't get out of the inn because there were no roads. When it stopped raining, there was so much mud, you couldn't get far without having to dismount and pull your nag out of the mire." "I don't fancy helping Heil pry his horses out of this muck," Storm said. "What did you do cooped up in that inn for three days?" Teal asked. "As I remember," Conar said, concentrating intently on the green beans on his plate, "we played whist." " 'Zelle caught cold and she was in bed most of the time," Liza said. "Conar and I stayed downstairs. When he wasn't flirting with Dorrie--"

"Dorrie?" Legion gasped, a wide grin on his bearded face. "As I recall, she could suck the gilding off..." He stopped, his face infusing with color. A fine black brow shot up on Liza's forehead. "And how would you know Dorrie Burkhart's talents, Milord?" "I...ah...I..." "You got yourself into that one, big brother." Conar chuckled. "You'd best answer your lady." "And it had better be good!" Liza snapped. **** Corbin and Regan were in their room...arguing. The downpour continued, working into its second week. Those in the keep were on short ends from being pent up inside the damp and chill walls. The gray, lackluster days put the inhabitants into a dismal, dank mood that brought tempers close to fraying and nerves close to mayhem. The boys had been playing a game of chess, and Regan began to cheat. Corbin caught him. "That isn't a gentlemanly thing to do," the older boy admonished. "I ain't no gentleman," Regan mocked. "I am what I am and nothing more. I don't pretend to be Heir-Apparent to the throne." Corbin shot back with equal rancor. "You never could be, anyway. Your mother isnot a queen!" Regan hated his mother almost as much as he hated his father, Conar MacGregor, but he despised, or so he told himself, Elizabeth A'Lex even more. "My mother may not be a queen, but a least she doesn't spread her legs for every man in her husband's family!" Corbin lashed out with a hard fist, bloodying Regan's nose. **** Conar heard grunts and vulgar words coming from the boys' room. He stopped, opened the door, and entered. Shocked, Conar saw his sons locked in a ball, scrambling on the floor, trying desperately to pommel one another with fists and knees. "Enough!" He grabbed Corbin by the seat of his pants, lifting him off Regan's smaller, bruised, and battered body. Corbin tried to get away, tried kicking Regan as the little boy came to his feet. But Conar swung his older son behind him and put out a hand to halt Regan, holding that boy by the scruff of the neck. "Isaidenough!" Regan tried to punch Corbin, but Conar tightened his hold on the boy's shirt collar and shook him. "Damn it, Regan!Cut it out! " Regan kicked at his father, narrowly missing Conar's shin. He soon found himself dangling in the air, his shirt nearly over his head. "Don't youever try that again!" Conar growled, "or I'll sling your scrawny ass over my knee and wallop the shit out of you!" "Take your hands off me!" the boy screamed, cartwheeling his arms to get away. Conar dropped him. Regan jerked down his shirt, his eyes blazing at Conar. His mouth set into a thin line, while his chin trembled with

rage. "Don't you dare touch me again!" It stunned Conar to see the hatred on his son's face. The child glared with so much enmity the very air vibrated with it. A snarl twisted his bloody, split lips, drawn back over little teeth. The small body quivered with fury; the childish fists clenched; the spine turned rigid. Regan's right eye rapidly swelled shut, turning purple, but the look from the dark orbs remained deadly. "Find Sentian and stay with him," Conar told his youngest son. "I'll deal with you later." When Regan stared at him with a malevolent look, Conar shoved him toward the door. "Do it now!" The boy jerked away, squinting. "I hate you, you whoring son-of-a-bitch! Why couldn't you have died from them drugs?" He didn't even flinch as Conar drew back a hand to hit him. "Papa, no!" Corbin yelled, snatching Conar's arm. Standing his ground, Regan raked his eyes down Corbin, snorted with disgust, then turned on his heel. "I don't need your help, McGregor!" Feeling Corbin's fingers digging into his arm, Conar shook off the hold and walked a few feet away. With his fingers trembling, he pushed hands through his hair. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Aye, sir," Corbin breathlessly reply. Conar had been avoiding both boys, being, as yet, unable to come to terms with his parenthood. He knew he displayed cowardice in not dealing with the issue, but he had more pressing matters on his mind--or so he had tried to convince himself. Now, he knew he could no longer put off dealing with the problem. "What was that about?" "Nothing." Corbin shrugged. "Just boy stuff." "Boy stuff?" "Aye." Corbin took a step backward, cringing as Conar's brow lifted in anger. "I have some chores Mama gave to me..." He headed for the door. Conar drew him back, spun him around, and lightly slammed Corbin into a nearby chair. The boy's body shivered. He scrunched down into the chair, his arms folded tightly over his thin chest. He stared into Conar's eyes and swallowed hard. "Ah, is something wrong, sir?" Hooking one of the other chairs with his boot, Conar pulled it forward, then placed it directly in front of Corbin's. He straddled it before sitting, not saying a word to the boy looking back at him with such obvious trepidation. He let the silence play out, knowing full well Corbin would give in before he did. Hunched forward, Conar rested his elbows on his knees, his chin cupped in the palm of his right hand, and stared intently at his son. Corbin's eyes darted everywhere around the room but at him. He almost smiled when Corbin's shoulders drooped and the child began to fidget. Little puffs came from his son's mouth; he clicked his tongue as he squirmed. Several times he let his gaze roam over Conar's face, but it kept jerking away. "Well, all right. We were fighting," Corbin finally acknowledged. "You want to tell me why?" Conar asked, calmly. Corbin stared toward the fireplace. "He insulted Mama." Conar sat back in the chair, sighed. "In what way?" A hard glare came into Corbin's pale eyes. "He called her a ...a..." "A what?"

"A bad thing..." "What kind of bad thing, Corbi?" Conar didn't miss the surprise on his son's face at his use of the nickname. Corbin's chin quivered. "He called my mama a whore." Conar felt as though someone had punched him, but he willed his face not to show his emotions. He took a deep breath to calm his fury, then folded his arms across his chest, cocking his head. "He's wrong. You do know that, don't you?" His heart hammered as he watched his son trying to hold back tears. "Aye, I know it! My mama is a lady!" He viciously swiped at a renegade tear that dared creep down his cheek. "She certainly is. Regan said what he knew would hurt you. I'll talk to him, I assure you, and he will apologize to you as well as to the lady. I will have no one casting such remarks about your mother. Not even my own son." ---Corbin flinched. It hurt him as much to hear Regan named "son"by this man as it had been to hear his mother called "whore." The tears started down his cheeks in earnest. He lowered his head. "Corbi, look at me." When Corbin refused to do so, Conar took his chin, gently forcing up the stubborn head. "You will be King one day. One of the things a King must remember is to be courteous when asked to do something." Corbin looked at his father. He loved this man, even though he truly didn't know him. The love went deeper than just the love of a son for his father. The man was a national treasure, a hero to his people, and the love of his mother's life. He wanted to fling himself into this man's arms and beg for that love and affection to be returned. Beg to be acknowledged as Conar's son just as Regan had been acknowledged. "Are you afraid of me, Corbi?" "No, sir. I am not afraid of you." He saw moisture form in his father's eyes, and that puzzled him. He wanted to reach out to him, but dared not to. Never once had this man offered him anything but distance and detachment. "Once, a long time ago," Conar said, holding Corbin's look, "my father reminded me that a King must be many things to his people. He must have his people's love and trust and respect. You must also have their fear, but it is a healthy fear born of knowing that if they do wrong, you will have to punish them, fairly and justly, like a father must punish a child who has done wrong. The crown is a heavy responsibility. In order to wear it, a man must first deserve it." He took a long breath and exhaled, his eyes flickering. "If a King is corrupt, his people will be corrupt. If he is evil, his people will be the same. They will fear him, but they won't trust him. They won't respect him, and they certainly won't love him. His people won't follow him for long before they start looking for someone else to rule them. The same holds true if that King is a coward." A shimmer of something dark and painful glinted in his father's dark, blue eyes. His gaze swung to the far side of the room, where he stared at the rain outside the high windows. "If the King turns out to be a coward, his people will laugh him off the throne. Then the land would be thrown into calamity, chaos. Where, then, would be the kingdom?" He brought his gaze back to Corbin's. "The one thing a man cannot be is a coward, Corbi, and still call himself a man." "Do you think you're a coward, sir?" The idea seemed absurd to Corbin, who held his father in absolute awe. Conar let out a ragged breath. "In some ways I am worse than a coward." The answer made Corbin's mouth go wide in disbelief. His fingers itched to touch his father's hand. "You are no coward! You are the bravest man in the Seven Kingdoms. Everybody knows that! You are the rightful King!" "My father took away my right to the throne, Corbi. He didn't believe me worthy to rule this land." He held up his hand as Corbin made to protest. "Your Uncle Brelan told me that my father recanted his decision before he died, but it was not so I could one day take the throne, but rather to have the way cleared for you to inherit as Firstborn. No one truly knows if he understood you were not Galen's, but..."

Corbin stilled, the hesitation in his father's voice making him keenly aware of the tears held tightly at bay. His young heart ached. He bit his lip to control the cry that battled to come out. Conar sat forward in his chair, took another deep breath, and laid his hands on Corbin's knees. He smiled. "You aremy son. I should have acknowledged it long before now, but the coward in me wouldn't let me. I blamed myself for what Tohre did to you and could not own up to the guilt. But in my heart, I accepted you as my child the moment your mother told me. If you will allow me, I will make up to you for all the times I have not called you my own." He sat back and opened his arms to Corbin. "Ido love you, son. Can you forgive me for being a coward?" Corbin flew into his father's arms, hugging him with a fierceness that surprised him. "Papa," he cried, burying his face in Conar's black silk shirt. "I love you, Papa!" **** Standing in the doorway, his own eyes brimming with treacherous tears, Regan watched the scene with growing hurt. Not that he wanted the man to hold him in that fashion, or tell him that he was loved. He didn't need Conar McGregor to apologize for having allowed Kaileel Tohre to do evil things tohim as Tohre had done to Corbin. He didn't need love; he didn't need being held. He didn't need anything Conar McGregor could offer. Turning and walking slowly down the hall, then running full out, his tears flowing like bitter acid down his face, Regan vowed he needed nothing but Conar McGregor--and now, Corbin McGregor as well--dead and buried.

Chapter 4 Kaileel Tohre sat brooding in front of the fire-pit in his conjuring chamber. His hooded gaze bore into the flames, watching images leaping in the fire that only he could understand. His head lay against the high back of his velvet chair, the white blond mane nearly glowing against the black fabric. With his gnarled hands hanging miserably from the carved chair arms, his lean body slumped dejectedly in the curve of the chair, Tohre presented a picture of hopelessness totally unlike him. The skeletal mask of the tightly drawn flesh over his high brow and cheek brought the prominence of his light blue eyes with their heavy dark circles to the attention of those who came and went about the chamber. The thin lips, bloodless and pulled down in a hard frown, now and again mumbled incomplete phrases that would make Tohre mentally shake himself out of the self-imposed stupor into which he had placed himself. Reaching up a trembling hand to wipe at the sweat on his face, he trailed the long, talon-tipped fingers to the mottled and discolored flesh under his chin and stroked his small goatee. As memories stirred in his mind, he sat up straight, drawing in his left leg, crippled by stroke, and massaged his knee. As the memory faded, he slumped back in the chair. Kaileel groaned. It wasn't a groan of pain, nor of despair. It wasn't even a groan of fatigue, but of frustration. He was anxious for the final confrontation between himself and Conar McGregor to begin. As yet, the signs were not right; the battle yet to be waged. Shifting in his chair, he turned his head and, with a start, remembered the blonde-haired woman. Across the room, the Webspinner watched him. A thin, veiled smile stretched over her lips. Raja De Lyle tucked her long, tapered legs beneath her as she reclined on one of the benches scattered about the room, her arms crossed over her ample bosom.

He groaned again, this time with contempt. "Why are you still here?" he snarled, focusing his good eye on her. Raja raised her arms over her head and stretched, pointing her scantily clad breasts toward the ceiling in an unconscious attempt at seduction. She unwound her body and stuck out her legs, flexing her naked toes toward the fire. "I was awaiting your decision, Holiness. You told me to stay." Her white teeth sparkled behind scarlet-red lips. "Do you not remember telling me to stay?" Tohre didn't. He detested the woman more than any other, save perhaps Elizabeth A'Lex. If it were not for the fact that he needed Raja,and her vile offspring, he would have had the bitch slain long ago. He frowned. "You may leave. I will inform you of my decision tomorrow!" Raja smiled her cat-and-mouse sneer that never failed to annoy Tohre. "Time is of the essence, Holiness," she reminded him with a coy pout of her luscious lips. "Your wiles are useless on me, woman. As are your reminders. I will deal with Conar in my own way. In my own time." Raja's smile slipped. "And while you are trying to cope with your problems regarding him, Tohre, he is growing stronger by the hour. His powers are strengthening each day he and that bitch are together. Or have you forgotten the prophecy?" She stood and placed her hands on her hips. Her arrogant stance seemed more like that of a man's. "Let him have time to regroup, but you will regret it!" Kaileel stood so suddenly, his chair toppled behind him with a crash. He staggered, his weak left leg trembling, as he made a grab for the overturned chair to steady his stance. The strokes had made it impossible for him to walk steadily, but though his speech was somewhat slurred, the timbre had not lessened in volume. "I will take care of Conar McGregor in my own way! He willnot escape the final retribution I have planned for him. I will see to it!" "Then send Regan the signal. Now! What must be done must be done before Conar is so powerful neither of us will be useful against him. You can feel the power growing, can't you? Did you not tell me you knew the exact moment in which he and that slut were reunited?" Kaileel's face blanched. He turned from the Webspinner. Aye, he had known. He had felt the passion flowing from Conar to the bitch, a passion that should have come to him, to Kaileel. The moment had been one of the most heartbreaking in his long life. "Tohre, will you dally while he gains power we can only guess at? They are together again--his power to hers, hers to his. Not only have they mated--" "Shut up!" Kaileel put his hands over his ears. "I will not hear of it!" "It hurts, doesn't it?" Raja cooed, sauntering close. "To know that after all you did, he still wants her instead of you. You hurt him, Tohre. You humiliated him. Did that not satisfy your lust for him?" Kaileel spun around, fixing her with a glare that should have reduced her to cinders. "You couldn't tempt him, either, could you, bitch? You could not tempt him to your bed, so you drugged him to have your way with him. You stole a child from his loins. Why wasn't that enough foryou? " Tohre grinned maliciously at the blush that stained her high cheekbones. "No man turns me down, Kaileel Tohre!" she spat, her blue eyes flashing fire. "I will see him on his knees for casting me aside for that whore in Boreas!" "You murdered his plaything, or have you so conveniently forgotten that little matter?" Kaileel smirked. "Perhaps if you had told him of his wife's betrayal in a more--shall we say,delicate way--he might have come to you for comfort. Had you slain the Chrystallusian bitch in such a way that he did not knowyou were the cause of it, Conar might well have aligned himself with you. But then again, he never cared much foryour wiles, either, did he, Raja?" She clenched her teeth and lifted her chin, staring down her nose at the sorcerer. "I could have had him ifyou had not warped him when he was but a babe!" "It wasyou who corrupted him, bitch!" Kaileel pointed a finger at her. "Why is it he had such a low opinion of women before meeting that whore he calls his beloved?" The Webspinner's beautiful face hardened, took on the gleam of deadly steel. "What I want, I always get, Tohre. It might take me a while, but I am closer to having Conar McGregor in the palm of my hand than you will ever be!"

"How? Will you ply him with your potions again?" Tohre hands itched to grip the white column of her throat and squeeze until no life remained in the witch's body. He loathed the very sight of her. "Willyou? " Raja cooed. "In order to have him, you resorted to drugs and lies and deceit, as well as murder. What difference is there in the way we each tried to take him?" "I did no murder," Kaileel snapped, waving a hand in dismissal. "What of his daughter? What of Nadia?" Kaileel snorted. "That was not my doing." Raja blinked. "It wasn't?" "Why would I lie? The babe was of no concern to me!" "Then who was responsible?" "I do not know, nor do I care." She shook her head. "But you drugged him, nevertheless. When he balked at joining you, you had him falsely charged with sedition. You had him flogged, even took the whip yourself when he had not suffered as greatly as you wanted him to." She sneered. "You were the one who scarred his once-handsome face!" "He deserved punishment." "Just as he deserved being exiled to that hell-hole?" "It taught him humility," Tohre reasoned. "It taught him that he was not above the law as he thought." "Yet after all you have made the man suffer, is your vengeance satisfied?" "Is yours?" Raja's face filled with disgust. "Do you think I would be here if my thirst for him had been quenched?" Kaileel glowered at her. With the insight he had into the darkness of other people's souls, he saw the similarity between this woman and himself. They both wanted the same thing: Conar McGregor. And neither of them could obtain him through normal means. Each had used magic and evil to bring the young prince to them, and each had failed abysmally. Each had pushed Conar farther away in trying to bring him closer. Raja lowered her voice to a soft croon. "Neither of us will ever have him other than with the combined use ofour powers to fighthis. You want him humbled as much as I do. You want his soul, I want his body. We both want his defeat, his ultimate destruction. We have the means in our hands." She held up a fist. "We can crush him, Tohre. We can have him groveling at our feet before we drain the stubbornness from him. Tell me that is not what you want." Tohre felt astonishment. "You want him dead?" Raja shook her head, outwardly exasperated. "Not in the sense you mean, but dead to those around him. Once you have taken his soul, what is left will be mine to command. I can make him docile, accepting of his plight. You will have what you want, I will have what I desire." For a moment, Tohre continued to stare at her, seeing past the smiling, seductive beauty into the pitch-black soul deep within her. He saw her evil as surely as he felt his own. Given other circumstances, he supposed, the two of them might well have been allies, lovers even, had she been a male. He could sense her overpowering desire to destroy the essence of their common enemy, their common love. "Will you let him win, Tohre?" "No." "They have invested that milksop wife of his with the powers of the Wind Force. Her powers--"

"Bah! No woman is a worthy adversary for the might of the Domination!" "Do not say I didn't warn you, Kaileel! You refuse to see the possibilities of Elizabeth A'Lex's power. It's a failing that could spell disaster and might be your undoing! But if you will not guard yourself against the bitch, that is your business. I willnot make the same mistake!" "Do what you will. Joust at ghostlings, if you must, but I will savemy energy for Conar, alone!" "Then send the message to Regan! The time is at hand." With a coy lowering of her lashes, she jabbed home the final dagger. "Or are you afraid Conar has become too powerful for you to handle?" "I am afraid of no man!" "Then be done with it!" Raja yelled, spittle flying in Tohre's astonished face. "Bring him to his knees! Destroy him. Now! " Warning voices inside Tohre's brain told him to ignore the challenge, cautioned him to restrain and delay, shouted a denial of what he was setting, too soon, in motion. The thought kept tumbling before him that the time was not right, the day not yet come in which to do battle with Conar McGregor. But the smirk on Raja's face needled him. "So be it," he spat from between clenched teeth. "I will send the message!"

Chapter 5 The rain had not stopped. If anything, it had grown worse. The entire countryside surrounding Ivor Keep turned into a virtual quagmire. Rivulets of muddy water seeped through the old stones of the keep; the entire place stank of mold and mildew. As gloomy and overcast as the sky, so, too, seemed the temperaments of the keep's inhabitants. Many a fight had lashed out among the men, and even among the few serving women. Insults grew commonplace, and since tempers ran so short, words became few. Alone in his room, with only his thoughts to keep him comfortable, Conar would stare out the window at the falling rain. He had moved from his tower prison to the room he had used as a child when visiting Ivor Keep. In this room, he felt safe. Often he would go to where Corbin now slept by himself. Since learning of the cruelties Regan had practiced on his older half-brother, Conar placed his youngest boy in a room near Marsh, giving his old friend orders to act as sole guardian to the angry child. When told he could no longer have access to Corbin's room and would be accountable to Edan for his actions, Regan fought and spat like a were-tiger. "You want to get rid of me, but you can't!" Regan screamed at his father. "You are the reason I am here!" "And what reason would that be?" Sentian asked. Regan turned on the warrior, Elizabeth A'Lex's Sentinel. "Go to hell! I don't have to answer to a servant!" But Conar held firm and exiled the boy to the servant's wing, ordering all access to the keep proper "off limits" to Regan. The boy had been taken, kicking and screaming, to the back of the keep where servants gave him a wide berth. As for Corbin, Conar spent at least an hour of the day with him, getting to know him. Liza would often find their blond heads bent over a game of chess or dominoes, their laughter ringing out in a keep where laughter had mildewed along with the walls. It was not uncommon to hear them whispering, telling jokes to one another, recounting secrets. Neither seemed to notice the gloom that had settled around the ancient keep like fallen

leaves. **** Well into the second week of his forced isolation, Regan tried unsuccessfully to gain access to the upper rooms where his brother stayed. Caught sneaking up the stairs, Regan threw a tantrum that resulted in having Conar come to see him. "Don't try that again," Conar warned, putting his hand on the belt at his waist. "You've been told you can not see your brother." "Go ahead," Regan taunted. "Beat me. It won't be the first time I've been whipped." Conar's lids flickered, but he said nothing. When Regan clamped his lips shut and turned his back, Conar sighed. "Just because Tohre tried to make you into one of his own, doesn't mean you have tostay one of his own." Regan turned, glaring at Conar, hating the way his father looked at him. Seeing the pity on Conar's face hardened Regan's heart. He lifted his chin. "I'd rather be one of Tohre's than be here with you!" Conar nodded. "Before the actual battle begins, I might well send you back to Tohre, if that's what you want. You have no place here with that attitude." Regan saw distrust and revilement in his father's face, which added fuel to his hatred. His father would keep that lily-livered Corbin with him and send his other son away. "Whatever," Regan snapped, turning from the look of annoyance on his father's face. **** Two days later, the Elite who did Tohre's bidding, who had long ago and through devious magic been installed to keep tabs on Conar for the Domination, handed a small slip of paper to Regan. "How did you come by this?" Regan asked suspiciously, recognizing Tohre's personal seal. "The Master has his way and I have mine," the Elite answered. Regan stared hard into the face of the messenger, a man he knew all too well. "You are one of his most trusted." "Aye, but sometimes all is not as it seems, eh?" Regan nodded his understanding. "You have reason to hate him, too." "Be careful, little prince. The Master is counting on you." Regan took the paper to the window, broke the seal, and stared at the symbol scrawled across its surface. It was the sign for which he had been waiting--a black bird with an arrow through its breast.

Chapter 6 Legion sat watching Conar. Little had really changed in his brother's appearance over the years. His hair might have silver strands running through the thick gold, but it was still lustrous and healthy-looking. He was more muscular, with a wiry strength that set well on his six-foot frame. The eyes, however, had changed. No longer the color of a warm summer's day, the dark blue orbs spoke more about the changes in the man than did his words or actions. They were hard eyes, cold at times, much like the man--stubborn. There was rigidity about Conar, an arrogance that

was no longer the insolent self-importance of a young prince destined to rule his people. The arrogance now had been honed from adversity. "Conar expects to be obeyed," Brelan had remarked that morning when Tyne balked at doing a particular chore. "There isn't ever a doubt in his mind that those around him will do exactly as he wills." "Aye," Jah-Ma-El agreed. "Sometimes wrong, but never in doubt." Now, Legion let out a ragged breath and turned away from his secret scrutiny of his brother, trying to clear his mind. He admitted that Conar was still handsome, despite the livid scars on his left cheek. If anything, those scars seemed to add to the man's mystery, to bespeak his suffering and, in doing so, give the observer the notion that this man had earned the right to be respected. The very dangerousness about him, the sensual, I-don't-give-a-damn-whether-you-like-me-or-not attitude served only to make Conar more noticeable. Of course, few people didn't notice him first when they entered a room. If he wasn't noticed, it was because the looker just didn't want to see him. Conar stood out in a crowd whether he chose to or not. "How do I compete with that?" Legion once asked Roget. "I don't have his power or presence. Why would Liza choose me over a man such as he?" "Because she loves you," Roget had answered. "It's getting worse out there," Jah-Ma-El remarked, startling Legion out of his revelry. Legion looked at his brother. "How's the sky look?" Jah-Ma-El shook his head. "Black as night and the wind's kicking up. Tornado weather." "I'd better go up to Liza." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Conar watching him and turned to look. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Bad weather coming." Conar nodded. "I'll get the windows shuttered," Jah-Ma-El said. Just as the last window was locked, its shutters in place, the full force of the storm hit them like an avalanche of stones. The sky had turned an ugly purple, darkened to black, and was now an eerie green-tinged ebon. Howling gusts of wind shrieked around the keep and turned the air inside frigid. The rap of hailstones hitting the windows and roof grew loud and battering. As lightning spat toward the earth with its fiery tongues of death, the rooms flared with filtered white light through the slats of the shutters. Heavy booms of thunder shook the windows and rattled the chandeliers. Conar stood with his forearm along the mantle and gazed into the leaping flames that sputtered with the fall of rain down the flue. His thoughts dwelled on the woman upstairs. He knew what this kind of violent tempest could do to her nerves. He could feel her fear radiating down to him in waves of pure terror. His body trembled with each quake of her own and he ached to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her, to hide her from the storm she so feared. He had to grind his teeth to keep from screaming out his frustration that he could do none of those things. Brelan glanced up from his chair. "Are you all right?" Conar nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He prodded a log with the toe of his boot. "She's not alone," Brelan gently reminded him. "She'll be all right." Conar turned away, his hands doubled into fists. A sharp rip of lightning sang through the air outside. Conar jumped, his attention going to the shuttered window. In a moment, hard thunder rolled overhead and he could take the strain no longer. He pushed away from the mantle. "Don't," Brelan warned. "She's nearly out of her mind with terror, Brelan." "I'll go." "You went once before, didn't you?" came the sarcastic reply.

"She needed me that night," Brelan said in his defense, although guilt stained his lean cheeks. Conar nodded, ashamed he'd brought up the past. "I'm sorry, I didn't--" Brelan got up. "I'll go check on her." "Don't you trust me?" "Do you trust yourself?" Conar looked away. His shoulders slumped as he walked to Brelan's abandoned chair and sat. He laid his head along the velvet and stared at the ceiling. "Check on Corbin, too, will you?" **** In their bedroom, Legion held his trembling wife, pressing her head close to his chest so she could not see lightning through the shutters. His arms locked her against his massive chest, his hand buried in her hair as he crooned meaningless words to shut out the terrible noise spewing from the heavens. He heard her frantic breathing and felt the heavy thud of her hammering heart against his ribcage as she plastered her body to his with every clap of thunder. Her flesh felt clammy. When the discreet knock came at the door, Legion warily looked up. His clipped "Enter" left no doubt he expected the intruder to be Conar. His face relaxed only a small bit when he saw Brelan instead. "I just wanted her to know I checked on Corbi. He's sleeping like a baby." Brelan smiled. "Wish I could." Legion relaxed. He bent his head down to his wife. "Did you hear that? Didn't I tell you Corbi could sleep through an earthquake?" Liza nodded against his chest, flinching as another sinister burst of lightning cracked outside. She whimpered and gripped him tighter. "Thanks," Legion told Brelan. Brelan nodded and quietly closed the door behind him. **** Conar jumped when Brelan touched his arm. Deep in thought, he had not heard his brother return. "How is she?" Brelan squeezed Conar's arm. "Legion's doing everything that can be done for her right now." Lowering his head, Conar used the heels of his palms to rub at his tired eyes. "Can't you sleep?" Conar sighed. "Not as long as she's like this. I feel every tremor in her body, Bre." "I almost suggested Legion sing to her." Brelan smiled when Conar scowled at him. "Like I said, Ialmost suggested he sing to her!" "It's a good thing you didn't." Conar grinned and laid his head on the chair. "We want the lady calm, not driven mad. Thanks." "For what?" "For giving me something to smile about." The smile on his face tightened as another sharp bolt of lightning hit somewhere close, but the thought of Legion singing to Liza to soothe her softened it again.

Chapter 7 The storm still raged at morning time. The wind had not ceased its incessant howling, nor had the lightning forking down from the heavens lessened in intensity. The entire keep awoke edgy and gruff, everyone continuously watching the darkened skies. "This ain't a natural storm," Holm van De Lar remarked at the breaking of the fast that morning. "I've ridden out storms many a time in my travels, but this ain't natural." "Hell-spawned," Jah-Ma-El murmured. "The weather is hell-born." Conar glanced at his brother and shook his head. "If it were, I'd know it." He speared a thick slice of ham with his fork and laid it on his plate, then reached for the red-eye gravy. "I agree with the good Captain--it isn't natural, but then it isn't evil either." "How do you explain it, then?" Brelan asked, flinching as thunder shook the keep. Conar shrugged. "The gods were more than likely bored. I would imagine paradise gets tiresome after a while. So they sent us something to keep us on our toes." Shalu gave his friend an annoyed look. "You think this weather is a test of our mettle, McGregor?" "It's a test of something," Tyne snorted. "I sneezed so much yesterday cleaning that gods-be-damned conservatory, I couldn't sleep all night my nose was so stopped up." He cast a hateful look at Legion. "Bright idea, indeed, to clean this lump of stones." Legion smiled around a mouthful of creamed peas. "You needed the entertainment, Brell." Tyne snorted. "Entertainment my ass!" Shalu chuckled. The Necroman wagged his brows at the Chalean Prince. "You white boys have it rough, don't you?" Conar glanced at Brelan. The atmosphere at the table, despite the howling storm outside, was considerably better than the day before. He smiled, sliced a large portion of freshly baked bread from the platter, and buttered it. Chewing thoughtfully on the mouth-watering morsel, he looked down the table at Legion. "Is Liza better this morning?" His brother looked up with a slight, annoyed look, but he nodded. "Corbin is with her. She didn't sleep much last night." "I know." Conar could have kicked himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He saw Legion's mouth tighten, and he felt every man at the table staring at him. He swung his gaze to Brelan, saw the raised-brow stare, and looked down at his plate. Silence settled at the table. The clink of silverware, the rattle of crystal, the scraping of food across china, filled the quiet. The moment had turned awkward and Conar felt it keenly. A sharp crack sounded outside. Every man jumped, turning toward the window. With a piercing shriek and rumble of falling timber, a large tree branch crashed through the pane, billowing the drapes. Shards of glass exploded into the room, scattering across the floor. Rain poured in through the opening and the wind swept over the dining table. A mighty roar filled the room and the very timbers of the keep began to tremble. Upstairs, a wail of pure terror rose on a trill of prolonged sound. "Liza!" Conar shouted, shoving aside his chair. He came around the table at a near-run only to be brought up by Legion's snarl of rage.

A'Lex grabbed his arm, bringing him to a stop. "She'smy wife. I'll go up to her!" He swung Conar away and headed for the stairs. Outside, the air hummed with the mighty rumbling, all light fading from the windows. The wind blew with enough force to stagger the men. "Tornado!" came the cry, and several rushed for the stairs to the dungeons. Conar started to follow Legion up the stairs, but Brelan and Shalu both seized him. "Let go!" "No," Brelan snapped. "I said no!" he repeated to be heard over the noise. He jerked his brother toward the dungeon stairs. "I'm going to my lady!" Conar howled, bucking against their hold. "You got no business going up there," Shalu said in a fierce, booming voice. His hold tightened as Conar tried to jerk away his arm. "Be still, McGregor!" The two men yanked Conar toward the stairs, ignoring his vile cursing. "Damn it," Conar shouted, his face contorting with fear for the woman he loved. "Let me go to her!" A sudden clatter down the other stairway made the men pause and turn. Brelan heaved a sigh of relief as Corbin ran past him, his hand pulling one of the young servant girls. Behind them, Legion carried Liza in his arms, shouting for them to hurry. "The roof sounds like it's going!" he yelled, toting Liza down the narrow passageway and skipping heavily down the stairs. Overhead, a wrenching, cracking vibration began. Ceiling plaster rained down. "Get below!" Brelan yelled, shoving Conar in the small of his back, pushing Shalu along with him down the stairs. He stopped as the others fled to safety and shot the bolt on the door, turned, and skipped as fast as he could down the steps. "Regan!" Corbin screamed. "He's here!" Marsh Edan yelled. Huddled in the depths of the cold and damp dungeon, they heard the crashing, shattering fall of the ancient structure above. The piercing scream of tortured timber and crumbling stone made speech impossible. Hands pressed tightly over ears, bodies huddled against other bodies, heads lowered as the keep's inhabitants sheltered themselves from the terror above. The violent moaning of the wind sent shivers down Conar's spine, and the rumble of the passing funnel shook the ground at his feet. "Sweet Merciful Alel," Sentian prayed, his hands folded in prayer. "Don't let us die here like this." Conar stared intently at Liza several feet away, his nerve-endings rubbed raw by her fear. He saw her clinging to Legion, trembling against him, and actually heard her whimpers of terror. His hands itched to take her to him; his heart ached to comfort her. He found Legion glaring at him, and returned the look. ---Brelan glanced up as a tremendous crash sounded overhead, but the two men staring at one another drew his rapt attention. Conar's face was filled with worry, clouded with longing; Legion's face was set in hard lines of anger, as if he dared Conar to try and take what he would not be allowed to have. Saur's gaze went down to Liza. He saw her lips moving, and knew she was praying. A part of him wanted to comfort her, too, just as he had many years earlier when, on a night such as this, he had sown his own seed in the belly of the woman they all loved more than life itself. He laughed bitterly to himself. The four of them--Conar, Galen, Legion, himself--had each suffered untold agonies to

have Elizabeth Wynth as their own. Conar had been tortured for his wanting; Galen had died for his. Watching Legion and Conar facing one another was painful to see, for Brelan knew the final wedge was being driven between his two brothers and there was nothing he could do to stop it. As quickly as the disaster had been visited upon Ivor, it passed just as fast. The wind ceased; the rain stopped; the rumbling fled. Above the dungeon, the settling of broken timbers, destroyed walls and furnishings, ground to a halt. All went still, the dust floating down from the ceiling the last reminder of the storm's passing. "Is everyone all right?" Brelan asked, coming to his feet to dust off his breeches. Around him, others began to stand, to look around with dazed, confused eyes. Here and there Brelan heard a muffled sob as one of the women gained her feet, supported by one of the men. "Anyone hurt?" Chase asked, helping up Jah-Ma-El. "I don't think so," Brelan answered, seeing a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing that looked like it needed immediate care. "We were gods-be-damned lucky." ---Conar stared at the tableau before him. Legion unclenched his hand from Liza's hair, stroked the gleaming ebon tresses, and whispered to her. Gently he eased her from him, tilted up her head, and planted a soft kiss on her brow. Every nerve in Conar's body screamed at him to jerk her from Legion's arms and hold her. He ached to assure himself that she was still intact. He had to clench his jaw to keep from shouting, had to dig his nails into his palms to keep them to himself. "Conar." He found Brelan close beside him. He stared at his brother, his hopelessness, his helplessness, his pain likely easy to see. "I know." Brelan put his hand on Conar's shoulder. Conar drew in a hitching breath and turned away, shaking his head to clear it of treacherous thoughts. "Let's see how it looks upstairs," he snapped, pushing past Grice and Chand Wynth, hugging each other in obvious relief that they had survived the tempest. Something heavy had lodged against the door. Even with Bent straining with all his brute force, the wood wouldn't budge. "You had to shut it, didn't you?" Conar snarled as Brelan added his shoulder to the planking. "I didn't think," Brelan answered, heaving. He looked at the others. "Anyone have an idea how we're going to get out of here?" "There's a light," Paegan remarked, pointing to the ceiling. Everyone looked up and frowned. The light was a good seventy or eighty feet straight up the dungeon's air shaft, a tight, circular chamber of staggered brick. "And how are we supposed to get up there?" Holm snapped. Tyne sighed. "Since none of us can fly, we'll have to climb." "No one can climb up there!" Legion growled. He drew Liza to her feet and brought her to where the others stood. Conar craned his neck to see up the shaft. He gauged the distance, tested the hold of the brick, pulling on the stones. "I can." "The hell you can!" Legion yelled. "You never could climb the trees by the training ground when you were a boy, so why do you think you can climb this? You'd fall and break your damned fool neck!" "I can do it." Conar began to take off his boots.

"I don't know," Rylan said. "That's a pretty steep climb." He looked up the shaft. "It looks slick as shit." "Stop trying to play hero!" Legion snorted. "We'll find another way out." Conar ignored his brother. He took off his heavy woolen socks, began to roll up the cuffs of his breeches over his ankles. "Damn it, listen to your brother!" Marsh grumbled. "No man can make that climb." Conar looked back at Marsh with a steady stare. "Get out of my way." Legion let go of Liza. He grabbed Conar's shoulder, spinning him around. "You're not doing this and that's all there is to it!" Conar slapped away the hand and came nose to nose with Legion, sneering. "I can make the gods-be-damned climb, A'Lex! I was trained to make it. I don't give a damn whether you have any confidence in my doing so or not. Get the hell away from me and let me do my job!" He reached up for the archway of bricks and swung himself into the airway shaft before anyone could stop him. Legion poked his head into the shaft. "Conar!" Already a good six feet above his brother, Conar clung to the brick and attempted to wedge his bare toes into a section of crumbled mortar. "Get your ass back down here!" Conar continued upward. The sharp edges of the bricks cut into his toes. Blood from the cuts added additional slipperiness to the already slick stones. His nails dug into the loose mortar, his fingertips being gouged unmercifully by the crumbling sand and breakaway brick. Pulling himself up became more difficult than he had imagined. It hadn't been that long ago since he'd been bedridden, weak, unable to stand without assistance. He had been training before the rains, but the last week or so had seen precious little activity to keep him in shape. Panting, gritting his teeth to the pain in his fingertips and toes, he struggled to make it from one brick to another. He stopped climbing to catch his breath. Leaning his head on the slimy brick, he winced at the moisture on his flesh. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mist forming. He swiveled his head to look at the illusion that began to waver in the darkness. Ching-Ching's little monkey face came out of the black, grinning, mocking. "Little bird believes he can climb, does he?" "Damned straight!" Conar bit out from between his teeth. "One day, one cliff. Two day, two cliff. We see how little bird do. If teacher satisfied..." "Leave," Conar mumbled, blinking to wash away the sweat dripping down his face. He drew in three heavy breaths before he started up again. By his reckoning, he was thirty feet from the top of the airshaft. He could already feel a cool wind flowing down the walls. "Little bird not up to climb?" The sing-song voice grew malicious. "I can do it!" Conar growled. He gripped the stone ledge before him and tried for purchase with his throbbing toe. His foot slipped, dragging his nail down the brick. He yelped, then heard his name cried from below, the sound reverberating off the stone. "Knock it off!" he whispered, again hearing the echo of his name spiraling up to him. "Little bird not concentrate on task before him. Not wise of little bird to let mind wander." Clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth until he could actually hear the sound inside his skull, Conar dug his fingernails into the mortar and gouged a handhold until he could get his bleeding foot up to another section of stable brick. ---"How far up is he?" Legion asked, his arm around Liza's shoulder. "Twenty-five, thirty feet, I think. It's starting to rain again." Roget drew in his head, his face wet with raindrops.

"That will make it harder to climb," Liza whispered. She felt Legion's arm tighten around her. "It'll make the mortar even more slimy, the bricks slippery." "It's so close in there," Corbin said, looking at the diameter of the shaft. "How can he stand it?" Up until that moment, no one including Liza had even thought of the danger of the confined space for Conar. Their main concern had been the treachery of the climb. With Corbin's innocuous question, Liza drew in a fearful breath, as did the others around her. Legion pushed her into Brelan's arms and moved Roget out of the way. He craned his neck up the airshaft. "Be careful!" ---There was no thought in Conar's own mind about the constriction of the tunnel. The tight space held no fear for him. The height bothered him a little, but his need to make the climb, to get out of the dungeon, to get out the others, remained his primary concern. That he bled from his fingers and toes, and from a vicious scrape on his left knee which had torn a hole in his breeches, didn't even register in his mind. He concentrated only on putting up one hand, followed by a foot, inching his way out of the shaft. Conar, hurry... He stopped, hearing Liza's voice in his mind, feeling her fear for him. Her love touched him like a caress. He closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth of her caring. He could see her in his mind, being held in Brelan's arms, her sweet face pale with worry, her slender body trembling. It's all right,he told her, though his lips didn't move.I'm all right. I can do this, Sweeting. Be careful, beloved... "Little bird put mind on climb, not woman!" Ching-Ching ordered. Conar shook his head to clear the vision. He gripped the brick with renewed strength and began to climb again. Soon he came within ten or so feet from the top, within sight of fallen timbers around the airshaft's opening. Idly, he wondered how much of the roof remained and how difficult it would be to get down to the jammed dungeon door. "Little bird got up, little bird get down!" Ching-Ching mocked, his wizened monkey face crinkled with humor. "Little bird did not forget his lessons." The sound of spectral clapping echoed in the airshaft. "You taught me well," Conar sighed as he gained the opening. "You learned well, my son." Ching-Ching's apparition dissolved. The roof was caved in all the way to the main floor. There was a twenty-foot drop down the side of the airshaft that could not be repelled. The sides of the tunnel were slick with no jutting brick, no dimpled mortar, while broken glass, jagged splinters of wood, and twisted iron ringed the base of the structure. "Great," Conar snarled. "Just great." Perched on the wide rim of the airshaft, he looked out over the destruction of Ivor Keep and felt a bitter arrow of hurt go through him. This had been the place where he had been conceived; where he and Liza had consummated their love night after night. Gone was nearly everything recognizable about the ancient keep. Left was a pile of tumbled stone, cracked timbers with their broken splinters of aging wood jutting toward the heavens, crushed furniture, and scattered glass. "Hello up there!" With a start that almost propelled him backward into the shaft, Conar jerked his contemplation to the ground. A stranger stood amid the rubble, his hand shielding his eyes from the pelting rain, his feet planted wide apart. "Going to sit up there all day, are you?" "You gonna tell me how to get down?" Conar shot back.

"You need help?" "It would be nice!" Conar shivered from the cold around him. The rain cascaded down the collar of his black shirt and plastered his hair to his scalp. His fingers and toes throbbed with agony. He wrapped his arms around himself to gain some warmth. "How'd you get up there in the first place?" the man called, putting his hands on his hips. "I climbed! How the hell do you think I got up here?" "Had nothing better to do with your time, eh?" Conar wished he had something he could throw at the bastard. "Can't climb down though, can you?" Confining the man, his ancestors, his horses, and his gonads to the Pit, Conar's lips drew back over his teeth. "You gonna help or not?" The man shrugged. "I guess I could." He rummaged through the rubble. Finding nothing, he walked over the destroyed timbers of the great hall and ran down a mountain of piled stones to the outer bailey. "Where the hell are you going?" Conar shouted. "Looking for a ladder." Conar's brow shot up. There had to be one about somewhere. He craned his neck, looking out over the bailey. He spied what he thought could well be a ladder and pointed, drawing the man's attention. "By the stable. To the left of the trough." Nodding, the man waded through the debris. "I found it!" He hefted the ladder and began dragging it toward the airshaft. "It isn't tall enough," Conar yelled. The stranger gauged the ladder's height, then lay it down on the rubble. "I can pile up some wood, brace it until you get down." He began to stack fairly good lumber at the base of the shaft, then lifted the ladder once more. When the ladder slapped against the airshaft, about nine feet between Conar's dangling legs and the top rung remained. He stared down at it, wondering what to do. "Tell you what," the man called. "I saw a rope by the smithy's. If I can throw it to you, is there something you can tie it to and swing down?" Conar looked behind him. Spying a thick timber lying part way across the shaft's opening, he nodded. "Aye. Throw it." Retrieving the rope, the man climbed almost to the top of the ladder, but must have thought better about going any farther. The stack of wood at the ladder's base didn't look all that secure. He threw the rope from there. "Heads up!" It took three tries before Conar caught the hemp. When he did, he tied one end to the timber, then pulled to test its staying power. Satisfied, he gripped the rope, looping it around one wrist, then slid his feet down the brick. He swung his body out and turned so he could face the airshaft. Carefully, he made his way to the top rung of the ladder, breathing a sigh of relief when his toes encountered wood. "Easy does it!" the man called. "Hang on to the rope just in case this baby decides to fall." Conar concentrated on getting down the slippery ladder rungs without the balls of his feet skidding out from under him. When he finally reached the bottom, he leaned into the ladder, pressed his forehead to the wood, breathing deeply. "That was fun, wasn't it?"

Smiling, Conar turned to thank the man. The smile froze on his face. The stranger grinned. "Hi there." The last thing Conar saw was a fist flying straight toward his face.

Chapter 8 His name being called woke him. That and the pounding rain in his face. He opened his eyes, blinking as the rain blinded him, and took a deep breath. He felt a horrid pain along his jaw and slowly let out the breath, wobbling his jaw from side to side to test whether it was broken. Feeling even more pain at the movement, he put a hand to his face and felt a lump. "You'll live." He turned his head and found himself lying in a pile of debris, fallen timber, plaster, and a chandelier. He squinted to see who had spoken, flinching as a crack of thunder sounded. "Get your lazy ass up and help me with this shit." He lifted his head and upper body, peered around the chandelier, and saw the speaker straining to lift a thick wooden beam. Pushing himself up from the rubble, Conar wavered on his feet, his ears ringing, his jaw throbbing, and rubbed his face. "Damn it! Get over here! I'd like to get those people out of there before nightfall!" Conar stepped over broken furniture, skirted a pool of shattered glass, and made his way to where the speaker dragged the beam away from the door leading to the dungeon. "Duncan?" Conar asked, surprise and shock in his voice. The man turned, looked Conar up and down, and snorted. "Aye." He bent to pick up another beam. "Where have you been?" A deep rumble of laughter came from the man's wide chest. "Here and there and everywhere." "Why the hell did you hit me?" "You scared the hell out of me, that's why!" The man shoved Conar out of the way and hefted another heavy beam, casting a cocked brow. "You gonna help me, boy, or are you going to stand there true to form and pretend to supervise while I get a hernia for my trouble?" Conar picked up his end of the beam. "How'd I scare you?" He looked into the man's sweaty face and saw humor lurking there. "I thought you'd been squashed in this pile of stones." He began to swing the beam away from him, nodded when Conar echoed his movement, then released the wood, which rolled down the mountain of rubble. "I came all this way to see you and what do I find but a pile of stone. I would've hated to have made such a long journey only to attend your funereal." "You didn't have to hit me," Conar grumbled, flexing his jaw. "A simple 'hello-how-are-you'would have sufficed."

"Made a point though, didn't I?" Stooping to pull fallen wood and paneling from the doorway, the two finally freed the rubble baring the door. Putting a wide, massive shoulder to the portal, Duncan shoved once, twice, three times. The door bounced inward, hitting the wall and separating from its top hinges to lean precariously into the stairwell. "You could have just knocked," Conar said dryly. Duncan shrugged. "Why bother?" He poked his head into the stairwell. "You people all right down there?" "Lord Darkwind, are you all right?" came the reply from the darkness. Duncan stared at Conar. "You?" At Conar's smirk, he shook his head. "Now I've heard everything." He put his hands on his hips and looked Conar up and down. "I don't believe it. Serenia's hero is a pipsqueak of a boy?" "Don't judge a dog's bite by its size," Conar answered. Brelan came up the stairs and into the light. He stopped on the next to the last riser, his mouth dropping open with stunned surprise. "Duncan?" "How's it hanging, Saur?" He took Brelan's hesitant hand and gripped the wrist so tight Brelan winced. "How many down there?" "Thirty or so..." "You look like you've seen a ghost, Saur." The big man grinned and rumpled Brelan's hair. "Haven't you heard resurrections are commonplace in the McGregor family." A shocked gasp came from behind Brelan "Duncan Cree?" Peering past Brelan's shoulder, Duncan nodded. "Got the entire family down there, A'Lex?" He motioned Brelan out of the way. "Is that lovely lady you married with you, too?" Conar stiffened, but Brelan shook his head in caution. He moved back with his brother so the others could ascend the stairs. Even though the rain pelted hard around them, Conar knew no one wanted to be in the dungeon for a moment longer. "Well, I'll be damned!" Roget du Mer grumbled as he saw the man with booted feet planted far apart in the rubble. "Duncan Cree, you sorry ass!" He wrapped his arms around Duncan's broad shoulders, lifting the man clear of the ground. "Where the hell have you been?" Liza climbed the last stair and put her hand into Sentian's when he offered to help her. Her troubled eyes went to the dark heavens, flinched as lightning arced. "Is this her?" came Duncan's awed, reverent voice. "Aye," Legion answered proudly, stepping to Liza's side. "This is your Queen, Duncan. This is Elizabeth." Duncan bowed gracefully before her. He took her small hand into his giant paw and brought it delicately to his lips. Kissing the inside of her wrist, he gazed down at her with pleasure. "You did well, A'Lex," Duncan smiled at the hesitant, tremulous answering smile on Liza's pale face. "This lady is worth a kingdom to possess. Introduce me, Legion." Legion grinned, slapping the taller man on his back. "This is my brother Duncan." At Liza's apparent surprise, Legion laughed. "I believe he's somewhere in between Jah-Ma-El and Conar." ---Liza stared at the man, not seeing any resemblance to the blond-haired side of Conar's family nor the side which had produced Legion or Brelan. She could only imagine what woman had born this brute of a man. Despite the fact that he was extremely handsome in a dark, mysterious way, his thick black hair, deep brown eyes, and square jaw bore no similarity to Gerren McGregor. He stood taller even than Thom Loure--who stood close to six-nine--and was broad in the chest, with heavy muscles bulging his leather jerkin, and large hands that looked capable of tearing a man in half.

His accent sounded odd, not one Liza recognized from any of the Seven Kingdoms, or even Diabolusia. His clothing looked strange as well--leather jerkin, breeches of some coarse material that billowed out at the hips, boots that came up over his knees. He had strong white teeth, a crooked smile, a battered nose that bespoke many barroom brawls, and deeply dimpled indentions in his cheeks. "And this is Corbin," Brelan said, pushing the young man forward. "He's the heir to our homeland's throne." Duncan nodded approval. "You look like a King, young Corbin." He put out his hand. "I am your uncle." Corbin took the man's hand and frowned, as if not liking some vibrations he might have felt along his arm. "I am Regan," a small voice snapped. "Conar's son." Duncan looked past Roget du Mer and saw the boy glaring at him. "Aye, that you are." Liza wondered why Duncan did not offer his hand to Regan. ---"I believe you are three months younger than me," Jah-Ma-El said, drawing Duncan's immediate attention and wishing he hadn't. The eyes that surveyed him weren't friendly. "You one of Papa's spurts, too?" Jah-Ma-El winced. The insult was intentional, the meaning clear. Duncan Cree considered him lower than the pigeon droppings plastered on some of the fallen wood. "Jah-Ma-El is one of the guiding forces behind our organization," Brelan said. "One of the founding members of the Wind Force." Duncan's eyes narrowed and he appeared to re-assess Jah-Ma-El. His expression didn't alter, but he held out a beefy hand. "Then you can't be all bad, can you?" For some reason, Jah-Ma-El didn't want to touch the man's proffered hand. He saw Conar regarding Duncan with something less than respect. He looked back at Duncan and took the man's hand, feeling, as he did, a strange vibration of dislike traveling down his fingers to his very soul. "Who was your mother?" Duncan asked. "Must have been one of the serving women, eh?" When a heavy blush came over Jah-Ma-El's face, he grinned maliciously. "Or one of the hordes of light-skirts who plied their trade around town?" "That's enough," Conar said quietly, steel in his soft words. Duncan cocked a thick brow at Conar and smiled. "Well, now, boy. My own mother was a farmer's wife that caught Papa's eye. A bigger whore you couldn't find in her village. Do you see me red-faced over it?" He looked back at Jah-Ma-El. "The woman who birthed us didn't matter. It was the sire that counted. Right?" "Leave him alone, Duncan." When Conar spoke, everyone looked his way. Even through the gloom and pounding rain, his face shone with an inner heat that few wanted to test. Duncan's dark brows lifted in surprise. "As you wish, Darkwind." The name on his tongue sounded condescending. "I meant no insult to the man." "What are you doing here?" Legion asked. The man draped one heavy arm around A'Lex's shoulders. "I came to be a part of this thing called the Wind Force." He jabbed Legion in the ribs with his free hand. "Didn't know I'd be taking orders from the squirt, there." "We all take orders from him," Roget said. "He's our leader." Duncan nodded sagely. "So it would seem." He looked around at the rain-drenched gathering of men; some he seemed to recognize, and he appeared to take the measure of the ones he did not. When he eyed Shalu Taborn, his dark orbs widened. "Necromanian?"

"Aye," the black man answered, matching his sneer with Duncan's tone. "Do you wish to take exception to my nationality?" "I wouldn't if I were you," Legion mumbled. "And neither will Duncan," Conar said in a voice that brooked no argument. Duncan raked his scrutiny down Shalu's tall frame. "Perhaps some other time?" A rare, deadly smile tilted across the black man's stern face. "I am available at a moment's notice," he challenged in his deep voice. "I am at your service." Duncan grinned. "We thought you were dead," Conar remarked, gaining Duncan's attention. "Well, the men of our family have a way of coming back from the dead, now, don't they?" He winked. "Where were you all this time?" Roget asked. "In Diabolusia, for the most part." Duncan sat dwn on a fallen timber. "The five of us lived in the same village for a while." "Five of whom?" Legion asked. Duncan chuckled. "Your brothers, A'Lex." Conar stared at him. "Who?" "Well, now, let me see." He held up his hand and ticked off the names. "Nathan was already there before I arrived. Kirk arrived the day after me. They changed their last names years ago. Didn't want to be known as McGregor kinsmen." "Why?" Jah-Ma-El asked, despite the annoyed look his question brought to Duncan's face. "They had their reasons." "Papa was the reason," Conar said. "Their mothers were some kin to Teal's mother, weren't they, du Mer?" At Teal's nod, Conar shrugged. "Papa had no use for men with sticky fingers and lying tongues. He was hard on them when they were growing up. They were taught one set of standards by their mother's tribe, while Papa tried to teach them a totally different set of values. It was understandable that there'd be a conflict between father and sons." Duncan dug his booted toe into the rubble. "So Nathan, being the oldest, left first for the border, then Kirk followed. Unfortunately, he wasn't as lucky as his stepbrother. He spent some time at Ghurn, compliments of the Tribunal for lifting a pocket watch from a noble in Ciona. Then after I'd been there a few months, I nearly fainted when I looked up and saw Nicholas and Drew riding in together." "Drew's alive?" Legion gasped. "I heard he'd been hanged by the Tribunal." "Not so. As a matter of fact, the boy's a monk in the Wind Keeper Order in Diablo." Liza's brows drew together. "That's a protectorate of the Multitude." Duncan smiled at her. "I believe so, Milady." His dark look evaluated her. "One of your own, I take it?" "What's Nicholas' last name?" Paegan asked, casting a quick glance at Holm. "Beriault," Conar answered. "Why?" "I remember meeting a man at the harbor in Haelstrom a few months back. He said to give Conar his regards. A lot of people come up to us and tell us that, but this man had the look of a McGregor about him, and I think I even mentioned that to Holm." "Aye," Holm agreed. "A big man, dark, golden hair down to his waist, green eyes. He had a tattoo of a viper on his left

forearm." "That's Nicky," Duncan remarked. "He and Nathan bought a boat together. Wanted to see something of the world, they said. Last I heard of them was about five years ago. Nathan is back in Diablo, I hear, but I have no idea where Nicky is." "How about any of the others?" Legion asked, looking at Conar. "Julian or Morgan? Gabriel?" "Julian and Morgan were killed in battle some eight years ago, I think," Duncan said. "They were fighting near Fealst." His dark eyes swung to Conar. "When Gabriel heard of your 'death,' squirt, he went berserk, they say. Said he wanted to avenge the family honor." He looked at the debris at his feet. "He was beheaded in a scrap somewhere around Baybridge." Conar flinched. The men were all older than he, and idealistic, as he recalled. Twins, Julian and Morgan were seldom apart. With their reddish gold hair and pale green eyes, they had looked more like their mother than King Gerren,.Gabriel had borne a striking resemblance to his father, more so than all the other boys. "Do you remember that time Gabriel and Dyllon got into it over that nobleman's daughter. What was her name?" Duncan asked. "Lydia," Legion supplied. Conar smiled, shaking his mind from the news of their deaths. "They fought for hours until Papa caught them and sent them to stay with Hern for a few days. After Arbra got through with them, I don't think their thoughts were on Lydia or any other girl." "How old were they then?" Paegan asked. "Ten, I think," Conar said. "It was before I made my spurs." "A few days before I left," Duncan said quietly. Getting up, he looked into the distance. "I never got to see you knighted, squirt. But you don't seem to have done too badly." "He hasn't," Legion agreed. "Well, anyway," Duncan said, stepping around a broken settee, "I'd better get my wards." "What wards?" Roget asked. Duncan sighed. "I was traveling alone, mind you. Being good." At Legion's snort, Duncan fixed him with a glare. "I was, A'Lex! Anyway, I was traveling when I heard this woman crying..." Roget chuckled. "It had to have been a woman..." Duncan cast him a wicked glance, too. "As I was saying, I heard this woman crying. Naturally I went to help." "What was wrong?" Liza asked. "These two ladies were traveling. Mother and daughter, I guess. The right front wheel of their wagon had broken and the horse had run off. They told me they had been sitting for nearly two hours waiting for someone to come by to help them before the rain started again." "And you left them out in this weather?" Roget inquired. "Of course not! When the weather turned bad, we found a cave to hide in. I left them until I could get horses to bring them to Ivor. There's no way a wagon can make it out in that muck, and I wanted to get the ladies in out of this cold." His vision swept the ruins. "I wasn't counting on walls coming down around my gods-be-damned ears." "Where were you when the tornado struck?" Conar asked. Duncan jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Tying my horse at the stable. When the stableboys started running for the keep, I saw the funnel. I shouted for them to stop, but they were already inside the door." He looked at those assembled and frowned. "I don't see them."

"They're still below," Marsh commented. "As far back in the dungeon as they could get." Duncan laughed. "Don't blame 'em. I don't like bad weather, either, but I need to return to those ladies." "Storm and I will saddle some mares," Sentian said. ---"I'll ride with you," Conar said to Duncan a few moments later, not knowing why he felt it important to do so. He looked at the others, then at the sodden sky. "You'd all better get to the stables, if it's still in one piece." He nodded toward Bent. "Get the boys out of the dungeon and have them help you clean up a place for us to sleep tonight." "What'll we do for food?" Teal asked. "I doubt we can find anything in this mess." "We'll catch some rabbits, du Mer!" Duncan chuckled, slapping the younger man on the back. "I've got a few spuds in my backpack, some spices. Have one of the women make some rabbit stew." "I'd better see to getting a fire started," Roget remarked, shivering. "It's gonna get colder once the rain stops." "Ifthe rain stops," Tyne grumbled. "We'll leave for Boreas in the morning," Conar said. "We sure as hell can't stay here." His eyes swept the keep, slipped back to Liza, and saw his own sadness reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes. This was where their love had blossomed, where a young Prince had brought his lady-love to hide her from his father, the King's, wrath. This was where they had come to know one another so well. Where they had spent their honeymoon and the first six months of their marriage. Now, like their marriage, the keep was gone. "Let's get going before the sun sets," Duncan warned. "I've no desire to be tramping out there in those caves after dark." **** Storm had saddled Seachange, Conar's black steed, and Duncan's piebald was ready for him also. Riding out of the bailey, the two men had to skirt crumbled stone and stray timber before making their way to the road leading south beyond the keep. "How far is the cave?" Conar asked. "Two, maybe three miles." Conar looked at his brother. "Why didn't you just put the women on your horse and lead it to Ivor?" Duncan shook his head. "I wanted to see you first. The women could have been looking for someone not loyal to the Wind Force. I wanted to make sure before I brought a nest of vipers into the keep." The men traveled nearly thirty minutes in the buffeting rain and sleet. They were drenched, their hair plastered about their damp faces. The protection of oilskins had done precious little to keep them warm and both men shivered. Rounding a bend, Conar barely made out the figures of two women, trudging forward from out of the drenching rain. "That's them," Duncan said. One woman's head came up. She instantly put out a hand to stop the shorter woman at her side. Before either Duncan or Conar could call out, the women disappeared into the trees. "A bit skittish, they are," Duncan informed Conar. "The young one didn't say a solitary word." He put a finger to his ear and made circles in the air. "A bit of brain parts missing, I believe." He looked away from Conar and cupped his hands to his mouth. "Ho, there! It's Duncan! I've come with help, Miladies!" Conar saw a pale face peer out from behind a scrub oak tree. The woman studied them as they cantered toward her hiding place. Conar stilled his mount. Squinting, he realized she looked familiar. "Where were they heading, Duncan?"

"Ivor." Duncan dismounted. "She was looking for her husband." Smiling, Conar swung his leg over his steed's head and slid to the ground. After tying Seachange's reins to a jutting low branch, he called out to the woman. "Mary van de Lar?" He felt Duncan's surprised glance. "It's me, Conar." The woman stepped cautiously out from behind the tree, putting up a hand to shield her eyes. "Your Grace? Is that you?" Conar laughed. "Aye, Milady. It's me." The woman beckoned her companion out of the trees. Duncan put his hands on his hips. "Is there a woman in Serenia you do not know, Conar?" "Very few." Conar hurried forward to meet the women. Following, Duncan snorted when the older woman sank gracefully to a deep curtsy, her head bowed. Conar gripped her arms and pulled her to her feet. "I'll have none of that." He hugged the woman. After kissing her cheek, he looked at the younger woman, cowering, head down, trembling with the cold and rain. "Jenny?" The girl lifted her head a fraction. A brilliant smile lit her face. "Do you remember him, Jenny?" Mary van de Lar asked. ---Jenny van de Lar was in her early twenties, a pretty blond lass with pale azure eyes and long hair twined in two thick braids that reached to her hips. She stood not more than five feet tall, and possessed dainty features, long golden-brown lashes and a pert, upturned nose. Her complexion in the rain appeared a creamy ivory with just a hint of rosy blush at her cheek from likely both the chill and the excitement touching her pretty eyes. This was a woman who turned heads wherever she went, but her innocent, child-like actions seemed those of the little girl. She came to her mother's side and stared at the smiling man, gazing back at her with such beautiful dark eyes. I know this man, Mama, she thought. I know him well. I have dreamed of him all my life. She scanned his face, her smile becoming tremulous at the sight of the vivid scars on the man's left cheek. In her child's mind, he was all there had been in life worth living for, and to see him before her after all these years, was like a miracle. She walked past her mother and stopped a foot from him, gazing into his face with shy regard. "You do remember me, don't you, mam'selle?" Conar asked, holding out his hand to her. Jenny took a partial step back from him, but the tender, gentle look in his warm eyes allayed any fears she might have had. Slowly, she stretched out her hand. As his strong fingers closed around hers, she ducked her head, feeling his touch to the bottom of her soul. "Should I be jealous?" the man named Duncan inquired, winking at Mary. "Here I was thinking I'd won the maiden's heart, and all it takes is one look from Conar's blue eyes and..." He stopped, craned his head, and looked into Conar's face. "What happened to your eyes?" Jenny had noticed the color change, too, but to her mind, the difference in color had done nothing more than make him seem sadder than when she had first met him. She remembered that day, his strong arms wrapped around her, his protection that she never questioned. When she squeezed his fingers, his smile widened. He brought her hand to his lips. "You have grown into a very beautiful woman, Jenny," he whispered. Letting go of her fingers, he turned to her mother. "Did Holm know you were coming?" Mary blushed. "No, Milord. I just missed him, that's all." "Then we'd better get you out of the rain and where it's warm." Conar put an arm around Mary's shoulder. "If you can ride behind Duncan, I'll take Jenny with me."

"Ride?" Jenny asked. Mary gasped, a shocked expression on her face. Not once since Jenny's ordeal more than fifteen years earlier had she spoken a single word to her family. But now Jenny gazed at Conar with confidence and without her customary fear and wariness. "Would you like to ride with me, mam'selle?" Conar asked, offering his arm to her. "Aye," she said, smiling at her mother's second gasp. "My...pleasure...Highness." Jenny'd had this same conversation in her thoughts. This gallant man had ridden his big black destrier to her rescue countless times in daydreams and night ramblings. Many had been the time when he swooped down from a hard gallop to lift her into his saddle, to hold her against him as he rode the wind, his laughter ringing out through the forest. Many had been the night when Jenny had awakened, some unknown need pressing upon her, some nameless desire bringing an ache to her limbs, a lump to her throat. In every dream she'd had of this wonderful man, this Prince of the Wind, he'd been her champion, her protector. Now to have his hands lift her, to feel herself behind him on the black stallion, her arms around him, became a dream come true. "Then come with me, lady," he whispered. "We will ride the wind!"

Chapter 9 Inside the stable, a fire blazed beneath a cauldron. People huddled around its warmth, hands extended over the smoldering wood. Another cauldron contained a boiling stew of potatoes, carrots, onions, and turnip roots. With Conar and Duncan's arrival came two rabbits and a squirrel. "Not much, but it'll do for tonight," the keep's cook proclaimed as she set down Thom and Bent to clean the animals. What a bit of flour and meal she'd found in Duncan's backpack, along with the spices now flavoring the stew, she'd made a thin bread that lay baking on a layer of flat stones. Though ecstatic to see his womenfolk, Holm frowned at their traveling in such weather. "It'll be a miracle if you don't catch your death, Mary Margaret!" he scolded, drawing her into his embrace. "She spoke," Mary whispered in awe as he kissed her. "Our baby spoke to His Grace." Holm found Conar smiling at him. He answered the smile with one of his own, his heart aching with love for the man who looked back at him and gave a nonchalant shrug of his wide shoulders. ---When the two men had brought the ladies back to the keep, Teal du Mer had been rummaging about the rubble with Tyne and Roget. Liza was with them, poking about the fallen timbers for anything they could use. Upon entering the stable behind Roget and Tyne, Liza nearly bumped into Teal, for the gypsy had stopped in his tracks to stare at the lovely young woman sitting on a bale of hay near the fire. "Whoisthat?" he whispered to Sentian. "Holm's daughter," Heil answered. Teal mouth sagged open as she turned and saw him staring. He felt as though his world had begun to spin at a reckless whirl and he grabbed hold of a ceiling support. No other sounds filled his ear save his wildly thumping heart.

He saw no one but her. He started strolling toward her, like a man in a state of sleepwalking. When she smiled at him, he felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He drew in his breath, holding it, struck dumb by the beauty and innocence in her glorious face. ---Jenny watched the handsome young man sauntering toward her. Beside this black-haired man with the velvet brown eyes, Prince Conar paled in comparison. Her smile deepened, and her heart began to beat so hard she could feel it push against her ribcage. A nervous flutter started in the pit of her stomach and crawled to her throat when his warm, friendly smile stretched over his fine mouth. She wanted nothing more than to have him hold her hand, to whisper of the dream-like things Prince Conar had often said. ---Holm fixed his gaze on his daughter as she stopped in front of the gypsy. Her face, alight with an inner glow, made him nod. Full of happiness, he turned to his wife. At her hesitant smile, he knew she felt the same--it was past time their daughter grew up. With Teal du Mer-- part child, himself--as her protector, the match seemed favorable. Du Mer was gentle, not given to temper tantrums, although sulkingwas one of his specialties. He had a problem with gambling, but a good woman could squelch that habit. He didn't flit around from woman to woman; his mistresses were clean, sober women, not given to filth or disease. Du Mer, himself, didn't drink to excess or have any foul habits that would not be acceptable. He was good-looking, playful, charming, a rogue that everyone seemed to like. All in all, a good catch. And besides, Holm thought with a grin, I'm bigger than him! ---Liza looked across the stable and saw Legion grinning at her. A pleasant feeling connected them as they observed Teal falling in love for the first time. She had always warned the gypsy that when he found that one woman he could not live without, he would fall hard. She also knew Legion had voiced his concern that Teal would never find the kind of woman who would tolerate his boyishness; but Conar had always maintained that when Teal found love, it would hit his old friend like a thunderbolt on a sunny day and stay with him forever. Seeing Conar's prediction happening made Liza smile.

Chapter 10 Long into the night the jovial atmosphere in the stable brought those who had survived the destruction of Ivor Keep an evening of respite from the rainy gloom. Despite the occasional crack of distant thunder and the hammering of rain on the roof, the laughter and joking inside the warm stable had broken the fear of dying they had experienced earlier that day. There might not have been much of stew and bread, but the fare had been savory and as filling as could be expected. There was plenty of well water and a bushel of tart apples stored in the stable for the horses. No one was all that hungry as the night wore on. "Have you nothing to say to me?" Duncan asked Legion as he slid down beside his oldest brother. "Patriarch of the family that you are, aren't you suppose to admonish me for being away so long without letting the family know I was alive and well?" "It wouldn't do me any good to scold you," Legion said. "You have always had a mind of your own. I know you had reason for leaving."

"Do you, now?" "You ran away from Kaileel Tohre, just as Conar did. You got away." Legion looked across the stable where Conar sat playing chess with Marsh. "He didn't." "I'd have taken him with me if I could have, but Papa would've had soldiers hunt us down like stags to ground." A deep look of pain crossed Duncan's features. "Besides, by then it was too late. The damage had already been done." "You knew?" Legion felt shock that Duncan had been privy to what had happened to Conar. He thought only Hern had known. "Let's just say I suspected." Duncan's black hair was platted in one long braid down the center of his wide shoulders. He shook his head, swung the braid over his right shoulder, and held it up. "Do you remember when you and Brelan tried to cut my hair when I was eight?" Legion's smiled. "A mistake such as that I don't think either one of us is likely to ever forget." "No man touches what is mine without my permission. Kaileel tried with me, and he failed." His gaze went to Conar. "But I wasn't the one he wanted, anyway." "That bastard has hurt a lot of people." Legion nodded toward Chase Montyne. "A lot of people." Duncan took up a piece of hay from the floor and twirled it in his fingers. "And he's hurt you in a way only I can see, I think." "He never laid a hand on me. I was too wise to what he was. Jah-Ma-El, Galen, Conar...they were not so lucky." "Nicholas, too." Legion stared at him. "I didn't know." Shrugging his massive shoulders, Duncan sighed. "It was not something we talked about. My only regret is that we never told Papa. If we had, maybe something could have been done and Nicky wouldn't have had that son-of-a-bitch's hands on him." "Tohre has a lot to answer for." "He meant for Conar to suffer the most. It was always Conar with him. His unholy love for our brother was like a spur under his saddle. Once he had the kingdom totally in his power, he'd have brought Conar back in chains, at the mercy of the Domination, and the people would have done anything they were told to do in order to keep Conar safe." "He would've held him as ransom for our good behavior and cooperation, you mean?" "Exactly. That's why he never allowed any man other than Conar's own kin to wed his woman. He knew the dissension Conar's return would cause. And what better way to hurt our brother than to have you, the man he loved best, wed his woman? Such a realization must have pierced Conar to his very soul." Legion looked away, hurt by the words. "I never meant to hurt him." "Of course not. But you've only to look into his strange eyes to know how badly the situation torments him." He laid a hand on Legion's thigh. "I'm glad it's not me who keeps him from his heart's desire." Legion frowned. "Why do you say that?" "You're an intelligent man, A'Lex. How long do you think you can keep them apart? They were destined to be together. No matter how much she loves you or you love her, that love will never equal the god-sent attraction that first brought them--and held them--together." Legion ground his teeth. "She is my wife. I will not give her up!" "She was his wife, too. Do you really thinkhe has given her up?" ****

Well past midnight, the rain stopped at last. The wind lessened and the stars shone down on a cold night. Somewhere far off, a lonely wolf bayed to the heavens in thanksgiving, and a spectral bird chirped in the downed branches of a chinaberry tree. Liza made her way around broken furniture and fallen wood, past shattered glass and sodden clothing, heading down to the dungeon. She had awakened to the snores of the men in the stable and had stared at the creaking ceiling beams overhead. Sighing, she had given up trying to sleep, needing solitude she could not find amid a roomful of people. Drawing Legion's woolen great cape around her, she struggled with its bulk and weight, but grew thankful of the warmth. She took a lantern, but picking her way amid the destruction seemed easier than she had thought it would be--a lazy, bright moon shone down on the rubble like a beacon. As she stepped off the last riser to the dungeon floor, Liza tensed, hearing the crunch of a footstep behind her. Turning, she saw in the doorway a man silhouetted against the night sky, blotting out the moon's glow. "Milord?" she called, putting the lantern on the floor at her feet. The man started down the steps toward her, his heavier frame making the stairs creak. Liza recognized Legion in the glow of the candlelight, and hoped she could hide her disappointment. Her thoughts had not been on her husband, but on the one she thought would follow her. She felt shame that her willful mind had imagined Conar's arms around her, holding her in this secret place with tender care. Legion stepped off the stairs and faced his wife. "You were expecting him, weren't you? Was he supposed to meet you here?" "Legion, please, I don't want to fight." "And you don't want to be with me, either, do you? I saw your disappointment. You were sure it was Conar who had come to check on you." He grabbed her arm. "You can't deny it!" She wincing as his fingers dug into her arm. "Iam with you." "But you'd rather be with my brother, wouldn't you?" He shook her, ignoring her gasp of pain. "Aye, I am with you." "I won't let him have you! I'll fight him to the death before I'll let him take you away from me!" "Do youhear what you're saying?" she shouted. "You are that jealous of your own kin?" "I have eyes," he snarled down into her face. "I see the way you look at him, the way he looks at you.Everyone sees it! I hear the words you say to each other, but I also hear the words you do not say." "You are my husband. I..." "Buthe is your husband according to Multitude law, isn't he? And bastard that he is, he'll eventually call you to him, regardless of what he swore to me." "You're letting jealousy drive you mad! Conar is an honorable man. He keeps his vows." "And do you?" "Aye, I do!" Legion looked at her belly. His eyes grew hard as stone. "You're starting to show." Instinct made Liza cover her stomach with her hands as though to protect the fragile life growing there. She knew she only imagined the flutter of movement inside her. It was too soon yet for Conar's child to quicken. "Just one more tie to bind you to him," Legion growled, letting go of her arm. "One more reason to take him over me." "Are you forgetting our own children?" she yelled, more angry at him than she could ever remember. "Are they not ties that bindus together?"

"I thought they did." Legion's gaze swept down her slender frame. "But it seems you have no trouble breeding by whatever McGregor male comes your way!" Her fingers raked along his jaw line. She fought hard as he tried to ward off her slaps. Struggling against him, she felt him scooping her into his arms even as she continued to pummel his head with her fists. He flung her to a cot inside a cell, covering her protesting body with his own. "Damn it, get up!" she yelled, feeling his hands fumbling with the hem of her gown. "Legion, stop it!" She squirmed, turning her head side to side, denying the hot, fevered kisses he rained on her cheek, neck and chin. He pinned her hands to the cot by her head, and thrust one leg between her own to still her kicking. "Stop it!" She tried biting his lips, but he jerked away his head, pushing her face against the moldy mattress. Legion's lips slashed across her cheek and found her ear, nibbled on the soft flesh. Liza wedged her knee between his thighs and slammed it into his testicles. He flipped off the cot and crashed to the stone floor, doubling over and cupping his groin with his hands. Liza scampered from the cot and ran, sobbing hysterically. "If you go up those stairs," he called, "if you leave me here, I will never forgive you!" She stopped to look back at him. He had dragged himself up. He leaned against the wall, then bent over, retching. "I am no man's whore, Legion A'Lex! Not even yours!" He pushed himself from the wall and staggered out of the cell toward her. "You told me you had made a bargain with the Darkwind, Elizabeth. Is that not whoring?" "Nothing ever came of it! I would have found a way to deny him." "You might not have known who the Darkwind was, but you wanted him." Legion pulled himself along the wall. "You felt desire--" "I felt no such thing!" "You might not have known he was Conar, but your body did. Your body betrayed you." He stood staring at her. "Tell me you don't want him. Tell me you don't love him. Tell me you weren't disappointed it was me instead of Conar who came to you tonight." "You're letting rivalry, your jealousy of Conar, speak for you." "Maybe my jealousy sees what my heart has refused to." "And that is?" she asked, fling her question like a challenge. "That you're a faithless bitch who doesn't deserve my love and respect!" His lip lifted in scorn. "You two deserve what Tohre did to him!" A stab of intense pain went through Liza's heart. Like daggers, her husband's words drew the lifeblood from her vitals. She took a step backward, away from the ugly look on his face, away from the hateful words on his lips, then turned and fled up the stairs. "If you go to him, I'll kill him, Elizabeth!" Legion shouted. "I swear before the gods, I will!" Liza heard him cursing her. She darted past Grice as he stood beside a timber, relieving himself. Her brother called to her, but she blocked her mind to everything but the need to be as far away from Legion as possible. She skidded down the debris, then ran headlong into the bailey and out through the gaping maw of the watchtower to the dark forest beyond. ---Legion staggered to the top of the stairs and through the ruined doorway of the dungeon. He saw Grice. "Stop her,

you fool! When I get my hands on her, I'll beat her senseless!" "But I--" As if in slow motion, Legion stumbled. His feet slid back down the first tread, his arms cartwheeled, his hands grabbed at the door jamb to keep himself from pitching backward down the stairs. The wood give way. In horror, Grice observed Legion bang hard against the wall and balustrade as he crashed downward. Grice raced across the rubble..."Legion!" ---Hearing the commotion, the others roused and ran to the stable door. Pushing through the debris, they called out to Grice, now disappearing down the stairs. "It's Legion! He's fallen!" Grice replied. "Get a blanket! And some brandy!" Earlier, lying on his straw pallet, Conar had "listened" to the conversation between Legion and Liza, hearing each word as distinctly as though he had been in the dungeon with them. With fists clenched, his jaw set, he forced himself to stay put, to not interfere. But at the last threat Legion made, Conar had leapt to his feet, furious with rage. "Damn you, no!" he growled. "You won't threaten her, A'Lex!" He took a step forward, feeling Liza's fear. "Stay away from her!" A second after that, Legion had fallen, pushed down the stairs by the rage of Conar's powerful thoughts. He hadn't meant to strike out at his brother, but his powers had gotten the better of him, had lashed out with a will of their own. Now, Conar pushed the others out of his way and rushed down the dungeon stairs. He stopped where Legion lay and drew in a harsh breath. "How badly is he hurt?" "A broken leg, possibly a dislocated shoulder." Grice touched the side of Legion's head. "Maybe a concussion. I don't know. He's bleeding at his temple and he's unconscious." Jah-Ma-El skirted the men gathering around Legion and knelt beside his brother. With his knowing hands, he assessed the damage, then glanced at Conar. "I'll need to set this leg before we can move him up the stairs." Conar put his hand under the unconscious man's back, lifted him, and braced Legion against his chest, enfolding him in his arms. His gaze fused with Jah-Ma-El's. "Do it before he wakes." Jah-Ma-El's hands roamed over Legion's leg, stopped, probed, hesitated, before moving to another area. When he had found the right place, he flexed his fingers along the calf muscle and shifted the leg. A thin, popping sound followed. Legion's eyes fluttered, although he didn't wake. Another movement of Jah-Ma-El's hands had the bones back in proper alignment. "Someone bring me a straight board and some bandages. I'll need to splinter this leg." Jah-Ma-El put his hands on Legion's shoulder and nodded. "It's dislocated. Hold him tightly, Conar. He may be waking." Legion groaned as Jah-Ma-El moved his shoulder into its socket with the practiced ease of a Healer. His loud grunt of pain and jerking body told everyone he had felt what Jah-Ma-El did. "Thom! Bent! Find something we can use to carry him up the stairs." Jah-Ma-El looked into Legion's pain-filled face. "Who am I?" Legion blinked several times, as if to focus the images before him. "My...brother..." "And who are you?" Jah-Ma-El stroked the blood-damp side of Legion's head. "Your brother..." Legion shifted his gaze toward Roget. "Who pushed me, du Mer?" Roget sighed. Looking at Jah-Ma-El, he grinned. "He'll be all right." "Who the hell pushed me?" Legion asked, trying to sit up and drawing in his breath. When Conar tightened his grip, Legion craned his head to look straight into Conar's gaze. The question died on his lips. "Youdid it," he accused, his stare boring into Conar. "Youpushed me down the gods-be-damned stairs!"

"Legion," Grice said, hunkering beside his friend. "Conar wasn't anywhere near you when--" "You didn't have to be, did you, Conar?" The anger in A'Lex's words sounded like sizzling meat on a brazier. Conar looked at Roget. "Take him." He waited until Roget accepted the burden of Legion's body, then stood. "I'llnever forgive you, Conar," Legion ground out. "You could have killed me!" "Aye, but I didn't." "You want her that badly? Badly enough to kill me to get her?" For a long moment, no one spoke, no one moved. The brothers stared at one another. Neither gave ground, neither looked away. A mute understanding passed from one man to the other, excluded those gathered. "You are no brother of mine," Legion said, stamping finality to the confrontation. "From this day forward, I do not claim you. You are nothing to me." "Careful what you say," Jah-Ma-El warned. "Conar has kept away from the lady, except for that one night when he didn't know what he was doing. You said you forgave him. Is your word of no consequence?" Legion kept his eyes on Conar. "Words of honor spoken to a man of his ilk are meaningless. Forgiveness for something he intended to do all along will not come from me!" He struggled to raise himself to a sitting position. "Father was right in disowning you. You are no longer a member of this family!" Conar turned his back on Legion and began to climb the stairs. "If you want her that badly," Legion called, "then you can have her! I'll not lower myself any longer to accept your leavings!" Turning, fixing Legion with a look of anguish, Conar tried to keep the catch out of his voice. "She is your wife. Don't speak of her like that." "She is nothing to me, likeyou are nothing to me! You wanted her so badly you were willing to kill me. Then take her, Conar. I want nothing to do with either of you!" An angry line formed along Conar's lips. He came down the stairs and crept toward his brother. "Are you sure that is what you want?" The hateful smirk on Legion's bearded face gave him the answer. "All right! So be it!" Spinning around, Conar took the stairs two at a time, his heavy footsteps causing the treads to tremble in protest. His sixth sense drove him toward the forest. Opening his psyche to the finely tuned connection between him and Liza, he could sense her pain, her worry calling to him in the night. He had heard her gasp of horror and knew she was aware of Legion's fall. A tremor ran along his nerve endings. His breathing slowed, almost stopped, as he concentrated on the vibrations. He willed his heart to stop its frantic tempo. He listened, not to the night sounds, but for the strumming of his and her life forces as they erratically throbbed. He pictured her in his mind, heard her heart beating in unison with his. He listened closer, cocking his head to one side. A faint sound, a mobile humming, played just beyond his conscious hearing. He concentrated harder than he had ever done in his life. There! Over there. He heard it! For only a fraction of a second, he heard the hum of her life force, pulsing like the middle string on a guitar. It moved in opposition to his own lower-pitched hum. With an effort, he omitted the throb of his own rhythm and heard hers clearly. Far away, but he heard it just the same.

He headed for the sound. For the next ten minutes, he clawed and twisted through the forest, the light of the skipping moon lighting his way to a potter's shed, miraculously still standing, despite the fierce storms. He opened the door and entered. "I needed you," she whispered. "I'm here now," he said, closing the door behind him. Conar followed the sweet scent of her body to find her. He gathered her forbidden curves against him, and placed her head against his chest. His arms cradled her with a possessive force he could no longer deny. His lips found her hair, and he kissed the silkiness, his cheek pressed along the side of her head. "I knew you'd come," she said, her voice quivering. "I always will." Feeling tears sliding down her cheeks, he held her as though nothing in this world or beyond could sever them. "It will always be me, Liza. I will always be there for you." A torrent of sobs ripped through her trembling body. She gripped him with the arms of a drowning woman, hugging him fiercely. "I want you so much." His face creased into a mask of pain. "Oh Liza, the gods know I have tried to stay away from you, to do the right thing, to be loyal to Legion. I wanted no fight with him. I didn't mean to push him..." Her fingertips came up to silence him. "I know, beloved," she murmured, letting her fingers trail down his throat. "I understand." He shivered. "Legion wanted this thing between us. I didn't. But I won't back down to him. I won't. He willnever lay a hand on you again. Not after tonight. If you stay with me, Elizabeth, I can never again allow you to be with another man!" Stern yet cautious, he drew back to look into her face, now visible in moonlight spilling through a small window. "I will have you sure of this." "I have never been surer of anything in my life. I want to be with you. Only you." He crushed her to him, feverishly pressing her body to his own. His hands went up her back of their own volition and entangled themselves in the rich, radiant abundance of her raven tresses. He dragged back her head so his lips could taste the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. A low groan of mindless arousal escaped his questing lips, and his mouth traveled over her chin to claim hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue violently stabbed into her sweet mouth, penetrating her, claiming her, branding her. Bending down, he put his hands under her legs and lifted her off the floor. Liza wrapped her legs around his hips as he strode to the wall and pinned her against the rough wood. His right hand pushed aside her skirt, ripped away her stockings from the warm juncture of her thighs. He shifted her higher up the wall until he could tear at the buttons of his breeches. His manhood sprang forward with purposeful intent. "Liza," he groaned deep in his throat, his husky grunt of passion loud in the stillness of the potting shed. His hands slid under her, tightly cupping her buttocks. Lifting her to his hardness, he entered her with a quick lunge, going deep. When he completely filled her moistness, he stilled, allowing her to feel the throbbing length of his penis buried within her. "Feel it! Feel me inside you! Feel my love inside you, Elizabeth!" His hands dug into her rump and he pulled out of her, the wetness of his sword leaving a moist trail on the lips of her womanhood. Liza gasped, groaning at his withdrawal. Her nails dug into his shoulders. "Conar, please...please don't tease me..." Smiling triumphantly, he settled her higher against the wall and thrust into her again, forcing himself as deep as he could go. He heard her short gasp of pleasured pain when she ground herself against him, as if needing the hard strength of him impaling her. He withdrew and heard her softly sighed "no," then eased back into her, driving deep and full.

The urgency of his lust pounded in his ears, the heat of her sheathing him making him wild with passion. But he controlled the need to fill her with his seed. The thought of her, the smell of her drove him mad, yet he concentrated on making her come before him. His manhood leapt inside her, throbbing with so much intensity he bit his lip to keep from climaxing. She became an ache in the very core of him. "Shall I pay homage to you, my Queen?" he whispered in her ear. His tongue flicked inside the spiral of pink flesh. Liza breathed hard. "Aye! Fill me, my dark warlord. My darling Prince of the Wind. Fill me with your love!" He felt her tightening around him and knew he wouldn't be able to stop the flood of semen threatening to erupt. "Then have me, Beloved...have all of me!" He pulled out of her, then drove upward, into her quivering flesh. A blinding surge of hot fluid spilled into her waiting womanhood; a burst of flame erupted over both of them as his seed surged deep within her soft flesh. When he heard her scream his name, felt her hips jerking against his pelvis, he threw back his head and howled to the heavens-"Mine!"

Chapter 11 The Ravenwindhad a difficult time maneuvering along the coastline of Serenia during the heavy rains that lasted for nearly a month. For most of that time, the black ship had ridden at anchor just beyond the jut of land known as Widow's Point, about twenty miles south of Boreas Keep. Her crew, captained by Gilbert Tarnes, arrived at the turn of the new year with a precious cargo destined for Ivor Keep. When they finally lowered a jolly boat into the subsiding waves, Tarnes and the second mate, Albert Lichter, set out immediately for the keep. By the time the bone-tired men, unaccustomed to horseback, arrived at the ruined keep, they stood outside the destruction with looks of intense worry on their weather-worn faces. "You reckon there's people buried in that rubble?" Albert asked, his voice low and fearful. "You reckon the captain and the lad are under that mess?" Gilbert Tarnes spat a long, thick stream of tobacco juice from his toothless mouth and gaped up at the only thing standing at the keep--the air shaft leading to the dungeon. "He's alive and so's Paegan." He looked back to the third man with them. "Ain't that so, Milord?" "Indeed they are, Mr. Tarnes." The man swung a long leg from his mount and quieted the horse when the beast sidestepped his hand. "Easy," he said in an oddly accented voice. "There's no death here." "Hello!" They spied a young man walking toward them from the midst of the ruins. He raised his hand and waved. "It's Paegan," Tarnes snorted, spitting another stream of dark brown juice. Paegan's face paled when he saw the tall, impressive man standing beside the sailors. His smile faltered and he stumbled, his mouth coming open in surprise. The man laughed, handing his reins to Albert. "Don't look so worried, Paegan. You have done nothing wrong." Paegan grinned sickly. "I hope not, sir." Skirting the fallen timbers, the tall man walked to Paegan and held out his hand. Grasping the slim wrist in his own, he

took a firm grip and cocked a thick black brow. "Has something happened that has you worried?" "Ah, like what?" "Like trouble here." He looked beyond Paegan's shoulder. "Other than that caused by nature?" Wincing, Paegan looked toward the stables. "Never mind. I'll see for myself." Striding briskly toward the stable, the man cast his gaze around the debris and seemed to sigh in regret. "This was once a beautiful piece of architecture." ---Stunned expressions and opened mouths rewarded the man when he entered the stable. His passing brought nervous jittering to the men who sat about the hay bales in the early morning light. They came slowly to their feet and looked at each other, not daring to speak, not willing to draw his attention to them. As he neared Roget and Brelan, bent over Legion A'Lex's pallet, every ear strained to hear the reaction. "Damn it, Legion," Brelan said. "Will you listen to reason?" "Saur?" Roget du Mer interrupted. "Leave me alone! I'm trying to make this fool listen!" "Ah, Bre." Roget pulled on Brelan's sleeve. Brelan knocked away the hand. "Handle it yourself!" "Saur!" came a voice from behind. Annoyed beyond belief that whoever called him could not see the importance of his actions, Brelan jerked his head around and started to shout at the intruder. The words died in his throat. "Where is your brother?" Saur coughed, then gagged, his normally placid face turning red. "I asked you a question." ---Legion craned his head around Brelan and looked at the stranger. What he saw lifted his brow in query. The man was obviously someone of importance by the way both du Mer and Brelan gaped in fear. The long, braided silver-white hair, the hawkish nose, and the direct stare could mean only one thing. "Occultus Noire," Legion whispered. The man shifted his attention to the pallet, smiled, and reached down his hand. "King Legion? I am honored. I have heard much of you from your brothers." He clasped Legion's wrist in a strong grip. "Where is Conar?" Legion snarled. "Getting his cock sore, I would imagine!" "The woman?" Occultus asked Roget. "He'll explain things to you, Master," Roget answered. "Oh, I can explain things!" Legion shouted. "Legion, don't," Brelan warned. "What's the matter, little brother? Don't you think this man knows what kind of bastard Conar is? He trained him, didn't he? Don't you think he knows Conar's the kind of man who steals another man's wife and turns her into a

whore?" Occultus sighed and looked at Jah-Ma-El, standing nervously off to one side and holding a brandy bottle. He returned his gaze to the pallet, likely assessing Legion's inebriated state. "Conar is in charge of his own destiny. He knows what he wants and has gone after it." "And with your blessing, I suppose!" Legion squinted at the man. "Did you help him steal my wife from me?" "He does not need my help, King Legion. Your brother has outdistanced my small charge of power. He's far more powerful than any sorcerer who has ever lived. Surely you suspected as much." "Aye, but he neededmy wife to make him so powerful!My wife, Occultus. Not his!" "There should be no division in his mind now, King Legion. I feel the battle is coming--that is why I am here. Conar should be centered, totally aware of what is happening. If he is worried about this division between the two of you, he can make mistakes that may prove disastrous. Mistakes that could take his life." Legion shifted on the pallet. "I don't give a rat's ass whether he lives or dies!" Gasps of shock came from those gathered, but Occultus held up his hand, calling for quiet. "You know you do not mean that. Be careful what you say, King Legion. Words often come back to haunt us. Conar needs the love and strength of his entire family behind him now. You are furious with him, but you know in your heart he was destined to be with Elizabeth Wynth as surely as the wind blows down from the heavens. She is, and always has been, his chosen destiny. Your love for her, or her affection for you, can not change what the gods decreed long before either he or she was conceived." "Then why did They let me have her at all?" Legion cried, tears gathering in his eyes. "I love her! She is my life! Why let me have her if only to take her back in such a cruel fashion?" "Just as she was taken from your brother? Whose was the greater hurt, King Legion? Yours or his?" Legion attempted to look away from the man's keen stare, but could not. "Do you not know that you are your brother's favorite? That you were not only his kinsman, but his best friend? Who taught him how to love, A'Lex? Who cared for him when he came back from the Monastery a child whose soul had been damaged? What other person would the gods have entrusted with Conar's most prized possession than you? You were chosen long ago to be her protector, her champion until the time was right for Conar to reclaim her. Do you really think the gods let Kaileel Tohre make such a decision as that by himself?" Legion's cheeks burned with fury. He dared not open his mouth and say what he wanted, for the look on the man's face--kind, pitying--cut him to the core. "Think on what I have said. Let not your jealousy and your hurt sway you from what you know is right." ---Occultus motioned for Brelan and Roget to follow him. "Behave," Brelan warned Legion before he left. Outside in the first sunshine the keep's inhabitants had seen in many a week, Brelan sighed, keenly feeling the precariousness of their situation. "He is with her?" Occultus inquired. "We believe so," du Mer answered. "Did he cause his brother's accident?" Brelan shrugged. "Legion thinks he did." "Then he did." Occultus looked toward the forest. "Did no one think to talk to him before this impasse arrived?" "How do you tell a man like him 'no'?" Roget asked. "We all saw this coming from the moment Elizabeth stepped foot

in Ivor." Frowning, his gaze fixed on the forest, Occultus released a long breath. "When a man loves as blindly as Conar, it is not healthy. It is a thing to be feared. He has let this love become the center of everything he does. He has become as addicted to her as he was to the drugs. Conar has stepped over the boundary of love and entered the dark side of obsession." He looked at the men. "What if something should happen to this woman? What would happen to Conar?" Brelan made no reply, but her knew the answer in his heart. If something ever happened to Elizabeth, Conar might well cease to exist.

Chapter 12 "What are you thinking?" Conar drew a lazy circle on Liza's upper arm as it lay across his bare torso. She nestled closer to his side. Her fingers smoothed the pelt of hair at the center of his chest. "About how happy I am right now. About how content...how peaceful..." "How sated?" he teased, gently pinching her arm. She giggled. "That, too." "Shameless hussy." He kissed the top of her head, then threaded his fingers through hers and brought them to his lips. "What wereyou thinking, Milord?" He drew in a deep breath. "How sore I am." Her laughter rang out in the shed. She playfully nipped his shoulder with her teeth. When Conar gathered her to him, Liza flexed her toes against his. "Can I help it if I could not get enough of you?" "It's your own fault if you're sore." She pulled out of his arms. "I was merely minding my own business and you took advantage of me." He raised himself up on his elbow and planted a light kiss on her throat. Lifting a lock of her black hair, he drew it over her lips. "Quit tickling me." Conar smiled. "It wasn't my intention to tickle you, Madame, but rather to f--" "I know your intent, Milord. You've made that perfectly clear since last eve." He laughed and lay back down. Putting his hands under his head, he stared at the rafters. A faint beam of sunlight seeped through a hole in the roof and cast light on the floating specks of dust that whirled about the shack. He heard distant thunder and grimaced, hating the idea of another week of rain. "We'd better leave for Boreas soon." "Legion won't be able to leave. You couldn't get a wagon through the ruts. How will we get him home?" Conar frowned. "He'll have to stay until we can. I'll leave behind enough staff to take care of him, and send supplies until a wagon can make the journey from Boreas." He looked at her. "Besides, he needs time to think."

Liza lowered her head, mirroring Conar's guilt. They had spent much of the night speaking of what they had done to Legion until the subject--and they--had been exhausted. There would be no turning back, they had agreed, and Legion would have to learn to live with the situation. For a long time they rested in silence. A light sheen of perspiration covered Conar's body where it touched hers, and he half-dozed in contentment. "Conar?" she asked in a hesitant voice. "What will you do about Regan?" "What made you think of him?" "Raja." He sat up, braced himself on both elbows, and stared at her. "And what made you think of her?" "Did you enjoy her? Did she give you pleasure?" Red tinted her cheeks. Conar's brow shot up. "If she did, I sure as hell wasn't aware of it." "She gave you something?" "I wouldn't have touched the bitch otherwise," came the clipped, angry reply. "Did she not offer herself to you?" "Many times." "Then why did you not--" "I didn't want her, Liza." "And the other?" "What other?" he asked, feeling shame over every woman he had bedded since returning to Serenia. "The one who was killed in Chrystallus." "Se Huan." A memory of her flitted across his mind like a will-o'-the-wisp. He smiled. "She slept with me, but I did not make love to her." "Amber-lea?" He frowned. Was she going to ask about all the women he'd screwed? He knew he deserved it; after all, on more than one occasion, he had brought up her lovers--Galen and Brelan and Legion. He shook his head. "I don't love her." "Yet she is carrying your babe." "She loves Brelan," Conar said, a hint of resentment in his voice. "I know! What do you intend to do about her?" "Take care of the babe if Bre doesn't marry her. But I believe he will when we get back to Boreas. He's as much as said so." "And Regan?" "I haven't given it much thought, but I believe it would be best if I sent him to Chrystallus. I don't trust him around Corbin. The boy has too much of Raja in him, for my tastes." "He's a lonely child. I think he needs love and understanding. Perhaps you are right, though. If you send him to your Aunt Dyreil, she will see to it he is cared for, won't she?" "Aye. And Wyn, Coron, and Dyllon can help her. Maybe all he needs is time to adjust to this way of life away from Tohre and his kind." He sighed. "Until this thing with the Domination is settled, I don't have time to give him or Corbin

the attention they deserve." "And no time to give to any other women?" she asked, searching his eyes for the answer. "No, Milady. No time for anyone who would try to take your place." "Could someone take my place, Milord?" "You know better." She rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I know they had better not try." In the soft glow of sunlight, he grinned. Liza was as possessive of him as she had ever been, and it made him happy. He felt gratified and safe and at peace for the first time in a long while. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against hers and fell asleep. **** He took a deep breath, careful not to rouse the lady curled at his side. He heard again the sound that had nudged him awake, and listened intently, suddenly alert. Easing Liza out of his arms, he rolled away. He came to his feet and reached for his dagger, clamped it between his teeth, then searched for his breeches. Finding them, he hastily drew them on, slipped on his boots, and stepped to the doorway. He was about to open the door when Liza stirred. Her mouth formed silent words of inquiry. He put a finger to his lips and silently commanded her to stay where she was. "Conar?" came the call from outside. He groaned. "I don't need this..." ---Liza saw Conar go absolutely still, an unbelieving look on his face. He half-turned toward her, a blush on his high cheekbones. "Who is it?" she whispered. "Come out, Conar," issued the voice in stern command. He sighed, opened the door and stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him. "So," came the voice, "what tragedy have you set into motion?" Liza scrambled to draw on her gown, struggling with the buttons as she tried to fasten the back. She slipped into her shoes, padded softly to the window, and peered out. She saw Conar, his head down, hands thrust into his pockets, standing before a lofty, distinguished-looking gentleman, speaking to him in such a low tone, she could not hear. The toe of Conar's right boot dug into the ground; he looked like a schoolboy being reprimanded by a headmaster. Occasionally he would lift his eyes to the man, wince with what could only be guilt, then look at the ground again. When the stranger laid a hand on his shoulder, he flinched as though about to be hit, and shook his head. "What the hell is this?" Liza mumbled, not liking the way the tall man caused her beloved obvious humiliation and pain. She jerked open the door and hastened toward them, wondering at the look of avid shame on Conar's face as he glanced at her. She swept her gaze upward to the handsome face of the older man. "Queen Elizabeth," he greeted, sweeping her a courtly bow. "I have looked forward to meeting you." Ignoring the man's words and look of friendliness, Liza turned to Conar. "Who is this person?" "Ah, protective of her love, is she." The man began quoting a popular poet. "'That nary an arrow fly his way. With her own breast she does his agony take, and then send him merrily on his way.'" He gave a low chuckle. "Do you fight his

battle for him, my Queen?" Liza found something about the man offensive, despite his admirable clothing and elegant manner. "Whoare you?" When he lifted his hand, palm out to her in a gesture of peace, she gaped at the pentagram burned into his flesh. "Like your beloved, I, too, once felt the fire of the Domination's wrath. Like him, I survived, much to Kaileel Tohre's dismay." "You are Occultus," she said, understanding coming over her with his bemused smile. He swept her another deep bow. "I am he." His dark gaze moved to Conar and filled with affection. "I was not shaming him in any way, Milady. Only reminding him of what is to come." Once more he put his hand on Conar's wide shoulder and squeezed. "I would not think to play his conscience for him." Conar smiled hesitantly. "You don't need to reprimand to have me feel your disapproval." Occultus shrugged. "Not disapproval, nor even disappointment. Simply exasperation with your single-minded stubbornness." He looked at Liza. "There was never a question of his reclaiming you, Milady. He knew that." Liza cocked a brow. "Is that so?" "It was only a matter of time." He smiled. "That he did not bide that time well is understandable. Such is his character flaw, I think." "Quite." At Conar's look, Liza smiled sweetly. "He is like unto a mule at times, Master Occultus." The man laughed. "Come, let us return to the stables. If my instincts are correct, we should leave this place soon, for rain is coming again." He put his arm around Conar's shoulder. "Tell me what you have planned." **** In the shadows of the forest, behind the spreading branches of a fledging black walnut tree, Regan watched the trio leave the clearing before the potter's shed. His lip turned up in hatred for the tall man. "He'll come sooner or later," Kaileel had warned before sending Regan to Boreas. "He'll not be able to stay away. But he is of no importance. I will see to that. Do what you must and make sure the tall one does not overly take note of you." "I hate you," Regan snarled, switching his stare to his father's back. "And I hate you!" Conar's words to the woman regarding his plans still sang in Regan's ears. He would die before being sent to that ice-cold country where Conar planned to exile him. He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes. If he could not be with his father, his father would be with no one!

Chapter 13 Rain misted along the road leading to Boreas; occasional thunder rumbled in the distance. But for the most part, the journey home wasn't as bad as everyone had predicted. Occasionally they found the roadway washed out and a detour became necessary, but the bridges, although waterlogged, proved sound, and the horses made good headway in the muck and mud. Stopping at noon near a farmhouse, Sentian and Marsh were sent to buy provisions for both the traveling party and

those who remained at Ivor. Marsh would take the goods back to the stable at Epstein for Legion and the four servants left behind to care for him. "The farm is fairly rich," Sentian informed Conar. "They were glad to provide food. I believe you know the owners." Sentian smiled and lowered his voice. "The lady says she is Wyn's aunt, Monique." Conar remembered the woman, the sister of his eldest son's mother, Myra Luz. He looked across the clearing to where Liza sat with Occultus, their heads lowered as they spoke in quiet tones. When she glanced his way, he winked, she smiled, and Occultus reached out to regain her attention. "He's quite taken with her," Chase remarked, carving himself a piece of roast turkey. "I actually heard him laugh a while ago." A glimmer of jealousy entered Conar's mind, but quickly vanished. "He admires her talents." "Who doesn't?" Duncan chuckled. "Don't glower at me, Conar. The woman's not bad to look upon." After the meal, the group set off for the last ten miles to the keep. The mist had turned to a hard sprinkle. Though the riders huddled into what warmth their protective oilskin capes could offer, many sneezes and sniffles rang out as the party neared the redoubt of Boreas Keep. **** "Regan?" Corbin looked back at his brother. "Is it true you're leaving whenThe Ravenwind sets sail in three days?" "That's his plan." Regan looked hard at Conar's back. "But he doesn't always get what he wants, does he?" Sentian turned a fierce look on the boy. "Aye, but he does. You'll be on that ship, mister." Regan turned his face away from the warrior, hating the man almost as much as he did his own father. Inside, he seethed, loathing everyone around him. His narrowed gaze took in the pennants being hoisted above the battlements--Conar's, Legion's, the woman's. Even Corbin's personal standard soon fluttered beneath Conar's. "No damned flag for me!" he spat, envy eating at his vitals with bitter acid. "I don't count." "No, you don't," Sentian agreed. He dug his heels into the flanks of his roan and shot forward. "Bastard," Regan whispered, tears filling his eyes. He looked up to the pennants, then cast his gaze to Corbin, waving gaily at civilian's paying homage to the royal family. When stares lit on him, though, heads turned to whisper in shushed tones. "The witch's spawn," a woman said nastily as her glower bore into him. "His Grace had no choice but to take in the brat. His mother didn't want no part of him." "Must be something wrong with the child," another answered. That Regan could hear their words made no difference to them. His face, red with shame, apparently did not register as they pointed and laughed or shook their heads. They had no smiles for him as they had for Corbin. No waves, no cheers. Only speculation and wariness. Trying desperately to show these people that he didn't care what they thought, Regan held his head a little higher and did not look down again at the people he passed. **** Gezelle was waiting for the travelers at the keep's front entrance. Beside her, the King and Queen's children jumped up and down, waiting impatiently for their mother to dismount. They craned their necks, looking for their father. When Conar slid from his mount and lifted down their mother, five sets of little eyes widened in surprise. "Where's Papa?" Kells, the youngest, asked Justin, the eldest of Legion's sons. "Why ishe holding Mama's hand like that?" Jarad hissed. Cayn groaned behind her. "There's been a change, I think."

Gezelle looked around. Like her, those gathered along the covered passageways apparently did not miss the possessive way Conar helped the Queen from her mare. Nor did they miss the affectionate way in which she smiled at him. As the crowd watched the couple enter the keep after stopping to hug Gezelle and greet the children, they looked to one another with expressions of surprise. **** At precisely four of the clock that rainy afternoon, the courtyard filled to overflowing with the curious and the worried. Huddling under every available overhang, most of the people shivered with cold, and more than one person remarked that it seemed reminiscent of that November morn long ago when they had waited to see their Princess Elizabeth McGregor for the first time. An old man chuckled. "Do you remember how he had her come out in the veil? How pleased with himself he was? Should have known he was up to something, that lad. Always knew he was a mischief-maker! God love 'em. Hope they're back together." That seemed the sentiment of most of the people waiting for Conar to come out on the balcony and speak to them. A few seemed hesitant to accept the situation, still worried about Tribunal law, even though the Tribunal had not existed in Boreas since Conar took charge the year before. And a few did not want such a thing to happen at all, their loyalty held expressly to Legion A'Lex. When the balcony doors opened, the crowd instantly fell quiet. ---"I won't keep you long," Conar said, mindful of the steady rain. "You have questions, and I hope to give you answers both of us can live with." He looked behind him and held out his hand. Liza stepped onto the balcony to join him. "This morning, King Legion signed a paper relinquishing all ties to this lady." A shocked gasp ran through the crowd. Conar waited until things quieted. "There can be no annulment under the old laws of the Tribunal, for neither this lady nor her husband has committed any act of treason or treachery." Legion might disagree, Conar thought with some sadness. "From this moment forward, your Queen has resumed her former title of Princess." Conar smiled. "You may ask how that can be, and I hope I can explain it where you will understand." He clenched Liza's hand, took a deep breath, and hoped to the gods his explanation would satisfy those gathered. "As you know, there is no provision under Boreal law that allows for divorce. The old laws were changed to suit the Domination, but those laws were not what the people wanted, so I have discarded them. Most of what the Priests of that hellish order did was to create laws that benefited them and not the people, so I believe nothing they did should be kept on the books. Do you?" A general roar of denial thundered through the courtyard. "But Tribunal laws were, for the most part, geared to protect and preserve our culture. Even though some of those laws--laws like the ones that sent me and many a good man to the Labyrinth--were aimed at keeping total control of our culture in the hands of the priesthood." "Aye, Your Grace!" someone shouted. "But not no more!" "No, never again will the priesthood rule this country." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "And never again will a sovereign sit on the throne of this palace to govern you by the old Tribunal laws." Another gasp flowed through the courtyard. Heads turned; voices lifted in confusion. When quiet finally returned at Belvoir's roar of command, Conar could have heard a pin drop. "I have spoken with my son, Corbin." Stunned looks crossed the faces of many who obviously did not know the identity of the boy's true father. "He and I have agreed that the monarchy in this land is finished as it was before. A government of the people, and for the people, shall be established. A commission of men and women will make the

new laws, which will be voted on by those being governed. Such a democratic concept is alien to most of us, but it works well in Oceania where Prince Grice and Prince Chand have adopted such a system, and I believe it will work equally well here." "Who's gonna make such laws, Lord Conar?" someone called. "We will hold a free election in the next few weeks. Before then, I will expect each and every one of you to write down--or to tell your choice to one of the scribes we will make available to you--the man or woman you think is well suited to help form these laws. Your candidate must be someone who can read and write, who is fair-minded and ethical, who you believe will represent you fairly and equally under the law." His expression turned stern. "I will have no man or woman sit on the commission who is there for personal gain. And believe me, I will know. So make your choices well, my friends, for you will be the ones to reap that man or woman's harvest." "What about you, Lord Conar?" a woman shouted. "We don't want no one but you!" When other strident voices chimed in, Conar held up his hand. "I will be the arbitrator in final matters--a judge, if you will. Until the laws that will govern this land are enacted, and each and every one of us is pleased with the outcome, I will remain your Regent. When Prince Corbin is of age, he will assume the position of Prince of Serenia." "We won't have no king?" an old man asked. "King Legion has been dethroned?" "I am, with this document"--Conar held up a paper--"abolishing my brother Legion's Kingship of this sovereign land and declaring it a Principality." He waited until the uproar died down before resuming. "This, along with the divorce I have had prepared for the Princess Elizabeth, will be the last acts of this monarchy under my brother's rule. He has signed each article and will not challenge the divorce." "Then the Princess ain't his lady no more?" a young man yelled, obvious disappointment on his beefy face. "No," Conar said. "She's not." "Is she yours, then, Lord Conar?" He looked at the lovely woman at his side. "She is." "And how can you do that?" a woman asked. "How do you justify taking her away from her lawful husband?" A few angry mumbles echoed the woman's sharp words. "I would not dare to change any laws that would harm my people. But since the Princess Elizabeth was forced into marriage with Galen McGregor in order to protect my son, Corbin, then forced to wed my brother, Legion, as ransom for our people's good conduct, I hereby invoke the laws of our ancestors and declare both marriages to have been invalid." "Prince Corbin be your son?" a woman shouted. "Conceived the night before I was jailed. My lady had no choice but to let the world think he was Galen's son, for fear the Tribunal would try to prevent him from being born. Galen knew the truth, and upheld the ruse for that very reason." A mumble of understanding spilled from the crowd, but one irate man shouted over the noise. "That makes it all legal-like, don't it?" "That is does!" "But ye ain't married to Her Grace, neither!" a woman accused. "Your marriage to her was annulled 'cause of adultery, and now here you be with her again, all cozy. How do we take that, Lord Conar?" ---In the back of the crowd, Duncan felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to stare into the face of an old friend. "Shall we discuss this new turn of events?" the man asked. "Aye." Duncan cast one final look at the balcony, where Conar and Liza stood side by side, their arms around each

other. Conar continued. "The lady and I are to be betrothed in a ceremony performed this eve by Father Barell, the High Priest of the WindWarrior Society. When her divorce banns have been read and the prescribed three-day wait is over, we will be rejoined according to the old laws. That will make it legal in the eyes of the gods and man." "Not inmy eyes," Duncan's friend mumbled. Duncan turned away, shutting out the arguments coming from the crowd, Conar's explanations, and the cheers that finally erupted when the talking finished. "He always get what he wants," Duncan sighed heavily. "Not this time," his friend vowed. "Not this time..."

Chapter 14 Sadie MacCorkingdale glared across the room at the two people laughing softly over some private joke. The old cook's face turned malicious, filled with enough venom to slay an entire regiment of men. Snorting when a lingering kiss became the punchline to the joke, Sadie turned and found herself confronting Regan's cold stare. "What you want, boy?" she snapped, stirring a pot of bubbling oatmeal. Looking past her, Regan saw his father and the Queen--he would think of Liza in no other way--staring foolishly into each other's eyes, oblivious to anyone else in the kitchen. With a bony hand, Sadie shook him. He glared at her with such hate, the woman jerked back her hand. She looked at Conar and the lady, then returned her gaze to Regan. "You don't care much for the way things have happened, either, do you, boy?" she whispered. "Do you?" "Nay, I do not." She crooked her finger at him. "Let me show you something, child." She pulled him into the storage room. When she bent over him, her foul breath made his upper lip raise in disgust. "There are methods," she slyly whispered, "to alleviate your dislike of the way things are. He don't have no business taking away Legion's woman." Her cracking voice turned hard. "He ought to be made to leave her alone. Don't you agree, boy?" Regan stared up at her, unsure of her motives and not quite trusting her sanity. He shrugged. "Conar does what he wants. Can't anybody do anything about it." The hag straightened. "I wouldn't say that. There's ways to make the lady hate him--she'll run as fast as she can away from his lechery." "Elizabeth loves him," Regan said peevishly. He turned his back on the woman. "Can't anybody ever change that." "I can." Regan shook his head. If there was anything in his life of which he was certain, it was the Queen's foolish love for Conar. To be rid of the hag's silliness, Regan exited the storage room. "What are you doing, boy?"

Regan's jaw clenched. "About to break my fast, Father." Sadie's claw-like hands tightened on his shoulders. He shrugged away the vile hands and turned his attention to the Queen. His insides did a funny little flip when she smiled at him. "May I eat here, or am I to take my meals in the servant's quarters?" Liza touched Conar's hand, then stood, pulling back her chair. "Come sit with your father, Regan. I have work to do and he doesn't." The last thing Regan wanted to do was take his meal with Conar. But he shrugged, walked sullenly to the table, and sat down. Sadie plopped a bowl of oatmeal before him. "Do you really like that stuff?" Conar asked, conspiratorially leaning toward his son. Regan glared at him and moved away. "I would not have asked for it if I did not." Conar watched him ladle spoon after spoon of sugar into the lumpy, gray gruel. He cocked a brow when Regan shoveled a glob into his mouth. Regan knew his flickering eyelids gave him away--he didn't really care as much for the mess as he had pretended. "You can have eggs and toast, if you like," Conar said. "Bacon or ham steak, too." "This is fine," Regan snapped. "You finished with your plate?" Sadie grumbled, pointing at Conar's half-eaten food. "I'd like some milk, if that's not too much of a bother." The old woman chuckled. "Oh, milk is it you want?" She smiled. "Then milk it is you'll have." She hobbled off to the storage room. Regan wondered at the look on the hag's face and contemplated their recent conversation. "Are you all packed for your trip?" Conar asked, bringing Regan's thoughts back to the present. "My exile, you mean," Regan snarled, poking another glob of oatmeal into his mouth, chewing it with difficulty. "It isn't exile. I'm sending you where you'll be safe once I begin my battle with Tohre." "Then why aren't you sending away Corbin, too?" "I am." Regan paused with his spoon at his mouth. "With me?" Conar shook his head. "He's going somewhere else." "Where?" "You don't need to know." A furious stab of betrayal shot through Regan's body. With a loud plop, his spoon dropped into the bowl. "You don't trust me." "That'sprecisely the reason," Conar answered, looking around as Sadie waddled into the room with a tall glass of milk. "Did you have to milk the cow to get that?" Sadie smiled. "I had to have time to put in the poison, didn't I?" Regan started, looking at the glass in the woman's hand. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he watched his father bring the glass to his lips. "Don't--" Conar laughed. "She's just joking." He drained the glass in three long gulps. His heart thundering in his chest, Regan gazed at the hag's satisfied face. A part of him wanted to tell his father about

her earlier words, while another part waited anxiously to see what the milk would do. "That was good poison," Conar said, handing the glass to Sadie. "Fix me another of your potions, witch, and I'll take it with me." He winked at the woman and stood, looking back at Regan. "I wouldn't feel at home if I didn't get my morning ration of Sadie MacCorkingdale and her insults." When the cook returned, she handed him a second glass. "Is this one poisoned, too?" The woman's smile brought goosebumps to Regan's arms. "I put in even more, Your Nubs. You should start to feel it soon enough." Conar downed the milk and licked the white mustache from his upper lip. He gave the glass to Sadie, took two steps--then went rigid. Regan stood, fear making his heart thump so wildly he could hear it. Shaking his head, Conar put a trembling hand to his brow. Sadie cackled. "Feeling all right, Your Nubs?" Conar turned, vicious fury on his face. He pointed a finger at Regan. "Get your damned bags packed and quit your sullenness. You're going to Chrystallus tomorrow morn on the tide." He swung his hot glare to Sadie. "I've told you before that if you don't stop insulting me, I'll have you locked out of this keep." "Do it," Sadie cooed. "See if I care." With a growl of rage, Conar spun on his heel and stomped from the room, leaving behind him a cackling woman and a terrified boy. Regan looked at her with horror. "Ain't no poison I gave His Nubs, boy." Sadie laughed, drying tears of enjoyment from her rheumy eyes. "Just an instant reminder of what a bastard he truly is! Gets his dander up, it does!" "Tenerse," Regan whispered. He understood the properties of many potions. Tenerse was one of the most potent. "You gave him tenerse?" "Don't know what it's called, but it sure does set him off!" She hooted with laughter and went to her stove, mumbling happily. Shocked, Regan sat at the table and pushed away the bowl of horrible goop. "He'll go looking for the Queen. Tenerse mixed with milk makes men do sinful things to women." Sadie sniffed. "Nothing new where he is concerned. Every women he's ever touched has known the sinfulness of him." Regan stared at the doorway into the keep proper. His was not the only hatred for Conar inside Boreas. He looked around at the old cook as she hobbled to the table. "Why don't you like him?" She eased her bones into the chair and ladled a large spoon of sugar into her oatmeal. "I have my reasons. Reasons that don't concern you, boy. Let's just say he deserves it and let it go at that." "But you'd never kill him?" Sadie snorted. "Killing that son-of-a-bitch would be too quick and too easy for him. I like seeing him suffer." She dropped in another spoonful of sugar. "I like seeing what his natural anger does to the people around here!" "What if he were to die? What would happen to the Queen?" "Well, hedied once before, and she survived." She stirred the sugar in her bowl, then lifted a spoonful of gruel to her lips, lowered it a fraction, and looked Regan in the eye. "I reckon she'd go on like she did then." She smiled. "Maybe Legion would take her back." The smile widened. "If not, maybe Brelan or that good-looking Prince Chase." "But you wouldn't mourn him?"

"Me? Not in a million years!" She crammed the oatmeal in her mouth and spoke, toothlessly, around the glob. "Not for all the tea in Chrystallus!" "Me, neither." "Well, I'd say you got your reasons for hating the bastard, too." "You think so?" Sadie nodded. "Look how he treats you, boy! Here he is sending you off to that cold country, cutting you off from your family." She looked at him with pity. "He don't no more care for you than he does that rat skittering about in the corner over there." Her next words hardened his anger. "You're like that little rat, you know? If he were to see it, he'd rid the keep of it. That's how he sees you. Just a little pest to be got rid of." Regan lowered his eyes, fearful of the woman seeing the deadly intent lurking there. Silently, he stood and made his way to the door. "Don't let him smother you, boy!" Sadie called. "He will if he gets the chance." "No, he won't...I'll smother him first."

Chapter 15 Somewhere near the false dawn, Conar awakened, knowing, instinctively feeling, that he wasn't alone in the room. He turned his head, strained his vision, willing his sixth sense to penetrate the dark corners. His eyelids felt heavy, scratchy, and he closed them. Sighing, he turned his cheek into the pillow and tried to get back to sleep. It wasn't easy. He'd gotten into nasty arguments during the day with both Brelan and Roget, then had snapped at several of his men, who left in a rage over his accusations of incompetence. He'd encountered surly looks from at least three servants on the receiving end of some of his barbs, and their mumbled replies to his questions had set his teeth on edge. He'd even engaged in a shouting match with Grice over so stupid a matter as the way a portrait had been hung in the gallery. He'd lain awake most of the night, trying to fathom the reason he had been in a foul mood. Thinking back on it, he deduced it was having to deal with Regan at breakfast. Having to send the boy away weighed heavily on his conscience. That could have caused his jitters. But also having Liza so near and yet so far away didn't help his frame of mind. Merely thinking about her had roused him, so he'd sent word to her that when she returned to the keep to keep out of his way. He explained why, and when the messenger came back with a note from her telling him to "take a cold shower," he had almost sought her out. But better judgment had prevailed and--much to his surprise--his overpowering passion left him suddenly in the midst of an argument with Teal. Sighing again, he lifted his head, punched the pillow, and turned over. He came down hard on the pillow, an exhalation of annoyance issuing from his clenched teeth. Yes, he knew what was wrong with him. He was horny. He ached for the woman across the hall. Wanted desperately to go to her, to lay with her, make love with her. "It would not be right," Occultus had reminded him. Conar turned onto his back, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

What little sleep he had gotten had done him little good. He felt edgy, his nerves fraying. And his manhood throbbed. He tried to ignore it and found he had no willpower. He was so aroused, he ached, and thoughts of Liza kept intruding. He had to dig his nails into his palms to help alleviate the itch in his groin. "I can't wait until Friday," he remembered Liza whispering as they parted at their doors that evening. He groaned, thinking what Friday would bring, and wishing it was not Thursday morn. A board creaked, a rafter groaned, wood popped in the grate. Off in the distance, a horse nickered--high-pitched, unearthly. Conar wondered at its strangeness. The sound seemed almost like a warning. Tensing, he felt a trickling of unease along his spine. He turned his head toward the window-And gasped. "What are you doing in here, Regan?" The boy stood like a marble statue, blazing hatred back at him, hatred so hot it nearly sparkled in the moonlit room. "Regan? What's wrong?" Slowly, the boy raised his right hand above his head. Conar's eyes flared, recognizing one of his own daggers in Regan's upraised fist. The dagger Conar thought he had lost. The curved, serrated crystal blade looked wicked in the child's grasp. "What are you doing?" Conar whispered, his gaze lowering from the dagger to the child's face. For one frozen moment, they looked at one another--the father who ached for the loss of innocence in a child of his loins; the son with death written on his solemn young face. Though something in the child's expression warned Conar he was about to strike, he never tried to stop him. Not even as the dagger began its downward curve toward his naked chest. Not even as the blade descended, biting deep into the hollow between his collarbone and shoulder did Conar attempt to deflect the blow. He could only stare, confused and grief stricken, as the child grunted with the effort and pulled the blade free. He marveled at the boy's strength and purpose. In the back of his mind, he heard a sultry voice speaking to him and tried to distinguish the words, but Regan raised his hand again and the blade stabbed toward Conar. Once more the tempered crystal dug into him. This time along his left rib cage, glancing off bone, leaving a wicked gash to pulse blood onto the white satin sheets. Conar put up a trembling hand to halt the dagger's upward pull, for it had buried itself in the mattress beneath him. Snarling in fury, Regan reclaimed the blade. Conar gasped in pain when the edge pulled across his palm, leaving a gaping wound and blood dripping down his fingers. "Regan?" he groaned. "Why?" Again, the husky voice cooed to him, and he tried hard to make out the words. But in a flash of agony, the dagger buried itself to the hilt in Conar's side. Moaning, Conar tried to roll away. The dagger pulled sideways across his side, opening a long cut before the child yanked it free. "Die!" The word seemed to pour from Regan's very soul. Conar knew he wouldn't be able to deflect the next strike as it came toward his exposed back. In his heart, he knew Regan would make it the killing blow. He gripped the bloody sheet under him and tried to drag himself across the bed. Once more the voice whispered to him and he felt himself slipping over the edge of consciousness. The mattress dipped under his son's small weight, and a battle cry shot from Regan's lips. Conar looked over his shoulder to see Regan kneeling on the bed, arms raised, both hands gripping the bloody dagger. He looked away, unable to endure the horrific sight.

He barely heard the boy's frantic scream of frustration as Occultus grabbed him and jerked the dagger from his fist. He barely heard the shouts of men, Liza's scream of terror, as people gathered around and tried to assess the damage. He barely felt the hands turning him over or heard the gasps of shock at all the blood. What he experienced at last was the familiar, sultry voice speaking to him as though time hadn't moved forward. In his fading light, he saw the woman's long black hair, flowing in the garden's breeze. Saw the lightly falling snow, felt the icy cold on his bare feet. He saw Raphaella's green eyes, blazing with sensual purpose as she cooed to him in her silken, husky voice. Her words came clearly... "Flesh of my flesh, Blood of my blood, Thrice the blow will come. Torn the flesh, Shed the blood, Beware the source..." Conar's eyes rolled back in his head as he whispered to those around him..."My son." **** He wheeled his big, black, war stallion and trotted to where she stood. Before she realized what he was about, he bent low in the saddle, grabbed her around her waist, and swung her up before him. Laughing at her protesting shriek, he kicked the sleek steed into a gallop, and stifled her protests with a firm, unrelenting squeeze around her body. He dragged against him. Her long ebony hair billowed in the wind, teasing his cheeks and curling around his forearms as he held the reins. He felt the soft curve of her bottom, resting along the hard cords of his muscled thighs. In the rushing wind, he caught the sweet, familiar scent of lavender wafting from her. He breathed deeply. No longer was he aware of the stallion between his thighs or the wind rushing against his face as they flew over the desert sand. No blue sky beamed down from above; no sound of pounding hoofs came from his destrier. All sight and sound, smell and feel, was of the woman he held so tightly against him. Then the image changed. He no longer galloped across the hot sand, but found himself buried beneath it. He strained to look up through the rose-colored, suffocating sand surrounding him, but only a faint speck of light shone through the pebbly surface. He felt air being forced from him, and gasped in the scalding, grainy substance that did nothing to inflate his straining lungs. He coughed, gagged, clawed at the confining barrier. To his horror, he discovered not the hot desert sand under which he had lain, but rough pine wood, scraping his palms, embedding itself under his furiously scratching fingernails. His hands encountered metal, first in one corner, then another, a third, a fourth. Stale air flowed through what appeared to be thin metal pipes, set in the corners of the wooden box. In the back of his mind he knew plenty of air remained, that he could breathe easier if he'd only stop gasping, stop scratching so frantically at the wood. But the thought of being shut away, being forced into solitude, loneliness, helplessness, hopelessness, made him throw back his head as far as the tight structure would allow and scream. It became an inhuman bellow of despair and frustration, the ageless battle cry of a primeval warrior who has come to realize the fight had been futile, the battle lost. With a suddenness that shook him to the core, he spiraled out of the box and found himself alone in the heat of an alien landscape. Black columns of smoke rose above high bluffs of dark crimson sand. He put up his hands to cover his ears and discovered his palms bloody, his wrists heavily shackled with thick, black bands. He tried to shake them

off, but the manacles expanded, covered his arms from wrist to elbow. He had never felt such loneliness. Here in the Void he was totally alone. Totally defenseless. There was no sound, no sensations of smell or touch. Cocooned in the vast belly of some timeless, ageless being, he felt the life being sucked from him. Fang-like pinpricks that caused him enormous agony. All he could do was think. And those thoughts of wanting, of needing, of desiring, of being, of remembering hurt him, for they were something that he understood did not exist within the Void. "When you enter the Void," he heard his enemy taunt, "the Void enters you!" He knew Death stalked him, even though he could not smell Its violating stench. Over and over in his imprisoned mind, he spoke her name, whispered it, caressed it. He struggled hard to conjure in his sightless, limited brain, his imprisoned body and his loneliness, her face and her body and her smile, but most of all, most importantly of all, her love. Straining with all his might against the insidiously creeping darkness that suddenly began to invade his mind, he realized that even his thoughts were being sucked from him. And he knew when the blackness finally crept over him, when it seeped into his mind, when it filled his body and tainted his soul with poison, he would be forever lost in the Void. "Liza..." If he lost contact with her, even through thought and memory of which he was now only capable, he would be finished, deprived of existence except as a shadow in a world filled with shadows. He would endure an unspeakable hell for all eternity, knowing beyond any doubt that even without sight and sound and feel and touch, memory and thought, he would still be alive in his own mind with an intolerable loneliness--his own private hell. If he allowed the darkness to conquer him, to settle the plains of his existence and take up residence in his mind, he would forfeit all that he had ever been. "Liza..." Struggling to keep the creeping, insidious blackness at bay, he forced his lips to move, to speak, to call out. No sound came from him, but he knew his lips moved, knew somewhere beyond the Void, she would hear-"L...i...z...a...!"

Chapter 16 "Has the fever broken?" Sentian asked, coming to stand beside Shalu. He smiled wanly at the big Necroman, who leaned over the bed, his muscular forearm resting on the high headboard. "No," Shalu answered. "He is hotter than ever." There were dark circles of fatigue and worry etched on his dark face. His rumpled hair and wrinkled clothes advertised he had slept in them the night before. "Is there anything I can do, Milady?" Sentian inquired of Liza. Slumped against the headboard, her arms wrapped around Conar's shivering body, she brushed away a tendril of sweat-drenched hair from his glistening forehead. She had not left his bedside for more than a few minutes at a time, had even slept beside him, his unconscious body in her arms. "I'd appreciate fresh water, Senti. We need to bathe him again." She looked at her Sentinel. "The fever will break

soon." Shalu nodded. "It is the Labyrinthian fever more than his wounds that disable him. The wounds were clean and hit no vital spot. He bled more than he should have, but not so much that it has endangered his life." He ran a hand over his tired face. "That little shit chose his weapon well, for no other could have done such damage to Conar." "He knew that," Sentian snarled. He looked at his lady. "I will bring water only if you will allow me to bathe him. You need rest." Liza shrugged. "There will be time to sleep when he awakes. I'll not leave his side until then." Brelan and Jah-Ma-El entered the room, then came to the bed and looked at their brother. What Brelan saw made his heart ache. The raging fever caused Conar's flesh to glow a dull red. Even as Brelan watched, the convulsions that had gripped Conar innumerable times before, settled on him with a vengeance, and caught him in the throes of a wild delirium. "Move, Elizabeth," he ordered, pulling her to her feet. He replaced her on the bed even as Jah-Ma-El dashed to the other side. Between them, they held Conar's thrashing arms. Sentian and Shalu sat at the foot of the bed to grip his legs. Conar jerked, freeing an arm and a leg before the men stilled him. Obviously encased in red-hot waves of agony, he groaned, his eyes fluttering open, and he mumbled. "We're here, little brother," Jah-Ma-El assured him, freeing a hand to stroke Conar's cheek. He smiled as the unfocused eyes swung his way. "Your brothers are with you." "Jah-Ma-El?" The word sounded little more than a plea. "Aye, it's me." He kissed the wet forehead. Brelan called to him. Conar stirred at the sound, his lips trying to fashion his brother's name, but the unmerciful hands of darkness swooped up to claim him and he sank into unconsciousness once more. Great spasms shook the bed frame. It took all four men to keep him on the mattress. Though he slept, caught in some unspeakable hell, with each touch of the gentle hands on his body, he whimpered in pain and what could only have been fear. Brelan could not imagine the horrors Conar's unconscious mind had undoubtedly conceived. He whispered to his brother, taking the iced water Thom brought in to him. He washed Conar's brow, chest, and arms, then turned him and ran the cold rag over his scarred back. Through what was left of the day, the men stayed with him. None allowed Liza near enough to the bed to sit down, turning aside her protests with gentle but stern shakes of their heads. They had formed an unspoken alliance to keep her at a distance while her lover convulsed with fever. Near dawn of the second day, Conar began to regain consciousness. He stared at the men hovering over him. Brelan wasn't certain Conar recognized him, for it was obvious his pain was too great, the fever still rampaging through his system. His sweat-dampened hair lay plastered to his forehead and the febrile sheen in his eyes gave them a hellish glow. "We need to change these sheets," Brelan said. He stepped back, allowing Bent to lift the man from the mattress. Conar blinked and turned Brelan's way. "It's all right. You just rest." The sound of low cursing, spitting, like two tomcats fighting, made everyone turn. An angry and vulgar command came before the door flew open so swiftly it crashed against the wall. "What the hell?" Brelan demanded, skirting the bed. Chand and Grice blocked the doorway, their backs toward the room. Grice shoved someone away. "What the hell's wrong with you two?" Grice looked over his shoulder, a look of disgust on his handsome face. "This...this fool wants to enter. I said he couldn't!" Leaning heavily on a crutch, pain settling on his red face, Legion A'Lex pushed himself away from the wall opposite the opened doorway, wincing at his injured shoulder. "I have a right to see him. If he is so ill, I will know it!"

"Where do you get the nerve to come here and demand anything?" Brelan snapped. Legion's set and mulish expression brooked no interference. He hobbled toward the doorway, ignoring the way the Wynth brother's blocked his entrance. "He is my brother, too, Saur!" "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you told him he was no longer any kin of yours." "Leave off, Saur! I was angry. I didn't want anything to happen to him." "You could have fooled us," Grice said. Legion glared at his old friend. "Let me pass. There are things I have to say to him. I may not get the chance if I wait much longer." "He's not dying!" Roget snarled. "You may wish he were, but he isn't!" "I wish no such thing!" Legion limped closer, his jaw thrust forward in stubborn anger. "I want to see him!" "There's nothing you can say to him that would help," Jah-Ma-El answered, joining the men at the door. "He isn't conscious, anyway." Legion's face paled. He looked at the floor. "Please," he whispered to Brelan. "I can't let things stand the way they are between us. If he doesn't wake..." "He will wake," Roget said, calming as Brelan laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Let him in," Liza said. Brelan turned, eyeing her with astonishment. "He could do irreparable harm!" She shook her head. "He'll only help. Despite what has gone on between Legion and me, he means no harm to Conar. Let him in." She went to her chair, sitting with a small sigh of weariness. "My fight is not with Conar," Legion said. "He only took what was offered, like any other man would do. I realize that now. He can't be faulted for falling into her trap." Brelan glowered at Legion, but he stepped aside. "You won't be left alone with him!" "Brelan, please!" Liza shouted. "It is my wish that all of you leave. Let Legion have his moment with Conar. I promise, no harm will come to my love." Her look fused with Legion's. A fierce, warrior-priestess glare frosted the green depths. "I will see to that." Shalu gestured the protesting men from the room. "You are staying, aren't you?" Brelan asked Liza as Shalu pushed him toward the door. "Aye, she's staying," Shalu snapped, looking back at Liza and smiling. ---For a long moment, Legion stood staring with hostility at Liza. He wanted to be alone with Conar, but knew she would never allow it. "I'll take no chances with his life," she said, reading his mind. Ignoring her, he hobbled to the bed. He stared down at his brother, thinking how vulnerable and defenseless Conar was, how easy it would be to snuff out the straining life within the man's weak body. He glanced at Liza and knew she intercepted his random thoughts. Her chin lifted; her dark gaze dared him. She deliberately turned, walked to the window, and pulled back the drape. Her very nonchalance made Legion realize that she feared nothing from him. "You'd kill me, wouldn't you?" he snapped.

She didn't look around. "If you tried to harm him--I would. You once told me that if anything at all happened to your brother, I'd have you to deal with." Legion remembered well Conar's and Liza's wedding night. "And do you recall me asking if you would do me harm if I hurt him? Do you remember your answer?" Legion snorted, hating her more than ever. "I told you I would, even knowing I'd hang." "I would do no less where his safety is concerned." A'Lex didn't reply. He took a deep breath and pulled a chair toward the bed. Easing himself down, he laid his crutch on the floor and shifted painfully in the chair, his broken leg reminding him of its painful existence. He clasped his hands, wedged them between his thighs, and let his eyes roam over his brother's form, taking in every detail, from the flushed face to the sweat-soaked sheets. "How long has he had this fever?" "Nearly the entire time," Liza answered. "They say it lasts..." "I know how long it lasts!" Legion heard her sigh and turned to see her lowered head. He felt a touch of remorse, but tore away his gaze. Withdrawing one of his hands, he gently touched Conar's cheek, instantly alarmed at the hot flesh. He ran his knuckles down the wet cheek. "Have you no cure in your bag of tricks that can help him?" Liza looked around. "I have heard a cure was found by the Hasdu tribe, but they aren't likely to provide us with the potion." "Not when one of their Princes wants you to mate, eh?" She turned away again. Legion studied his brother, his thoughts in turmoil. When word reached him of Regan's murder attempt, Legion had shouted down the servants who tried to stop him from mounting his horse and coming to Boreas. Despite the throbbing agony in his broken leg, the ache in his shoulder, he hoisted to his stallion's back and, with two servants accompanying him, had ridden hard and fast all the way to the Serenian capital. On the long ride, Legion had at first felt shock that such a thing could have been done to Conar. The shock turned into outrage that Conar had such little protection, even inside his home. With the outrage had come the realization that Legion still cared deeply for the man he had renounced only days before. Then the shame settled in, and he had wanted--needed--to see his brother. Through the excruciating ride, Legion had finally heard his conscience--he had time to heed the harsh words of his inner voice. He loved each of his brothers in a different way, even Galen when the lad was a toddler. But Conar he loved most of all. This brother meant more to him than all the rest, a love tempered with the protectiveness of an older brother for a younger, as well as the pride in being kin with a man so noble and so loyal. There had never been a time in their lives when any form of real animosity had formed between them. There had been childish squabbles and keen competitions, intense games of one-upmanship, but no true anger in confrontations. Only when they had become grown men had any kind of true dissension developed, and even then there had been no real intent to give hurt or cause alienation. They had always been fiercely loyal to one another, totally content with the direction their lives would take--Conar's to the throne; Legion's to the Supreme Commandership of the Serenian Forces. No jealousy over Conar and his right to rule had ever entered Legion's mind. It was a given, something accepted by both men as though it were a piece in a puzzle. All the real trouble had started with the coming of Liza, that unknown waif who had captured Conar's errant heart. Her presence had altered the relationship between the two men forever. No longer was there room only for mutual love and

affection. Now that love was being shared, overpowered by a greater love. An intruder had wedged herself between them, slowly widening a gap until the breech had been made. Now the two men were distant and untouchable, each on separate sides of a yawning chasm. "It doesn't have to be that way," Liza whispered, knowing Legion heard her, although he made no comment at her words. Legion understood that when Conar was marrying the Princess Anya Elizabeth, his own unspoken love for her had made matters worse. Never dreaming Liza was the woman he was to wed, Conar had offered Liza to Legion, telling him he would see no other married to her. For one moment in time, Legion had dared to hope. But hope died a horrible death when Conar unveiled his bride--Liza in all her glory, smiling at Conar, love in her beautiful face--that it had nearly driven Legion to his knees. He tried to blind himself to his true feelings, lying to himself that he was happy for his beloved brother, wishing Liza and Conar well, while all the while a deep and dark passion lurked in his soul. After the pain of Conar's leaving--his "death"--settled like a heavy rock in Legion's heart, rage followed regarding Liza's betrayal at marrying Galen. During that marriage, Legion's rage had subsided to an angry vigil of Liza's welfare. Galen's death had freed her and Kaileel's edict that she and Legion wed had at first filled A'Lex with intense joy. It wasn't until the actual wedding that the full reality of his situation came crashing down upon him--Elizabeth was now his, and his alone! Legion's vows to honor and protect Liza were the easiest vows he had ever made. He set out to win her heart as he had earlier set out to win her friendship, and he never doubted that he would. Their combined and mutual love for Conar became the basis of their friendship; and though Legion never tried to replace Conar in Liza's heart, his own patience and devotion to her helped to dull Conar's loss and she began to love again. Slowly at first, then with the safeness of companionship and close proximity to a man who worshipped her, Liza's heart went into Legion's keeping. In the summer before their first child was born, Legion came to realize that her love had ventured beyond the safe confines of friendship and affection. It had finally blossomed. Now, it sagged on the vine and withered. The bloom darkened with each passing hour, and the sweet smell turned sour with betrayal. Soon, it would pass to dust and be swept away by the wind, scattered to the four corners of the globe like so much refuse. Sitting there, watching his brother struggling to breathe, Legion went over again the truths his conscience had instilled in him on the long ride to Boreas. The knowledge did not set well on his soul. It had not been Conar's intent to take Liza away from him. He had returned to Serenia knowing her wed to Legion, yet he had made no claim to his right. For two years he kept away from Boreas Keep and the woman he loved beyond all else. Returning from a hellish imprisonment to find the world as he had known it lost forever, Conar forced himself to stay away until Legion, himself, had unknowingly sent for him. Yes, Conar had come only at Legion's bidding, to right a wrong, as was his way. But the close proximity between him and Liza served to reawaken their sleeping passion. Liza had sought him out, Legion knew. She was fascinated by the tales of the man known as Lord Darkwind. Liza's uncontrollable desire for the man, although at the time she had not known it was Conar, had severed their marriage. Legion flinched, drawing back his hand as Conar's lids fluttered open. He held his breath as the bright eyes turned toward him. Even glazed with pain and fever, they seemed to focus on him. "You have to fight," Legion said. "You can't let go of this world, little brother." "Tell him he must be strong," Liza said, turning to look at Legion. "Tell him he is bound by chains of love and hope to this world." "He knows that. Don't you, Conar?" Legion took one of Conar's hands in his own. He winced as he shifted forward, hunching over the bed. "He knows he has to be stronger than he's ever been before." The sapphire gaze wavered, then returned to Legion's face. Conar tried to speak, his cracked lips splitting and bleeding. Legion dipped his fingers into a tumbler and brought them, dripping with water, to Conar's lips to moisten them.

"Can you drink some water?" Legion looked into a face that didn't seem to understand. "Water?" "I'll help." Liza walked to the other side of the bed, bent over her lover, and lifted his head for Legion to bring water to his brother's lips. More liquid flowed down Conar's chin than into his mouth. "Regan?" he croaked. "He's on his way to Chrystallus," Liza answered. "Brelan put him on the ship that night." ---Conar sighed, his heart aching for the boy. If he were to die, Regan would have the memory haunt him every day of his life, just as the angry, thoughtless words he had spoken to the boy haunted him. Conar knew he had to live, if for no other reason. The boy had done only what he had been commanded, trained, to do; Conar knew that. Regan was too young to understand the complexities of Conar's relationship with Tohre. In his heart, Conar knew Regan was horror-struck by what he had done. He could feel the lad's shame and remorse even from a great distance. "You have to live to teach him that what he did was not of his own doing," Liza said, apparently hearing his rambling thoughts. "She's right," Legion agreed. "They tell me the boy went crazy when he saw the damage he'd done." Conar nodded, his lids flickering shut. ---"Conar!" Legion breathed, sitting even closer to the bed. "You are my brother. Nothing and no one should have come between us. Forgive my angry words, little brother. I didn't mean them. They were spoken by a man insane with jealousy." "I know," Conar whispered, his eyelids struggling in vain to open. "What is rightfully yours, I gladly return, and will make no further claim." Tears ran down Legion's bearded cheeks. "If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you. I swear it. I would have moved heaven and hell to have brought you back from that torment!" "Don't cry," came the ragged request. "I love you. I do. You have to believe that." Legion's voice broke. He clutched his brother's hand. He thought he felt an answering squeeze, but when he looked, Conar had fallen into unconsciousness. "He knows you love him," Liza said. Legion saw the remorse on her lovely face. He released Conar's hand and took up his crutches. Bracing himself, he pushed his body from the chair and stood wavering. "If anything changes, have someone get me," he mumbled, swinging toward the door. ---Liza wiped away her tears. She had never wanted to hurt this gentle man. He had been a good and loving father, a tender and gentle husband. He didn't deserve the hurt she had caused him. She had made an enemy of a man for whom she still felt great affection, for whom she would always love. Legion paused at the door. "You used me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You made do until Conar returned. I can forgive you that, Elizabeth. He was always your first love." His voice hardened. "But what I will never forgive is the rift you've caused between my brother and me." Opening the door, he hobbled across the threshold, leaving the portal open. Liza slid to her knees beside the bed. She felt her lover's pain as she knew he felt hers. This bond had originally united them, still held them securely together. This special purpose kept them as one, despite all that had gone before. In their search to be together, they had hurt the one man they both deeply cared about.

Kaileel Tohre had tried to have Conar slain. Liza knew why. The sorcerer would have intercepted and imprisoned the soul in the vast limbo of the Void, all alone and lost forever. Her power merging with Conar's was the only thing keeping him alive. "You are the Keeper of the Wind, Elizabeth Wynth," the Oracle had once reminded her. "It shall be you who will save him from the clutches of the Brotherhood of the Domination." "But how?" she had asked. "By blending your power with his. Transmit your power to him. Without the merging, he will never survive what Tohre has planned. Send him your strength or he will be cast into the Abyss for all time." And she had merged not only her power with Conar's, but her life, as well. She could feel the strand strengthening between them, like an invisible umbilical chord linking her vital life force with his. Like a mother nourishing her child, she fed him power, strength, her very life. This final bond between them she knew would be there forever. Liza placed her hands on his still hand, kissed the light hair that grew on his forearm. Laying her head on the edge of the bed, she began once more the healing rune. ---Somewhere he heard gentle crying and tried hard to call out. The blackness was steadily closing in on him again. A soft sensation trickled over his arm. Then, from out of the darkness, a glimmer of light hesitated, then sparked into a shaft of beckoning streaks. It was the light to which he looked, and it was the soft trickle of his lover's tears that saved him from the advancing darkness. Then came a soft, mournful sound. It was her gentle crying that brought him out of his slumber and into the bright wash of living. He opened his eyes and called his beloved's name.

Chapter 17 Occultus Noire rose from the floor of the Temple of the Wind where he had been sitting for three days. Neither food nor water had passed the Master Sorcerer's lips since the night of Conar's attack. His non-stop, fervent runes and entreaties to the gods and Their ladies during that time had all but caused him a grave illness. Dark circles haunted his tired eyes. His hands shook as he plowed them through the unkempt mass of silver that hung down his back. He felt exhausted, but his prayers had been answered--Conar was awake and once more as vital as he had been before the attack. "Master?" Occultus smiled thinly, beckoning for the little Chrystallusian to join him. "I am well, my friend. A bit weak in the knees, but nothing a good steak will not cure." Ching-Ching came forward, taking his master's arm when Occultus swayed. "We must get you to the dining hall. The cook has grumbled these last few days that no one has been eating much of her food." A faint grin appeared on the monkey man's thin lips. Occultus paused in his steps toward the Temple sacristy. "Do you trust that woman?" Ching-Ching shrugged. "The cook is like any western woman. No respect for her menfolk."

"It is more than a mouth too quick to insult, Ching-Ching." Occultus leaned more heavily on his friend and servant than he would have liked, but his legs felt rubbery, his head light. "Conar has assured me the old woman has treated him so all his life, but there is a vindictiveness in her eyes I think he fails to see." "Or does not want to." "We will watch her closely. I want nothing to interfere with the coming battle." When Occultus opened the Temple doors, the bright winter sun took him by surprise. With squinted eyes, he looked at his companion. "Holm has spoken to me of the old woman--he does not trust her, either. See what you can discover about her." Ching-Ching frowned. "What am I to look for?" Going slowly down the steps, Occultus felt nauseous. He swallowed against the feeling. "Find out if there is some reason she should dislike Conar. Something, perhaps, from when he was younger. Ask the servants what she says behind his back." His foot slid from the last stone riser, and he staggered, grateful for Ching-Ching's strength that kept him standing. "Thank you, my friend." He looked down the covered passageway that led to the Tribunal. "That is an evil place." Ching-Ching turned his head toward the padlocked Tribunal Hall. "Du Mer told me Conar wanted to burn it, but was advised against it for fear the rest of the keep would go up in flames along with it." Occultus nodded. "I can understand why he would want to. Never again will any man have to stand judgment in that horrid place." His eyes went to the whipping post across the courtyard. "Thatshould come down as well. See to it!" **** Amber-lea turned over in her sleep and sighed, snuggling closer to the warm back in front of her. Wiggling as close as she could get to the heat of Brelan's body, she smiled and opened her eyes, her long lashes fluttering against his bare flesh. "Are you awake, Milady?" he whispered. "Aye, Milord." She moved back as he turned, lifting his arm to bring her into the comfort of his embrace. Her smile widened when he planted a light kiss on her forehead, then drew her closely to him. "I look forward to waking every day like this," Brelan said, entwining his toes with hers under the covers. "So do I, Milord." Her eyes widened as the babe inside her moved. "Ammie?" he whispered in awe, withdrawing his arm and pushing himself up in the bed. He pulled back the cover and put a trembling hand on the slight mound of her belly. As soon as his strong fingers settled on her, the babe leapt again. Looking into Brelan's brown eyes, Amber-lea saw the hesitant, almost reverent smile begin to stretch across his mouth. As the babe kicked a third time, Brelan's beautiful eyes lifted to hers and his grin became glorious to behold. He laughed, rubbing her stomach with his palm. "Our son moved!" A part of her flinched at his words. Although in her heart she had given this child to Brelan, it was actually the seed of his brother, Conar, that grew inside her. Brelan had made no mention of it, had seemed not overly concerned that another man's child grew inside his wife-to-be, but Amber-lea knew there had to be some resentment in Brelan, even if he did not acknowledge it. "Itis a boy, you know." Brelan chuckled, looking into her skeptical eyes. "Liza said as much." His superior smile made Amber-lea's heart leap. "Now I'll have a daughterand a son." His smile vanished. Suddenly fearful of the worried look on his face, Amber-lea reached out to him with a shaky hand. "What is it, Milord?" "We have to marry, Ammie!" he said as though the thought had never before occurred to him. "You asked me to wed you last eve, do you not remember?" she asked, fear putting a catch in her voice.

"Aye, but it must be soon! Before we depart for battle." He stared at her. "My son will have a name before I leave Boreas!" Relief spread over Amber-lea, and the first faint stirrings of impending wifehood nuded her. But her internal misery must have caught Brelan's eyes, for he drew her into his arms. "He is my son. Or at least, hewill be. Conar will not gainsay me." "But he is the babe's father. Will he not want to claim him?" Brelan's eyes narrowed. "I haven't spoken to him about it--there was never time. I'll mention it today. I don't think there'll be a problem." Amber-lea couldn't be sure. **** Liza wasn't surprised when Conar asked for Legion. It had been just under a day since he regained consciousness. She got up from the bedside chair to tell the guards of her lover's request. After sending Storm Jale on his way, she shut the door, her face set in challenge. "There will be no confrontation," Conar sighed, obviously recognizing her expression. "I will settle this thing between us." She twitched with unease. "He no longer blames you." Conar's dark eyes filled with hurt. "I know who he blames. I'll not have him making the kind of remarks he made at Ivor." Liza clutched her hands in front of her, nervously fiddling with the piping on her skirt. "Conar, your brother loves you, and he feels I have betrayed him. Perhaps I did, but--" "But nothing. We will settle it between us, Legion and me." "Do you want me to leave?" Conar nodded. "And when you see Brelan, tell him I need a message sent to Ciona and I want him to take it." Liza drew in her lower lip between her teeth and gazed at her lover. One of his thick gold brows elevated. He sighed, as if expecting the worst. "Tell me." "It's Brelan and Amber-lea. They wish to marry before--" "Good!" Conar's smile looked warm, genuine. "The babe should have a name, don't you think?" "Just like that?" "Like what?" "You just agree?" She glared at him. "No shouting or bellowing? No commands?" His lips twitched. "I'm sending him to Ciona to get his estate in order before I allow him to take Ammie with him there. They can be wed as soon as the banns are posted--in three days, if we post them this morn--but I want her to have a home of her own as soon as they are wed. What's today? Saturday? Ciona is a three-day ride, but if I know Saur, he can make it in two, do what needs, and be back in time to marry his lady on Friday. He can take her to Ciona, stay a few days for his honeymoon, then rejoin us before we go into battle." During Conar's supremely indulgent speech, Liza stared at him with open-mouthed wonder. The man never failed to amaze her. His eyes glowed with his plan--one he had not bothered to discuss with the two parties whose lives he so merrily arranged--and he smiled as though he bestowed great wisdom on the situation. "What of the babe?" Liza asked, watching his eyes fall immediately to her belly. "Amber-lea's babe."

"Oh," he mumbled, his smile slipping a notch before he lifted his eyes to hers. "It's a boy, you know." "I know!" she said in exasperation. "What will you do about it?" "Ours is a girl." "Conar!" He sobered, patting a place beside him on the bed. When she settled, their fingers laced together, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. "If Amber-lea and Bre want the babe to know his true father, they may tell him. Or if they wish, I shall tell him when the boy is old enough. Otherwise, he will be my nephew and I will love him as I do Legion's brats." "Legion's brats?" came a growl from the doorway. Both Liza and Conar jumped, their heads turning simultaneously. "I meant no--" Conar began. Legion waved a hand in dismissal. "No offense taken. I've often called them brats myself." His pale eyes swept disdainfully over Liza, then alighted on his brother. "How are you feeling?" Liza stood, smiling at her lover before moving toward the door. Her eyes met Legion's as she passed, but he pointedly looked away, his gaze settling on the wall. Nervously, she closed the door behind her on the way out. ---"You are better?" Legion asked. "I hurt in one or two of the wounds, but I'll be fine by the end of the week." Conar pushed himself up, wincing. "Will you be able to walk Amber-lea down the aisle?" Legion grinned. "I overheard." "You may have to do it for me." Conar chuckled and inclined his head toward a chair. "Can you stay a while?" "Ah, yes," Legion sighed, moving to the chair. "Our little talk. Why do I feel like I used to when Papa sent for me?" Conar's smile widened. "It's the room." Legion looked around. "Maybe so." His own smile vanished. "What are you going to do about Regan?" Something flickered in the sapphire depths of Conar's eyes. A shadow crossed his face. He tore his gaze from Legion to look at the coverlet across his lap. "I'll have to deal with him when I get back." The soft words sounded remorseful. "He really isn't to blame in this." Conar nodded. "After the attack, Sentian hauled his little ass down to his room and locked him in. I am told he was kept there until Holm could ready the ship for Chrystallus. Gezelle tells me the boy cried and cried, but no one would go to him. Everyone was ordered to stay away." "By whose orders?" "Brelan's." Conar heaved a disgusted sigh. "Sometimes my brothers take too much on themselves where my problems are concerned. I'll speak to him. He had no business treating the boy that way." Legion shrugged. "You have to understand that everyone was terrified that you would die. That was your own dagger the boy wielded; the only weapon that could have slain you, I'm told. There were some who wanted to hang him then and there."

"Who?" "You don't need to know. They wouldn't have been given the chance, anyway. The child only did what he had been taught to do, and I don't think killing you was really part of the plan." Conar's eyes glaze with fury, with something terrifying in the steady, unwavering stare. "I want him, Legion." The throaty demand had been spoken with a calm, icy determination. Legion couldn't stop a smile from spreading over his mouth. He shook his head at Conar's look of surprise. "I know whom you mean--Tohre. It was just the way you said it. Like the way Papa used to speak when annoyed with one of the Barons--I want him, Hern!" "A bit too pompous, eh?" Conar blushed. "A bit." "It can't be helped. I want that bastard's head on a platter. I won't wait any longer for him to plan another vile scheme." Legion lowered his head. "I wanted to talk to you about--" "The matter is settled. I'm not angry at you. I understand your hurt. I've lived just such a hurt myself. Remember?" At Legion's nod, he went on. "All I ask is that you not revile her to anyone inside the keep. She does not deserve that." Legion looked up. For a brief moment, a great resentment made his temple throb. The old streak of fire sparked, and he wanted to wipe the calm, commanding look from Conar's face. But he knew he wouldn't. He knew he couldn't. He had fought the best he knew how in order to hold the woman he loved, and in the end, he had lost her. Lost her to the man to whom she rightfully belonged. He didn't have a prayer at winning her back, and knew it. He also knew she belonged--had always belonged--with Conar. Though the thought rankled, he accepted it. "Your love was the stronger," he finally answered. Conar shook his head. "My love was the chosen destiny. I have a feeling we love her the same." "Aye, I imagine we do." "We are to be Joined this eve." Conar watched as Legion nodded silently. "Will you be there?" "Do not ask it of me." "I won't. It will be a small ceremony with only the leaders of the Wind Force in attendance. No pomp and circumstance this time." "That's good. There's no need to call attention to the doing of it, but the people should be told." "They will be, when we are once more husband and wife." Conar threw the covers from his legs and, holding his side, tried to swing his legs off the bed. Grimacing, he leaned against the headboard, panting from the effort. He closed his eyes until the pain subsided. "All you need do is ask and I will help, little brother." Conar opened one eye and raised its brow. "To piss?" "I'll help you stand," Legion quipped. "I'll get the pot, even hold you steady while you do it. But I won't holdit, nor aimit, for you!"

Chapter 18 "He failed!" Raja shouted. "The dagger did no more than minor damage. Conar will be up by week's end and he'll come after us!" Kaileel Tohre sat in his favorite chair, sipping the intoxicating brandy made in the monastery. He ignored the outburst, leaning his head along the chair cushion, closing his eyes to better savor the pungent burst of flavor. "Did you hear me? We are doomed, Tohre. Doomed!" He took another sip of brandy, then opened his eyes to watch her pace. The woman disgusted him; the very sight of her flaxen beauty made him want to vomit. He had grown more than tired of her over the years she had been in hiding at the monastery. Her constant bickering had brought the other priests to his chambers on many occasions. "Do something about her, Holiness," one of the Cardinals had insisted. "Else she'll wake to find her throat being slit!" "She used one of the new boys," another complained. "Now, he follows her about with cow eyes!" Kaileel had frowned at that piece of information. The bitch had every one of her capricious whims satisfied by those older who were willing to appease her morbid, unnatural appetites. Now, she had started on young acolytes brought in for training. Such behavior was unacceptable within the Brotherhood. Having a woman within the confines of a male-oriented society was asking for trouble. Tohre had denied her bringing a female servant, so she had latched onto a young priest whose effeminate manners served her well enough. The two had become bosom buddies, a situation Tohre meant to exorcise as soon as the bitch had fulfilled her use. And the thought of her death made him sigh. "You find this funny?" Raja screamed, glaring down at him. "I find nothing about this amusing!" He grinned, a smile of such pure evil, he could see it unnerved her. She took a quick step backward, her eyes darting about as though she expected Raphian, Himself, to swoop down. Tohre set his brandy snifter on a table and laced his fingers together over his flat belly. "I findyou amusing, Raja." ---She felt sweat forming in her armpits. When Kaileel looked at her like that, something reared its hideous head and turned her spine to mush. She had always prided herself in not being afraid of any man, living or dead, but Tohre was an entirely different matter. Something infinitely evil dwelt in the man's cold eyes, something outside the realm of darkness, some primeval beast that, if ever released, could shred the world to pieces. Each time those horrid eyes gazed at her, she could see her own destruction lingering there. "You need me," she reminded him, lowering her voice, forcing a calm to her tone. Her belly quivered when his smile taunted her and the thick white-blond brows lifted in challenge. "Without Regan, you could not have come anywhere near Conar." "True. Irony is such a subtle revenge, don't you think?" He nodded. "Since his own weapons are the only way to weaken him, what better way than to have his child do it? Weapons forged from his blood, sweat, tears, and semen, wielded by a child formed from his own blood, sweat, tears, and semen. Conar will know the significance of such revenge." "Regan believed he was to kill his father. He well might have." Tohre laughed. "If I had wanted Conar dead, my dear Raja, I could have seen to it. The boy was not strong enough to do any real harm, but the blows hurt Conar more for having come from his own flesh and blood." "He wasn't weakened enough! The brat was to strike for a vital organ, something to debilitate Conar long enough for our conjuring to work." Her lip lifted in scorn. "The little bastard did nothing more than make his father bleed!" Her

thoughts went to the many hours with Tohre and his cronies in the conjuring chamber as Conar lay unconscious at Boreas Keep, the supreme evil of what the men were doing turning her stomach as she watched and participated. Kaileel stood and walked to the great window overlooking his enclosured garden, where several monks usually sat in prayer or communion with the Dark Ones. He looked over his shoulder at Raja. "Do you have any idea how long I have waited to bring Conar to his knees? How long I have waited to have him in such a position that he could never escape?" Raja shrugged her delicate shoulders, not caring--nor wanting--to know the answer. Kaileel smiled and looked back out the window. "A very long while. Do you know why I wish to see him brought down?" "No," she replied, wishing more than ever to escape his presence. The wild, insane look in his frosty blue eyes caused her acute terror. His obsession with Conar McGregor had been brought him to the very edge of insanity, and Raja wasn't sure he hadn't been driven over that fine line. "I was his teacher when he was five or six, you see." Kaileel sat on the window seat and pushed the shutter wide. "But I had been watching him from the moment of his birth. I was in the chamber with the King when Cayn delivered him." A faint smile tugged at Tohre's thin lips. "There had been no need to strike his ass to make him breath--Conar McGregor came into this world howling. I took one look at him and knew that boy would be the greatest warrior Serenia had ever known." He glanced at her. "He was born with twin crescents in the palms of his hands, you know." "The Sign of the Wind...I've seen them." Her eyes narrowed. "I have also seen the scars in his palms from Tolkan's revenge!" Kaileel waved a dismissive hand. "A precaution that, unfortunately, failed in the end." He returned his gaze to the outside scenery. "When he was cleaned up, he was handed to me, as High Priest, to christen. From the moment Cayn settled that squirming, kicking body in my hands, I knew Conar was mine." Raja snorted. "He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen." A lover's glow appeared on the priest's face. "His hair was as white-blond as my own, his eyes the same pale shade of blue. When I looked at him, I saw an uncanny resemblance." He gave a sinister laugh. "The boy might well have been purged from my loins, had I been of that bent." "Lucky for womanhood you aren't..." "There was a difference in him, though, an innocence in those blue eyes. Trust, awe, respect. Trust of everyone, awe of the priesthood, respect for his elders. As he grew, I watched. Watched him become well-mannered, polite." Kaileel sneered. "His mother's doing. She taught him such useless things." "You taught him fear," Raja said, but she didn't think the man heard her. Kaileel leaned against the window jamb, his forehead resting on the stone. "I had a lot to undo where his teaching was concerned. His mother had instilled her brand of morals and manners in him. Such morals and manners a Wind Warrior had no need to possess. He needed to be strong, decisive, calculating--to be a rock among men. All the feminine things she had taught him were anathema to a warrior." "He still possesses those traits, Tohre, and the people of Seven Kingdoms, warriors included, consider him to be that great warrior of whom you dreamed." She flinched as his head snapped around. He fixed her with a malevolent glare. "Such things make him weak! He is not as ruthless as I would have him!" He turned toward the window again, staring at a handsome young priest who had lifted his head at Tohre's loud words. Kaileel waved and smiled. "The very things you want to take from him make him what he is, Kaileel. Make him the man you crave. You have not been able to change that, despite the horror you have put him through." "The thing was, he was stronger than I had anticipated. It was his bitch of a mother. She meant a lot to him. He listened to her. In his young ignorance, he absorbed the ridiculous ideals she fostered. He stood strong against the things I tried to show him in the Wind Warrior Society." He raked his long fingers through his hair. "I realized that in order to mold him in the correct fashion, I would have to separate the two of them. Break the bond that existed between them."

"By bringing him to this horrid place!" Raja snapped. "I convinced the King that his son needed specialized training at the Abbey in Corinth. I told the old man Conar had potential that needed to be utilized. It was easy...so easy. Already Conar was showing those powers with which he had been born. Little things, really, like reading minds, or finding lost things. Gerren was in awe of his son's abilities, knowing they came partially from that bitch and her association with the Multitude. By pandering to the King's fatherly pride, I had the papers signed before the woman knew what I was about." "Didn't Moira know what you were, Tohre? Didn't she suspect?" He shrugged. "She wasn't as smart or as powerful as people thought. She might have suspected my connection to the Domination, but she could not prove it. As long as a Daughter of the Multitude sat on the throne, we of the Brotherhood were careful with our activities. As far as the people knew, I was a High Priest in the Wind Warrior Society, a prelate at the Wind Temple, nothing more." "How did you get Conar away from Moira without her causing trouble? Surely she was not pleased to have her favorite son snatched away to the Abbey. Everyone knew that place was of the Brotherhood." "She, like Gerren, believed he was going to Century, to the Wind Temple. The Abbey is a few miles away, actually in Lakewood. Once the King had signed the guardianship papers, Conar was legally mine." He smiled. "She never knew he was taken from that Abbey and brought here to the monastery. We used such a powerful magic to block her probing that for seven years the woman had no word of her son at all." "And you don't think she was suspicious?" Kaileel looked at her. "Oh, she sent men to check on her son, but she didn't know those men were loyal to the Tribunal, and the Tribunal was ever loyal to Tolkan Coure! They returned to Boreas Keep with glowing reports of Conar's progress, and even brought with them notes to his mother, written in his own hand, that he was well." He lifted a thin shoulder. "How was she to know Tolkan wrote those notes?" "Did Conar not suspect what you were about? Even as a boy he was very astute. Did he notknow what you intended?" He sighed a breath of wonder. "Oh, he fought me all the way here! I had to give him something to sedate him. Once here, it became obvious to him that he would receive no help from my priests. He had to be whipped that first night after he awoke from the drug. The brat tried to run away." A merry chuckle escaped Tohre's lips. "He'd never so much as had a palm applied to his backside before that. You can imagine his surprise when I used my belt on his bare rump." Raja let out a long breath. "You gave him his first taste of fear and pain." "I taught him what it was to be controlled!" Kaileel disagreed. "Did you not wonder why he never told his father what had happened to him at the Monastery? From that first night, I established complete control over him!" "You instilled terror in a boy. Not such a major feat. Anyone could do that." He glared at her. His voice became an unpleasant sneer. "I taught him respect! To humble--" "You call making a child flinch every time you come near him 'humble'? You did your best to break him and found you could not. Not then, and not since. Conar will never buckle under to you until he is so weak he can not lift a hand to gainsay you!" "He had to be taught a lesson, and by treating him as harshly as I did, by humiliating him in every imaginable way, by making him do things he found distasteful, I controlled him! The times after that I was gentle with him. I showed him the wonderful side of male love." Raja's eyes widened. "You showed a six-year-old boy what it was to be shamed. You raped him! Rape isn't love!" "I had not the time to court him, bitch!" "Even if you'd had your time tocourt him," Raja sneered, "he would never have embraced your perverted pleasure. He would've fought you as he has always fought you. It is that spirit that has kept him sane all these years!" Raja had a vision of a young boy, lying tearfully on her bed so very long ago, shamed by what had been done to him, afraid to let a woman touch him for fear she would hurt him in the same horrid way.

Getting up from the window seat, Kaileel seemed to stagger a bit from his memories. His face had become white, and a slight tremor played along his thin lips. "It was that spirit, as you call it," he said in a wavering voice, "that brought him to the notice of Tolkan Coure." He turned bleak eyes to her. "If Conar had only given in, if he had not caused so much grief for me within the Monastery, Tolkan would never have taken note of him. As it was, he had me bring 'the troublemaker' to his chambers one eve. Tolkan questioned Conar, and it was the boy's answers that brought about what happened to him later." "Don't put the blame on Tolkan! You had the same plans for Conar. You just didn't want to share him!" Kaileel's face filled with rage. "I did not! I would have brought him around eventually. I would have made him see reason. If it had not been for him meeting that ill-spawned Jah-Ma-El and having Tolkan take an interest in him, Conar might well have listened to me." "What did Jah-Ma-El have to do with it? The man is ineffectual, at best." "Conar gathered strength from that skinny runt! They communicated. Jah-Ma-El has more power than we give him credit. When he tried to kill himself, Conar saved him." He closed his eyes. "And garnered for himself a beating that almost cost him his life." "And brought him to the point of trying to take his own," Raja said. A look of despair crossed Tohre's face. He walked back to the window, bracing his hand on the stone ledge. "It was the hardest thing I had ever been forced to do. Tolkan was furious after Conar's beating. He said the time had come to initiate him. I tried to stall, to tell Tolkan the boy wasn't ready, that the initiation wouldn't take, but Coure wanted Conar a part of the Brotherhood by the first of the year. Against my pleas and warnings, Tolkan had the ceremony arranged for the next week, as soon as Conar could get up from the beating. I watched them prepare the ceremonial coffin, the drugs and instruments. They brought him to the chamber, kicking and screaming, struggling so violently he fainted against them." His eyes grew dark. "An initiate has to be beaten first, to remind him that the Brotherhood has always been persecuted. Conar's back was still raw from the beating he'd received for saving Jah-Ma-El's worthless life, but they woke him anyway and beat him until he fainted a second time. I, myself, lifted him into the coffin, a physical reminder that he would always be alone in his quest to the higher powers of the Dark." "And that was when you made him deathly afraid of being in closed, tight places," Raja said in disgust. "He didn't like the coffin." Kaileel's voice went low, soft, pained. "He woke inside, screaming, clawing at the wood. I could hear him pleading with me to get him out." "That must have made you feel powerful," she grumbled. He turned haunted eyes toward her, while tiny lines of grief creased his brow--the first sign of humanity she had ever seen displayed on his face. "When he was brought back to me, there was such a piteous look on his face, and I used that feeling he was experiencing to put more holds on him. I told him he was a part of us, like us, and once he was on the outside, going about Domination business, he was to never reveal what had happened. If he did, he would be brought back to remain here for the rest of his life." A tear fell from Raja's eye. She angrily brushed it away. Her heart, black as it was, ached for the innocent boy of so long ago. She knew now why he had never uttered a word to his father about what had been done to him. It was more than the shame of it; it was the terror that it might happen all over again. "A year later, Jah-Ma-El was sent to Norus and Conar tried to kill himself." Tohre closed his eyes to the memory. "He managed to escape." "How?" "I don't know, but I suspect one of the priests allowed him to. He went home to Boreas. He arrived late that evening, surprising the guards. No one thought to wake his father to let him know Conar had returned. He had asked them not to, saying morning would be time enough to surprise the family. Who ever thought to question the Prince Regent? If one of the servant girls hadn't wondered at the look in his eyes, Conar might well have died that night. As it was, she woke Hern Arbra and that son-of-a-bitch did something right for the first time in his worthless life--he went to Conar's room. It was him who found Conar with his wrists slashed open by a dagger he had stolen from the armory. He sent the girl after Cayn, and the Healer was able to save Conar's life."

"No thanks to you. It's a wonder you didn't storm the keep and demand his return." "The King would not allow him to come back to the monastery. We tried. Tolkan even suggested kidnapping him, but I warned against that. Gerren McGregor would've had every soldier within a thousand miles on our doorstep. The Tribunal feared that Conar would tell his father what had happened, but I had no such fear. I had taught him well." "Scarredhim well," Raja shot back. "And have kept on scarring him ever since!" "I loved him! Don't you see that? And like any spurned lover, I sought revenge on him. The older he got, the more the revenge seemed impossible. He feared me, aye, but that fear was not the control I wanted over him. He balked at me at every turn, going so far as to fall in love with that bitch of Raphaella's! If she could have been taken from him, he would have eventually turned to me!" Raja shook her head with wonder that the man could be so blind in his failings. He would never have had Conar under his total control. There would have always been the tugging of Conar's great, eternal love for Elizabeth Wynth that kept him back. "You love him, too," Kaileel accused. "You wanted him and he denied you. How does that makeyou feel?" "It doesn't make me insane with revenge." "You want him nevertheless." Kaileel sidled closer to her. "Perhaps when the transmergence is accomplished, I will let you have his body." Raja's felt her face drain of color. She stared at Kaileel with shocked, stunned eyes. "Transmergence?" she whispered, not believing what she had heard. "That isn't what you said--" "It is what I will do!" Kaileel bellowed. "I will have him totally mine once that conjuring is done." "You can't!" "I can--and I will!" Raja backed away from the insanity in the man's flaring eyes. She did not want to see Conar die--that was not part of either of their plans. To weaken him to the point of death and capture his soul as it began to leave his body, to chain it to them, to make him malleable to their suggestions--that had been the plan. Though that had not been accomplished, she wished with all her heart that Conar had truly died, for she did not want to see him enslaved to Kaileel Tohre in the way the madman planned. Transmergence. The evil word wound through her head, slithering like an oil slick. Nothing could ever have been planned as revenge so vile. Kaileel laughed, his eyes glowing. "It's your choice. You can have his body if you like, such as it will be, but I shall have his immortal soul...merged with my own!"

Chapter 19 Conar's wounds kept him convalescing for more than two weeks. The old fever returned to debilitate him, sending him into fits of bone-shattering chills and sweat-drenched delirium. His anger at being laid low for so long, at having to wait to confront Kaileel Tohre, made his room off-limits for most.

But Liza had all but moved into his room, gossip be damned, her pert chin lifted to anyone who tried to talk sense into her. At the beginning of the third week, Conar got up, walking unsteadily but gaining strength. In the middle of the week, he ventured outside. And by the end of that week, he rested only when Liza insisted and gave no quarter. During one such afternoon "rest," Conar cried out in his sleep. "Conar! Wake up! You're dreaming, little brother. Wake up, now!" Brelan shook him until Conar's eyes leveled with his. Sweat drenched Conar's face, and his entire body shook as though the fever had returned yet again. "God," he whispered, heaving, pushing himself up. He ran a quivering hand through his hair. "It seemed so real." Brelan laid his hand on Conar's shoulder. "I was walking by and heard you screaming in your sleep. It's all right. It was just a dream." Conar squeezed his eyes shut. His heart pounded, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears like the roar of a mighty ocean. His mouth trembled and he moaned, a soft whisper of despair that echoed from deep within his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?" Brelan asked. "I've had the dream before," Conar answered in a ragged breath. "Many times before. It's always the same." "The nightmare from the Labyrinth?" "No, one I had long before I went there." "Tell me about it. Sometimes it helps." Brelan pulled up a chair and sat down. "Is it about Tohre?" For a few moments the silence stretched out while Conar gathered his thoughts. He willed his heart to stop its frantic beat and his body to stop quivering. He felt fear all the way to his gut, and it hurt. He took long, deep breaths until he decided he could talk in a normal, rational way that Brelan would understand. Finally, he looked at his brother. "What?" Brelan asked, outwardly alarmed at something he must have seen in Conar's expression. "The dream was about Elizabeth." Conar's eyes misted. "And you." "There is nothing between us now. I'm going to marry Ammie." "It isn't that." "Then what?" Conar paused, uncertain whether to continue, full of pain, despair--and terror. "Long ago, when I saw the two of you together at Ciona, I felt as though I could have killed you. When the dreams started, I thought it was a natural offspring from that jealousy and hatred. The dreams are always so real, so intense. It's almost as though I'm watching the future. Everything has such a sharp edge, so clear, so concise. It's too real not to be." He lowered his eyes. "I've awakened just like tonight, sweating, shaking, so sure that what was happening was real, I've often thought my heart would explode from the fear." Brelan put his hand on his brother's. "Whatever it is, it's just a dream. Nothing more. There's no reason to be afraid." "The dreams stopped when I was in the Labyrinth. I haven't had them until tonight. And the gods help me, Brelan, I don't want these dreams back again." "We all have dreams. You remember the nightmare I had when I was little? That Hern was chasing me with a giant axe? The damned thing was ten times bigger than him. I could actually feel the air swooshing past me when he swung it. I was, what?--twenty-five, thirty?--when I finally realized what that dream was about." A wicked grin crossed his face. "After Papa gave me over to Hern for training when I was ten, the first thing he did was have me chop this big stack of wood. I was so offended, believing that a servant's job, not a warrior's, I paid one of the stableboys to do it. Hern was impressed with the job and he bragged on me, but I always felt guilty for not having chopped the wood myself." He laughed. "Usually that's what brings on our recurring dreams--memories and guilt."

"Damn it, Brelan!" Conar snapped. "This is no dream like that! This dream is almost like an insight into what's going to happen!" "So now you're clairvoyant? Another gift from Occultus' bag of tricks? Just what happens in this dream? Do I take Elizabeth away from you at last?" "Don't patronize me!" Conar flung back the covers. He swung his legs to the side of the bed and bent forward, burying his face in his hands. "It's serious, Brelan.I'm serious!" "Tell me about the dream." "I don't think--" "Tell me!" Brelan hissed, taking Conar's arm and shaking him. It took a moment for Conar to make up his mind, but the pressure on his arm, tight in his brother's grip, warned him that Brelan would not be put off. "I'm walking on a beach. Somewhere in Oceania, I think...I'm not sure. The sand is black like in Oceania, as black as the pit. Volcanic. But there are snow-capped mountains in the distance. I can see storm clouds brewing way out to sea, and the air is intense with heat. The waves are coming in so fast and so hard, they nearly sweep me off my feet. I see something lying ahead of me, on the sand in the breakwater. I walk toward it, even though I want to run away, but my feet carry me forward. I try to turn my head, and I can't. I try to close my eyes, and I can't. Something, or someone, is determined that I see what I don't wish to see..." "Go on." Conar looked into Brelan's eyes. "I move closer to what's lying there and I finally see it. I can hear myself moaning, crying. I want to scream, and I can't. I want to call out to ease the burning in my throat, and I can't. All I can do is watch what's happening in the waves." His lips trembled with emotion. "What do you see?" "You...you and Liza." The words felt as though they were being torn from him. "Lying in the waves. Making love." "It never happened--" "Her face is shining with her pleasure as you take her, and it tears through me like a knife. It hurts more than you can imagine, Brelan." "You don't have to worry about that happening. Neither she nor I would let it." Conar's head fell back and he stared at the ceiling. His voice became lethargic as he continued. "Suddenly the air turns frigid and the sky lowers. Lightning flashes and the thunder drowns out the soft sounds of pleasure coming from the two of you. I try to warn you to watch out for the storm, but I can't speak. And then, as though an unseen hand is turning my head, I look out at the ocean and see a giant tidal wave bearing down on you. I want to pull you out of the way, but my feet won't move." Tears coursed down his cheeks, and his words broke. He sniffed. "Somehow I understand that at the exact moment you claim her, the wave will break over and drown you both, but there isn't anything I can do to stop it. I stand and watch while you take her away from me, and then while the wave takes you both away." He doubled over, hugging himself with pain. "I lose her, Brelan. I lose her to the water! I lose you both to the water!" Brelan gathered Conar into his arms, shushing his sobbing. "It won't happen," he said firmly. "None of what you dreamed will happen." He lifted Conar's chin and peered deeply into his eyes. "No one is going to take Elizabeth away from you, or separate you and me. Do you hear me?" "I hope you're right." "I know I am. It'll never happen."

Chapter 20 "He stowed away!" Holm strode down the gangplank, Sentian Heil close on his heels. "We didn't have no idea he was on board until we got near to Matheny's Cay!" He turned and fixed Sentian with a rigid stare. "Now who's going be telling ConaR? Not me! No sirree!" Sentian grimaced, following as closely behind Holm as he could. His gut told him there'd be hell to pay before the day was out. "Me, just minding my own business," Holm fumed, his black boots thumping along the quay. He looked like a stampeding bull. "Making good time coming through the straits, I was. And what do I get? Tarnes, all gooey-eyed and mumbling, telling me that little bastard had stowed away!" He stopped suddenly, Sentian having to back-pedal to keep from plowing into him. "I should have keelhauled his ass! Should have made him walk the plank in shark-infested waters!" Sentian released a long, aggravated sigh--Regan. The boy had somehow managed to escape his watchdogs in Chrystallus and hidden himself onThe Ravenwind, burrowing in the cargo hold until he was sure the ship was well out to sea and incapable of turning back. "Conar's goin' to cat-'o-nine us all!" Holm predicted. His big face set in a frown of hopelessness. "He's gonna take my ship away from me, he is!" Holm swallowed hard. "And I wouldn't blame him!" "I don't think--" "He's gonna have us tossed in the brig!" Holm jumped onto the steps leading to the keep. "Hold us in irons 'til we're old men! Not even the Emperor's gift will soften him up." "Gift?" Holm thought a moment. "He don't know it yet. Best maybe if I show him the gift first, don't you agree? Let him see that, then ease into telling him I done let his son come back to try and murder him again." The face crumbled with despair. "Oh, Alel! He's gonna keelhaul me!" "Maybe if you tell--" "I'll have them bring out that gift before they drag that son-of-a-bitch from the hold." He glanced back at Sentian. "I didn't chain up the little bugger, but I locked his conniving ass in a cabin. Took his butt down to the hold when we neared harbor." A shudder went through the man. "I ordered every tar on that ship--tell anyone we got that viper on board and I'll keelhaul your ass from here to Fealst!" He resumed his long strides, angrily thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his breeches. He hunched his massive shoulders. "Aye, that's what I'll do. I'll have the men bring him his gift. Let him see that. Tell him--maybe tomorrow--about the brat." Sentian looked at the heavens, rolling his eyes. **** Conar ran his hands over the withers of a sleek, black stallion. The animal side-stepped away, flinging his angular head and tossing his shiny midnight mane. One massive hoof pawed at the stable floor. Lifting one of the steed's strong front legs, Conar whistled when he saw the bright silver horseshoe nailed to the hoof. "The Emperor had 'em made special," Tarnes acknowledged, spitting tobacco juice into a pile of straw. "They're supposed to be stronger than regular silver. Special properties, they say." "What do you think of him?" Holm asked. "What's his name?" Conar countered.

"His Celestial Majesty named him Demonwind," Ching-Ching answered, "because when he runs, his hooves strike sparks of fire." "Demonwind," Conar whispered, like a lover saying his woman's name. He patted the sleek nose and looked the horse in the eye as it lowered its head. Something tangible passed between man and beast; something preternatural and secret only the two of them understood. "The Empress said this beastie was hell-spawned during one of the worst storms to hit there in a long time," Tarnes said. "His dam died giving birth to him. The father was an offspring of Seayearner's, one you sent there right after you married the lady." "One of the them was a foal of 'Yearner's and 'Keeper's. Are you one of their progeny, boy?" Conar smiled when the horse whinnied. "I like him even more than I did when I first saw him. He's magnificent." "We got another one that the Empress sent your lady," Holm said. "She's a milk-white beauty with a long, thick mane. Pretty as a picture. Her eyes are odd, though--pink. Never seen a horse with pink eyes before." Holm pointed at the stallion's hooves. "Shod with that silver just like him, too." The ancient talespinner's stories of the Great Warrior and his Lady-wife throbbed through Conar's mind. He'd heard the legend since he had been old enough to understand about the black hell-steed and the albino mare, which were the lovers' mounts. "When you're able to ride him, we'll give you that special saddle Pearl made for you," Holm said, obviously seeing the pleasure on Conar's face at the mention of the friend he'd made in Chrystallus. "Said to tell you the saddle will do this man-o'-war proud. No fripperies and such. Said you'd understand." Conar grinned. Grabbing a handful of the horse's mane, he gently tugged, letting the stallion know he wanted it to exit its stall. Conar whispered in the steed's ear; the beast bobbed its head. "What are you planning?" Ching-Ching asked. Conar walked the horse into the fresh morning air. The coat shone blue-black in the sunlight As the animal tossed its head, flinging his mane, it nickered in reply to Conar's low whistle. Gripping the horse's mane, Conar swung himself onto the steed's back. Though he felt a moment of pain, he also experienced intense pleasure at being astride the magnificent destrier. "Don't you even think about riding that horse!" Ching-Ching demanded. "You aren't--" Conar wagged his brows at Ching-Ching, then clucked his tongue and kicked his heels into the horse's side. With liquid ease, the animal shot forward into a fast canter. ---Ching-Ching's eyes grew wide as saucers. A tight groan issued from his clenched teeth. "Shit!" Holm shouted and looked toward the keep. "Shit and double shit! She's gonna have my hide for this!" He ran after Conar as though he could catch horse and rider on foot. The animal stretched into a full run and took the corral fence in one long lunge. Ching-Ching stood with arms folded over his squat chest, frowning. Horse and rider moved like one being across the meadow beyond which led to Lake Myria. Conar's black clothes blended into the horse's coat, and from a distance, they looked like a centaur of the old yarns. Shaking his head, Ching-Ching turned to go back to the keep. Not more than two feet away, Liza blocked his path, her face livid with rage. One small foot tapped an angry rhythm on the hard-packed earth. Her green eyes narrowed, glowing with inner fury, while her hands clenched into fists at her side. "You were suppose to be watching him," she accused, her vision sweeping over the men. She looked at Tarnes, who flinched, then her gaze leapt back to Ching-Ching. "Well?" Though the Chrystallusian had never been afraid of anyone, this diminutive woman scared the hell out of him. He

wanted no berating from her caustic tongue, no green-eyed glare from her lovely face. He ducked his head and wished with all his heart he was tending his garden in Chrystallus. "Holm?" she asked, a brow arching. "What have you to say?" "He got away," Holm said, swallowing. "So he did! And why?" Her gaze swung to Sentian. "We--uh--we weren't watching him close enough?" "Precisely!" Turning, she began a not very lady-like stomp toward the keep. "Bring Regan to the keep, Holm," she ordered over her shoulder. "Take him to his old room, Sentian." She turned and stared at her Sentinel. "And see he stays there!" The men stared at her, agape. "How did she know about...?" Holm snapped his mouth shut. "Oh, Sweet Merciful Alel! We're gonna hang for sure!" ---Standing at his window, Occultus smiled when he viewed Liza fling open the garden door, angrily screeching to the trees, shrubs, fountain, and seagate, frightening into flight a flock of martins lounging in the Temple tree. "Son of a bitch!" she yelled, her head thrown back. Occultus shook his head when he saw the racing rider and stallion in the meadow beyond. "It's time to fly again, eh, fledgling?" he whispered against the window glass. His eyes lowered to the woman in the garden, and he chuckled. "Let's hope you don't get your wings clipped before you do!"

Chapter 21 Liza stood outside Regan's room and stared at the door. She had come here several times over the last few hours, wanting to enter and wanting to flee at the same time. She could sense the boy's confusion and pain, and truly wanted to help, but the knowledge of what he had done to the man she loved turned her soft heart to stone. She tried to tell herself she felt no pity for the child, considering who had borne him and taught him the hate that compelled him to strike out at Conar; but her motherly instincts, stronger than her anger toward Raja, told her differently. With her courage screwed into a tight ball, she twisted the door handle, not giving herself time to stall. **** Three hours passed before Conar finally returned to the keep. His eyes strayed to the front door, half expecting Liza to storm outside, dagger in hand. But her not being there was worse. His eyes lifted to their room, but he didn't see her glowering down at him. Instead, his eyes met Regan's. He stared up at the boy, their gazes fused, until Regan flinched and looked behind him as though someone had called his name. The boy moved out of sight. Conar continued to stare at the window, willing the boy to return. When he didn't, Conar sighed. He slid down from his steed and patted the beast's backside. A stable boy threw a rope over the animal's neck. "Give extra care, Matt. He's a valiant runner," Conar said, smiling.

"Did you have a good romp, Milord?" Jah-Ma-El asked as he casually walked toward his brother. His finger marked a place in the large tome of poetry that he never seemed to be without. A guilty grin spread over Conar's lips. "Aye, I did. Will you do me a favor and let Liza know I'm back?" Jah-Ma-El's chin lifted; his eyes glowed. "Oh, she already knows you're back!" "Is she mad?" "You'll find out soon enough." Conar frowned. Aye, he thought, the lady was mad. He turned and saw Holm sauntering toward him. With an apologetic look, he held up a hand. "I'll make sure she understands it was my doing and not yours, Holm." The sea captain's brows drew together. He shook his shaggy head. "No, it's not that." "If it's about Regan having stowed away on your ship," Conar said, "I don't hold you responsible." "It ain't about that, either, but I'm glad you ain't mad. It's about du Mer." Conar saw the concern on Holm's beefy face. "What's Teal done?" "Nothing that I know of. It's just...well, it's about..." He stopped, seemed to gather his courage. "It's about him and my Jenny." Knowing things had escalated between the couple, Conar nodded. "You want me to have a talk with him? Find out his intentions?" "Oh, I know the little prick's intentions!" Holm grimaced. "He came to me last eve, almost before I had my bags unpacked, to ask for Jenny's hand." Conar's brow shot upward in surprise. "It's gone that far?" "I'm afraid so." Holm looked out across the courtyard. "I like the little bugger, don't get me wrong, and Jenny is head over heels about him. I just have a question or two about the lad, that's all." "Such as?" Conar bent down to dust off his breeches. Holm took a deep breath and turned his eyes to Conar. "Can he control that infernal gambling?" "To Teal, gambling is a way of life. He doesn't lose all that much, but he tends to cheat, as I'm sure others have told you." He watched the frown deepen on Holm's face. "But if you told him the only way he could have Jenny to wife is if he gave up gambling altogether, he just might go for it." Conar smiled. "It depends on how much he loves her." "I think he loves her about as much as she does him." Holm raked his blunt fingers through his hair and sat on the keep's steps. "I never thought to hear my Jenny talk again or be as happy as she is with du Mer. You should see the cow eyes she makes at that boy!" Holm rolled his own eyes. "It's disgusting. But Mary and me have never seen her as carefree as she is. Teal du Mer has been a godsend to her." "Teal's never grown up," Conar admitted, joining Holm on the steps. "That's the best kind of man for Jenny, don't you think? I knew from the moment they met they were going to be a part of each other." He laid a hand on Holm's shoulder. "I have a good feeling about this match. I think you can trust Teal to be a loving and faithful husband. It's taken him a good long while to find what he's been searching for, and I think that was Jenny van de Lar." Holm sighed. "I think so, too." "Is something else bothering you about the match, then?" Conar asked, searching his friend's eyes. "Remember when you and him were boys?" Conar nodded, puzzled by the pained look in Holm's eyes.

"Well, you and Legion, and sometimes Brelan, you'd all go sailing with me." Holm stared at the guard tower. "Du Mer never went but that one time." A sudden light went on in Conar's mind. He smiled, but ducked his head to keep Holm from seeing it. "I remember." "He ain't got no better at sailing, has he?" Holm turned to see Conar laughing. "I didn't think so. Me, a sailing man, with a son-in-law who can't abide the sea." He sighed. "It's just not to be borne, is it?" "Well, look at it this way. It's better than a sharp stick in the eye." **** Regan had been sitting in his narrow window seat all morning. He had watched his father race across the meadow that ran beside the winding stream to the north of the keep. He had hugged his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, never letting his father and the magnificent horse out of sight. His mind was not on what he was watching, but rather the coming anger that he knew his father would settle on his shoulders when he returned to find him. When Conar had ridden into the courtyard and saw Regan watching him, there had been no change on the man's face, no anger in the dark eyes. There hadn't even been a lowering of his brows. As the door to his room opened, he flinched, and his eyes went wide with fear. The Queen entered and quietly closed the door behind her. Regan lifted his chin in defiance, daring her to yell. She didn't. Instead, she calmly sat on the settee by the fireplace, folded her hands in her lap, and looked at him. Regan moved across the room as far away from her as the room would allow, never taking his eyes off her, as if she were a pit viper to be kept under close scrutiny. He expected her to berate him, but there was no prim line at her mouth, no tenseness to her posture as she regarded him. It puzzled him. He thought her eyes calm, her manner polite, so decided she was trying to intimidate him through silence. "I came to talk to you," she finally said, "because I don't believe you knew what you were doing. I don't believe it was your intention--nor was it Kaileel's--that you murder your father. It is also my belief that you were used in a way you don't understand." Regan didn't answer, but fumbled with the edge of his tunic. "You have reason to be angry with your father for sending you away. But I think you know it was not him, but your Uncle Brelan, who sent you away before you knew whether your father was sorely wounded or not." She took a deep breath. "Someone should have told you his condition. You must have thought you had killed him." "I knew I hadn't!" he snapped. "I know things!" Liza nodded. "I know you do, but you weren't sure, were you?" He shrugged disdainfully. "Your father's hatred for your mother, for the things she did, and his loathing of Kaileel Tohre, have tempered his trust and caring for you. He's found it difficult to accept you, as he found it difficult to accept Corbin. It has nothing to do with either you or your brother, but his feelings toward those who manipulated him. He's a proud man." "He's stubborn! Stubborn and arrogant!" A faint smile touched her lips. "He is, at times. But then again, most great warriors are." "And he's churlish!" Regan's eyes narrowed. Her laugh sounded like a tinkling bell. "I agree. I called him such when he and I first met." Regan stared at her. "Did he beat you for it?" Liza shook his head. "How many women do you know of that he has beaten, Regan?" She watched his eyes carefully. "Conar is not a man to take his hand or belt to a female." "He would the bitch who bore me, if he could!"

A dark blush touched her cheekbones. "I agree. He might if he ever gets his hands on her." "He ought to kill her..." She continued speaking in a calm, soothing voice. "Sometimes when he looks at you, he sees the mistakes of his youth, and it angers him. But again, it isn't you with whom he's angry. It's your mother who well deserves his anger. Your fight with Corbin came at a bad time, when he and his brother were at odds. Sending you to Chrystallus was not a punishment." "Then what was it ifnot punishment, Lady?" "He feared Tohre had sent you to harm Corbin." She sighed. "I fear we all thought that might have been the reason. It never occurred to any of us that you would try to harm Conar." Tearing his eyes from hers, Regan looked down, feeling his guilt. "I did what I was told to do." "I know you did, and he knows you did. He also knows what it is like to be used by both Raja and Kaileel." He lifted his eyes and peer at her. "It isn't because he's callous to your feelings, or that he doesn't care about you that makes him shun you. It's just that all has not gone well for him of late, and his mind has been on things he thinks are of more consequence." She shook her head. "That may be wrong. I cannot judge. But if you'll let me, I'll see that he comes to speak with you, hears your side, and judges for himself what is best for you." "I don't need him!" Regan shouted. Liza looked down at her hands. "But he needs you." Regan stomped across the room and glared at her. "What does he needme for? He has Corbin. He has that man I met at the harbor! "You mean Wyn?" "The one marrying the nigger!" Liza pursed her lips into a hard line. "That's a horrible word, but I'll address the issue of prejudice with you another time. For now, you must understand that you are as much his son as Corbin or Wyn are." "But I tried to kill him!" "Did you? Was that really your intention?" His face screwed up. He tried to keep tears from coming. "I raised his dagger and pointed it right at his heart." He lifted his hand in parody. "He didn't even try to stop me! He didn't say a word!" His mouth quivered. "Helet me do it! Helet me try to kill him, Lady!" "Do you know why?" He shook his head and angrily wiped the sleeve of his tunic under his nose. "Because you are flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. He realized that he had failed you, and it washis punishment he saw in that dagger. He blamed himself for what you were trying to do." "He hates me!" Regan cried, tears falling from his eyes. Liza shook her head. "No one hates you." Regan backed away. "Youhate me! I tried to kill your lover!" She held out her arms. "I don't hate you, Regan. I understand why you did what you did. Tohre gave you no choice, didn't he?" Never had Regan been held by a woman. Not his mother, not the wet nurse who gave her milk in a bottle for one of the

priests to feed him. Never had any woman ever offered to hold him, except this lady, who once held him while he cried crocodile tears against her sweet bosom to gain his own ends. "Come here, son," Liza whispered. "Come here." He looked deeply into her damp eyes, and through his own tears, saw the gentleness in her face. Her arms--safe, secure, loving--engulfed him. He let his head drop to her shoulder. "You aren't alone any more," she said. "You're part of this family." With the tears that became violent sobbing against her chest, he let all the torment and sadness flow out of him. The harder he cried the lighter his heart felt. Her hands gently smoothed over his back, while her crooning voice soothed him. His own arms went around her, pulling her close, just as he had seen her other children do. As he sobbed, Regan felt his anger vanish, and in its stead, came a sense of having found a place in life--at last.

Chapter 22 "Did he talk to you?" Teal asked as he hurried alongside Conar down the corridor. "Did he?" "Did who?" Conar quipped, looking at Teal's anxious face. "Did Holm talk to you about me?" Conar looked at him with a bland expression. "What about you, du Mer?" His lips twitched, but he knew Teal hadn't noticed. He let a scowl come over his face. "Have you been gambling again, du Mer?" Before Teal could speak, Conar held up his hand. "I'd think twice about gambling when it comes to the good Captain. And if you're serious about his daughter, I'd swear on your parents' graves that you won't gamble again. Else I doubt he'll let you continue seeing Jenny." Teal swallowed hard. "No gambling?" "Not even a turn of the dice." A beleaguered look crossed Teal's face. "No dice?" "And no cards. And something else..." "What?" Teal sighed, his crestfallen look miserable. "You ought to try to get over that seasickness of yours." Teal blanched white. "Why?" A merry, evil grin touched Conar's mouth. "I think Holm plans for any son-in-law of his to go into shipping with him. I intend to give himThe Ravenwind when all this is over." He slapped Teal on the shoulder and continued on his way. "On the water?" Teal called after him. "Sailing? Can't I just manage his office?" Turning the corner into the solarium, Conar encountered Brelan, giving him a stern look. "That wasn't nice," Saur said. "Tell me, Bre," Conar said, putting his arm around his brother's shoulder, "are you still afraid of heights?"

Brelan's eyes narrowed. "Aye, what of it?" "Would you climb, say, thirty feet to gain Amber-lea's hand?" A look of warning passed over Brelan's face. "If that's what you intend for me--" "No!" Conar laughed. "But if you had to do it to win her, or to save her life, would you?" Brelan gave a slow, hesitant nod. "Aye, I would." "Then, Teal can at least try sailing, can't he?" Conar chuckled. "Faint heart never won fair maiden." Brelan smiled. "Holm may toss his ass overboard." Conar shook his head. "Holm is happy about the situation. He'll forgive du Mer just about anything. Even seasickness." "Conar?" He stilled, hearing the anger in Liza's voice. He looked at Brelan. Saur shook his head. "Better not keep her waiting." Conar scrunched up his face as she called again. He drew in a harsh breath. Walking to the stairs, he looked up to see her standing there, arms folded over her chest, her right foot tapping a furious tempo on the carpet, her eyes glowing. When he climbed the steps and reached her, he smiled uncertainly. "Your son is waiting for you to speak to him," she said, forestalling his apology. She nodded to Regan's door. "When you're through with your duty in there, I'll be in the library--waiting." She spoke the last word with finality, then swept past him down the stairs. He didn't give himself time to stall. He tapped lightly on Regan's door, heard the hesitant "enter," and walked in. Regan, sitting on the window seat, slowing stood, his eyes wary, his body tense. Conar took a deep breath and settled on the bed, patting the place beside him. Regan sat down as though on hot coals. His nervous eyes darted to Conar, then away. Putting his arm around Regan, Conar felt the boy's body go as taut as a freshly strung bow. He gently pulled the small body toward him and settled his chin on Regan's head. "Do you mind if I hold you?" Regan shook his head. Neither spoke for a long while, as if merely content to sit together, gathering their own thoughts. Outside the room, Shalu's deep bass boomed as he argued with Jah-Ma-El. Jah-Ma-El's pained retort made Conar smile. "They're too much alike," he concluded. Regan looked up and smiled hesitantly. "They don't think so." "That's why they're good friends. They're almost like brother's." "Did you get along with your brothers when you were little?" Conar laughed. "Brothers aren't made to always get along. You have to fight when you're a brother. It's the natural way of things." "How many brothers and sisters did I have besides Corbin and Wyn?" "There were ten, that I know of. You and your brothers are all that are left. Kaileel had the others killed." A muscle jumped in Conar's cheek. "The most important part of the score I have to settle with him is to make him pay for the slaughter of my children."

"I hate him, too," Regan vowed. "He did evil to me." Conar closed his eyes. "I know. He'll pay for that, too." "Promise?" "I promise." "Conar?" "Papa," Conar corrected. "I would like you to call me Papa." Regan's eyes lowered. "Love me, too, Papa," he said, voice breaking. "Please love me, too." Conar held the fragile body close to his own. "I do, Regan." "I'm sorry. I didn't--" "Shush. It's over and done. What matters is that we go forward." He tilted the little chin upward and gazed down with tear-blurred eyes. "You can make a place for yourself here, if you but try." He searched the boy's face. "Is that what you want?" Regan nodded. "Then you can stay." "What about Corbin? Will you bring him home from wherever you sent him?" "No. He's where he can be protected. I fear more for him than you, right now. You are with the Force. Kaileel might try to come after Corbin here. Your brother is safer out of Serenia." A light tap at the door broke the spell. Conar cleared his throat to speak. "Enter." Roget du Mer poked in his head. "Bre's leaving for Ciona. Do you want to say goodbye?" "I'll be right there." Conar withdrew his arm from his son and stood. "Is there anything else we need to settle between us?" The boy shook his head. "Then I'll see you at supper?" Regan blinked, as if not believing he would be allowed to sit at table with his father. Conar walked to the door and smiled at him. "Things will be all right, Regan. You'll see." **** Long after his father had gone, Regan sat on the bed, staring across the room. In his heart he felt a strange stirring, something he had never felt before, something almost painful. He wondered what it was.

Chapter 23

Conar witnessed Teal and Jenny take their vows in the garden of Boreas Keep. Beside them stood Brelan and Amber-lea, who only moments before had pledged themselves to one another before the old priest. Conar's dark gaze went to the woman whose hand he held in his own. The tears Liza didn't attempt to hide made him smile. He wiped one runaway crystal from her face, and when their gazes met, he felt the sweet burden of her love lighting her eyes. His heart swelled with pride and he thought he would burst from joy. Lowering his head, he planted a soft kiss on her flushed cheek. ---Across the span of the garden, each member of the Wind Force had gathered to bring his own special blessing to the couples. They formed a circle of protection around the four lovers at the fountain. Smiles lit even the craggiest faces, and a tender heart showed among men who vowed they did not have one. A few, especially Roget and Jah-Ma-El, wiped moisture from their eyes, but they swore it was sweat from the infernal heat. ---Chand Wynth moved closer to Gezelle. He cautiously reached out for her hand, and when she took his fingers in hers, he smiled, a lump in his throat. He looked sideways and found tears easing down her cheeks. When she looked up at him, her happiness showed in her pretty eyes. ---Though Legion was happy for Teal and Brelan, he was sadder than he had ever been. He had no one now. Grice had his lady from Fealst, the banns soon to be posted there. Chand had Gezelle. Paegan talked incessantly about a girl he had met on their last voyage to one of the Inner Kingdom emirates. Shalu, Holm, Sentian, and Storm had been married for a long time. Thom had recently asked a village widow to wife. Roget was enamored of a young serving girl right there at Boreas. Chase and Tyne were both trying to decide between several women, while Rylan had surprised them all by bringing hissecret wife to the Joining that morn. Even Ching-Ching had found a lady with whom to keep company; and rumor had it that Bent could usually be found several evenings keeping company with a middle-aged spinster in Boreas town. Jah-Ma-El, though he would not own up to it, was courting one of the girls from Ivor who had come to Boreas to work. And Legion had learned only the day before that Marsh crept out at night to meet a girl from a neighboring village. Legion had lost his only love and knew he would never love again. The day's beauty was dulled for him as he studiously avoided looking toward Conar and Liza. ---A cheer went up as the marriage bracelets were joined around the arms of the two men. It was a moment that signified the beginning of their joint loves--separate, but one. Well-wishers gathered around the couples, patting backs, stealing shy kisses from Jenny and Ammie, both no longer so timid of the rough-and-tough men who towered over them. "They're lovely, aren't they, Conar?" Meggie Ruck sniffed, wiping her rather bulbous nose with a fresh handkerchief as she looked at the two girls. "Not as lovely as the ladies by my side." He put his arms around both Liza and Meggie. "Oh, go on with you!" Meggie spluttered, playfully digging her elbow into his side. "He knows flattery will get him anything he wants, Meg," Liza remarked. "How well I know!" ---"Let's eat!" Cayn called, clasping his hands. "These young folk need their strength for tonight!" Escorting his new bride to the banquet Sadie and her womenfolk had prepared, Teal held Jenny's chair as she sat beside Amber-lea. He gazed down at Jenny, his heart aching in his chest. Then he looked across the table where Conar

sat and smiled. For the first time, he truly understood the great love between Conar and Liza. The meal was everything the men could have hoped for and the women planned. Delicacies, many of them only heard about before that afternoon, covered the damask tablecloths. Pheasant and veal, roast pork and beef, baked ham and crisply battered porkchops, fried chicken, roast turkey, mullet, shrimp, lobster, lamb and duckling were heaped high on platters the size of a man's chest. Vegetables and fruits, pastries and cakes, tarts and ices ringed the massive oaken table like dainty decorations. Breads and puddings lay scattered as well as sweet cream and jellies, marmalades, and freshly churned and flavored butters. The men had supplied the wine and ale, beer and hasque--a fruit-flavored brandy--while the ladies had provided lemonade and punch. Teal had been feeding Jenny some of each dish, marveling at her child-like glee with each new delicacy. He teased her that the shrimp would make her warm and loving, and when she blushed, looking down the table at her father, Teal snapped his mouth shut. But Jenny had loved the shrimp, smiling with delight. When Teal speared a raw oyster, though, Jenny balked and pressed her lips together. "Ah, come on, Jenny-love. Try it. They say it is the best aphro..." He stopped, feeling Holm's narrowed gaze on him. "It's--it's good." "No. It's ugly." "But it tastes delicious!" Teal edged the fork closer to her lips. Everyone grinned, nudged each other, even took bets on whether du Mer could coax his new bride into trying the raw seafood. "I'll give you a gold chain if you'll try it," Jah-Ma-El joked, winking at Teal. Jenny shook her head. "I have a gold chain Milord Conar gave me, so I don't need another. I won't eat anything that looks like somebody with a bad cold coughed up." Brelan sputtered, spewing wine over the table. Amber-lea hurriedly wiped at his dripping mouth with her napkin. "Well, it does!" Jenny defended. "It looks like somebody's booger!" "It looks like snot on a rock," Chand maintained, obviously not liking the delicacy, either. Chaos broke over the table, the laughter so real and hardy, nothing could be heard above the din. Some people looked at the empty oyster shells on their plates and held their stomachs. A few clicked their tongues, wrinkling their noses with distaste, while one or two simply turned green and gagged. Teal didn't offer Jenny an oyster again. Nor did he eat another. **** Conar and Liza walked hand and hand in the fields beyond the keep, ever mindful of the mysterious hulking shadows that darted from tree to tree behind them. "Have you ever spoken to any of the Outer Kingdom men?" He shook his head. "I've spoken to them, but they've never answered." He looked over his shoulder, squinting. "I just know they're there." Stopping by the silver stream that led back to the keep, Conar pulled Liza down beside him on the fragrant grass. He had not worn his normal black clothing, for Liza had told him it wasn't appropriate for the wedding. He had compromised with buff-colored breeches, but had still worn his black shirt. Now it was free of his breeches as he reclined on the grassy bank. "Remind you of anything?" he asked. She stretched out at an angle beside him, laying her head on his stomach. "When we first rode together from the Hound and Stag."

He smoothed the flowing black hair from her forehead. "You said you had found your destiny. You were so sure." "I was." She laughed. "It wasyou who wasn't." "Well," he drawled in his best Chalean accent, "I was engaged to this wee ogress I had yet to meet, and was loathe to begin an affair with so comely a lass as the one I found myself riding beside. I was afraid I'd fall in love with her and not honor my contract with the Toad." "Yet you did honor your contract. Are you sorry?" "Not in the least. The ogress wasn't as bad as I thought." "The Toad! What a horrible name to have called me." "Oh, but I didn't know you then," he countered, ruffling her hair. "What evil nickname do you call me now behind my back?" His smile faded. "Heart of my heart." Liza sat up. "As you are mine. Not only my heart, but my soul and my life, Milord." Conar drew her down to him, raising his head to meet her lips. He savored their sweetness, his tongue playfully forcing its way into the tender cavern of her mouth. As the kiss deepened, their arms found one another. With fierce abandon, they began to make love in the bright wash of day on the green grass of Boreas Keep. ---"Look away," a gruff voice ordered. As one, five shadows turned their backs on the couple. ---An hour later, Conar and Liza meandered toward the keep, a bright sheen in their eyes, their skin flushed from lovemaking. With fingers entwined, they ventured past the trees where five unseen men stood sentinel. "Good evening, gentlemen," Conar sighed, feeling their presence. They gave no answer, but even though Conar could not see them, he knew the exact moment they fell into step behind him.

Chapter 24 As the night wore on, Shalu and Jah-Ma-El sat in companionable silence before the smoldering fire. Coolness had invaded the keep, and the fire felt good to their bare toes, stretched toward the flames. In their hands, they held snifters of brandy and little black Ionarian cigars Chase had brought from his homeland. A platter of cold meats and cheeses sat on a table between them. Jah-Ma-El laid down his cigar and took up a half-eaten turkey leg. "He will want to go to the Monastery alone," Shalu said. "Occultus has expressly forbidden that."

"Why wasn't the Master at the Joining today?" Jah-Ma-El asked, grease slathering his chin. "Perhaps the man does not like such flipperies." Shalu frowned. "Joinings are not warrior gatherings." "But it was nice." "Aye," Shalu said grudgingly, clearing his throat of the day's sweet memories. " 'Twas well enough, I suppose." "You enjoyed it." " 'Twas all right, I said!" Shalu looked at his companion; his lip curled. "Wipe your chin, Jamie!" Jah-Ma-El laid down the turkey leg and swept the sleeve of his tunic over his mouth. "What if Coni finds out what we're planning?" he asked, burping. Shalu made a disgusted face as he watched Jah-Ma-El's lack of manners, but for once, he made no comment. "He won't find out. Every precaution has been taken. We'll guard his back, the six of us--Tyne, Rylan, Chase, Grice, you, and me. Holm and Paegan will stay with the ship, anchoring it off the coastline above the monastery where it can't be seen. Sentian, Bent, and Thom will go with Brelan and Roget up the other side of the monastery where it sits into the mountainside. Belvoir knows the way through that hidden place. Ching-Ching and Occultus will be leaving for Chrystallus on theBoreal Queen. The Master doesn't want to be where Kaileel can find him easily, should we fail at the first attempt." Shalu frowned. "I suppose we could use that Duncan fellow to guard the rendezvous point." Jah-Ma-El looked up. "You don't like him, do you? Is there a reason?" Shalu shrugged his massive shoulder. "Nothing I can name...just a feeling that he isn't what he seems. You have not told me why he originally left Boreas." After tossing the turkey leg into the fire, Jah-Ma-El wiped his hand on his stained breeches. He wiggled his toes and threw his hands over his head, stretched and yawned. "What do you want to know?" "All of it." Casting his friend a tired look, Jah-Ma-El sighed. "You have to understand, these are things I've gathered from Legion, Conar, and Brelan. Some from Cayn. I was at Norus with Galen, then, who had been sent there with a couple of Tribunal priests to be Regent. The twins were fourteen, I think when Queen Moira died. She had been slowly declining in health for a few months. Cayn had been doing all he could for her, testing her even for poison, but there was no indication that such was the case." Shalu's gaze narrowed. "But you aren't sure." "There are poisons and then there are poisons. No trace of any such potion was found in her system, but her illness was too vague. She had lost a great amount of weight and her hair had fallen out in patches. She had horrible cramps and moments of delirium. The King was so worried, he let nearly everything in the kingdom go to rot and ruin. He had no time for his sons. Had he noticed his heir's moodiness, he might have been able to help Conar cope with what had been done to him by Tohre and the Domination." "Do you think the Domination was behind the Queen's illness?" "I've no way of knowing, although I would not put it past them. Conar came home from the Monastery and tried to kill himself before her illness. The Tribunal looked upon Conar's suicide attempt as a stubborn refusal to go about princely duties. They insisted the King send him back to Tohre, but Queen Moira would not allow it. I believe she knew something bad had happened, although I'd wager Conar did not tell her. She even went before the Tribunal to ask for an inquiry, and as I understand it, soon afterward she became ill." "The Domination controlled the Tribunal," Shalu remarked. "Her interference would not have been tolerated." "Precisely." "So they may well have rid themselves of a troublemaker. It fits, doesn't it?" Jah-Ma-El nodded. "This was also about the time that Raja began to take interest in the young men of the keep. She had quite an influence on Conar, and soon afterward, he told the King he would have nothing more to do with the Priesthood. No matter how hard his father tried to get him to finish his instructions, Conar refused, supposedly telling

his father the Lady Raja said he need not be a priest to be a good King." Shalu whistled. "That must have gone over well with Gerren." "Because of it, Conar got his first whipping--or that's what his father thought. If only the King had known how accustomed Conar had become to beatings." "Tohre has a lot to atone for," Shalu mumbled. "Then what happened?" "At that time, Duncan was living here. His mother was a highborn lady, sister to Rylan and Paegan's mother, I think. He had been training, like most of the King's sons, with Hern. He was supposedly good with his fists and had that remarkable thatch of black hair the ladies seemed to find quite thrilling. Since he was so much bigger for his age than most of the other boys, he worked part time with the stonemason. He also seemed to have a flair for sculpting. At any rate, it didn't seem all that strange when Kaileel commissioned Duncan for a small statue of Alel for the sacristy. Thinking back on what Legion told me, though, I wonder..." "About what?" Shalu pressed. "Well, obviously Kaileel had other things in mind for the boy, although for the life of me I don't understand why. Duncan didn't have the blond, blue-eyed look Tohre fancies. Legion said Duncan spent a lot of time at the Temple, sketching from the large statue there. That meant he was around Tohre a great deal. On the day Duncan left home, he'd been at the Temple with Tohre. He came home crying, running to Legion, who was in his early twenties, as I recall. He said Tohre had raped him, but he didn't want Legion to tell their father, since the King had enough on his mind with the Queen's illness. Legion vowed he would not until the Queen was better." "But the Queen never got better." "No. As a matter of fact, she died that very night with Conar at her bedside. Coron and Dyllon were too young, still in the nursery, and Galen was visiting Norus, where he would be taking regency when he turned sixteen." "Did Galen love his mother?" Shalu asked abruptly. "I really don't know. He was always cold. He probably cared as much about her as it was possible for him. Why?" Shalu shrugged. "No reason. Go on..." "Duncan went to the Queen, paying his respects as he did each day. Whatever had passed between them had obviously upset her, for when Conar entered her room, his mother began to sob wildly, holding him to her as though never to let him go." "You think Duncan told her what had happened? What must have happened to Conar?" "That would be my guess. Later, a maid told the King that her mistress had rung for her. She supposedly passed Duncan, leaving the Queen's room. The maid said the Queen shouted for her to go after her two boys, meaning Conar and Galen. The maid met Conar outside the room, telling him to hurry to his mother, while she went in search of a messenger to send for Galen." "Where was Gerren while all this was going on?" "No one seems to know. During that time, he was never that far from his wife, but he may have gone to the Temple to pray. I understand he was a very religious man. At any rate, when he returned to the room, he found his wife dead in Conar's arms. When the King found out that Duncan had caused her such distress, he sent guards after him, meaning to punish him for causing her death." "The boy couldn't have been held accountable," Shalu said. "Surely Gerren wouldn't have hurt him." "Duncan believed he would have, for he ran away. No one heard from him again--until now. After the burial, the King came to his senses and sent men to find Duncan, to no avail." "How old was he?" "Eighteen or nineteen. Why?" Jah-Ma-El sat forward and stretched his hands toward the fire. "Don't you find it strange that a boy of his age would just disappear? I would have wanted to clear my name if

someone thought me the cause of my stepmother's death. Maybe I'm looking at it from my own viewpoint, but I don't think Gerren was such a tyrant that his own flesh and blood would be so scared. Unless..." "Unless, what?" Shalu stared into the fire, his thoughts dark and troubling. "Unless Duncan had reason to fear his father's wrath." "You think hewas the cause of her death?" "And I think he might have been put up to doing it." "By Tohre?" Shalu nodded. "Or Tolkan."

Chapter 25 As she sat by the open window, Liza plaited her hair, working the thick tresses into one fat braid. She noticed Conar watching her from the bed, his head resting in his hand, his elbow digging into the pillow beneath his chest. When his eyes lowered to her slightly swollen belly, he smiled. "Have you thought of a name for her, yet, Milord?" she asked. "I like Catherine." He cocked a brow at her grimace. "No?" "Too old-fashioned. I thought, perhaps, Lindsey." He snorted. "Too masculine." "Leonore?" "Too antiquated." "Adair?" He thought for a moment. "That sounds somewhat acceptable." She smiled and gave away her trickery. "Will you be staying in bed all day?" His smile widened. "Will you be coming back to bed?" Liza threw him an amused look. "I think not." He stretched out full length and put his hands beneath his head. "Oh, well, a man can dream, I suppose." "A man can get lazy, as well. We've a journey to make this day." His smile slid away. "Correction--I have a journey to make." "Don't start that again. I go with you, or by the gods, you'll not go at all." A shadow passed over his features. "You're with child. You--" "I can and I will! We'll have no more discussion!"

"Why do I put up with you, woman?" "Because no one else would put up with you!" She tied a ribbon around her braid and stood, smoothing the tunic of russet corduroy over her thickening waist. "Besides, you need me, and well you know it." "How will I get you up the mountain? You can't climb. Not with child." He shook his head. "It's not safe, Liza." Something in his voice disturbed her. She sat on the bed beside him and laid her hand on his chest. "Are you sure you're ready? Are you sure you're strong enough to confront him?" Conar brought her hand to his lips. "There's nothing stronger than our love, is there?" When she shook her head, he continued. "Then I'm ready, Elizabeth. Together we're stronger that Tohre will ever be. With you at my side, I could defeat the whole of the Domination's forces single-handed. One man is of little consequence." "He is no ordinary man, love. And he isn't alone. He has Raja." A hard grimace settled on Conar's face. "She is chaff in the wind." "Never underestimate a former Daughter of the Multitude." "Ican andwill defeat them both!" Liza saw determination, confidence lurking in his eyes. Pride swelled her chest; her heart throbbed with love. He was also no ordinary man. He, Conar McGregor, Darklord of the Wind, was a man to be reckoned with. If anyone could defeat the Domination and Kaileel Tohre, it would be her lover, the Raven. She smiled. "Sure of yourself, aren't you, Milord?" "As sure as I am the sun will rise on our love tomorrow." His lips claimed hers in a deep, penetrating kiss. For a tantalizing moment, he seemed to draw sustenance from her lips, then slowly withdrew, his bright sapphire eyes fused with hers. "And as sure as I am that my love will last for as long as there is recorded time, and even beyond." "I love you, Conar McGregor," she whispered, her fingers trembling against his unshaven cheek. He pulled her to him and delayed his journey a while longer. **** Roget looked up the stairs for what must have been the tenth time. Sighing, he glanced at Brelan. "Are you sure they're awake?" Brelan smiled. "Very sure, du Mer." "Everything's ready," Grice said, coming into the room. "We've got his horse and hers saddled." "Those two beasts are a sight to see," Cayn remarked. "That is what Occultus planned," Belvoir said. "He wants the people to be reminded of the Windwarrior legend." "There'll be no mistaking the resemblance," Grice said. "Even the saddles and bridles Tran sent are of silver, just like the legend." "Now, does everyone know what we are to do?" Jah-Ma-El asked. "He isn't to know--" "He isn't to know what?" Conar interrupted, descending the stairs and pulling on his black riding gloves. He was attired in the Raven's garb: a black flowing shirt laced with black leather ties--open because of the late-spring heat--and tight black leather breeches over knee-high boots of black kid. His sword, the infamous Deathwelder, lay across his back, the black crystal pommel shining in the sunlight coming from the window. He had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and the leather gauntlets along his forearms strained from the hard muscles. "Well? What isn't he to know, Jah-Ma-El?"

"You might as well tell him your plan," Legion drawled, leaning against the rose-colored marble fireplace. "He'll have guessed." "Damn you, A'Lex!" Tyne hissed. "Can you not keep your bloody mouth shut?" Conar laughed. "You all think to accompany us to the Monastery. One way or another, I take it. Am I right?" He stood against the newel post, one arm crossed at the wrist over the other. "We thought you might need help," Roget admitted. "Tohre won't be unguarded." Conar grinned at them for a long time before snorting with glee. A sound on the stairs caught his attention, and he looked up to see Liza descending. As usual, his breath caught in his throat, and he felt immense gratitude that she was once more his, and his alone. He held out his hand and led her from the stairs. "These bumbling oafs plan to accompany us, Milady. What do you think we should do?" A soft smile lit her face as she looked at each of the men. "I think we should consider it, for I fear they will go, with or without your permission. We can't have them wandering about the mountainside and getting into mischief while we're otherwise preoccupied. There's the safety of the townsfolk to consider." Grice growled. "Are you saying we're a danger to ourselves, Anya Elizabeth?" "That's exactly what she's saying, Wynth," Legion said, his smile looking a tad forced. "You'd better give them permission, Conar, else keep watch for them to pop out at a most inopportune moment." "You didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you, Conar?" Rylan argued. Conar sneered with good humor. "It never entered my mind that the lot of you would do as I asked. You haven't before--why waste my breath?" "Precisely so!" Jah-Ma-El said. "Waste not, want not!" "Occultus wants to see you both," Ching-Ching reminded Conar and Liza. "It won't take long. He's in the Temple." Conar and Liza made their goodbyes to those staying behind: Cayn, Marsh, Gezelle, Amber-lea, and all the others not an intricate part of the Wind Force. "Take care, Legion," Conar said, putting out his hand. Tears filled Legion's eyes. He rushed forward, gathering Conar in a strong embrace. "Please come back to us. Don't let anything happen to you." "Count on it." He eased Legion away and gripped the man's biceps. "Watch over my family while I'm gone, big brother. I entrust their lives to your safekeeping." Legion bobbed his head and withdrew his hands from Conar's shoulders. His eyes went to Liza. "You'll take care?" When she nodded solemnly, he sniffed and looked away. "Occultus is waiting," Conar whispered and took Liza's hand. **** Outside in the warm sunlight, people milled about the Temple steps. When at last Conar and Liza exited the building after praying with Occultus and receiving last minutes instructions, neither could smile. "Are you all right?" Grice asked his sister, his eyes searching hers. "I'm fine," she answered, palming his cheek. "It's just a big responsibility Conar and I have undertaken." "And a dangerous one," Conar whispered, looking across the courtyard. "You haven't seen your mare," Brelan said, as if sensing the troubling undercurrent and wanting to break the awkwardness of the moment. "Don't you think it's time you did?"

Liza smiled, thankful for Brelan's insight. She bid her final farewells to those inside the keep and followed the men of the Wind Force outside. "Isn't she a beauty?" Sentian whispered, leading the mare to her. Liza stared with awe at the albino mare. Windkeeper, her beautiful mare, had long since gone on to her final pasture, but this lovely beast would be a daring partner for the black steed side-stepping beside her. Liza laughed as the mare coyly lowered her head beneath the gently nipping teeth of the big black stallion. "You little flirt!" she admonished, fondly patting the sleek neck. The mare jerked up her head, tossing the white mane in the air as though acknowledging the comment. "What will you call her, Milady?" Sentian asked, handing over the reins. Liza looked at Conar. "Since your steed was named Demonwind, I shall call her Seafarer, for she shall follow the wind. As I follow you, Milord." Conar cupped her cheek with his gloved palm. "Are you ready to go, my love?" She squared her shoulders. "Ready." He helped her mount the milk-white mare. Liza settled into the silver-worked saddle and drew lightly on the beast's reins to still her urge to gallop. Conar threw his leg over Demonwind and surveyed the group of men mounting their own steeds. "Ready?" he called. "Aye!" came the resounding cry. "Then we ride!" Conar gently kicked the stallion in the ribs. The horse broke into a fast trot. Tossing its head, the hell-spawned stallion canted away from Boreas Keep, his mare following. ---"The Wind be at your back, Lord Conar," Meggie Ruck sobbed as she watched the troop gallop past her tavern. She put a hand to her withered brow. "The Wind be always at your back."

Chapter 26 Deep in the high Serenian peaks, Kaileel Tohre stared into his conjuring well. A muscle tightened in his cheek, and his cadaver-thin face paled. "It is beginning. They have left Boreas." Raja smiled. "Then it will be only a matter of time before Conar McGregor is here at our beck and call." "Atmy beck and call!" Kaileel pointed a trembling finger. His wild eyes pierced her with their fury. "Not yours, bitch! He is mine!" Raja stepped back from the madness in the man's hooded eyes. The intense way he watched her sent tremors down her spine. "As you desire!" "I have told you what I intend for him. If you have not the stomach for it, I suggest you leave now." Kaileel raised a fist to her face. "I will have my revenge!"

Trembling before this insane man made her furious with herself. "And so you shall, Holiness. So you shall. All I ask is that you let me be there to see it. I have a vengeance of my own to exact." Kaileel spat on the floor. "Your so-called vengeance is of no matter to me. You want to see him brought down to your level. I will elevate him to mine! This is only the beginning of the destruction of his soul!" Raja placed a tight grin on her face. "I know yours is the will to be done, Holiness. I will not interfere. I ask only for the leftovers." Her simpering smile made her ill. "See that you don't interfere, woman!" Spinning on his heel, he tramped clumsily from the room, his red robes billowing. The door into the conjuring chamber slammed shut behind him, and his footsteps echoed back to her from the far corridor. Pure hatred spread through Raja. Her lip raised in a sneer. "If you think to merge his soul with yours, think again, Kaileel Tohre! I will never permit Conar to become a part of you!" She stared into the conjuring well, seeing the mist of riders as they made their from Boreas Keep. "I will see Conar atmy mercy, his soul and body intact!" Her thoughts flew to the obscene ritual Kaileel intended to use on Conar--The Rite of Transmergence--and a quiver of revulsion shook her to her very core. A similar rite, the Ritual of Transmigration, was used by other sects, including the Daughters of the Multitude, but the rite Tohre meant to practice--a vile, disgusting, unholy ritual--had been outlawed centuries earlier. No sect outside the Domination would dare venture into the illegal conjuring, its sole purpose to steal the soul of one living being and place it in the body of another. Using the odious secretions of the hosts' body to infiltrate and corrupt the innocent victim's body, the rite would suffuse that corruption into the unwitting soul, as well, taking over what was good and decent. Once the Seven Secretions flowed inside the victim's body, they began to take over every aspect of the innocent's will and replace it with foul evil. The victim's mortal body would then be slain, and his immortal soul drained into the host's body, there to dwell for eternities to come. Raja had no doubt that was how Tohre had been able to live so long. With the taking on of each new soul, the host body could live as long as each successive victim had been destined to live before his life had been taken. "You will never have Conar! I will see him dead and buried before I allow you to desecrate him in that way! I will not settle for a hollowed-out shell to animate through my magic. I want the real man!" She dug her nails into her palms. "And I shall have him!" Raja loved Conar McGregor in a way she did not understand, for love was something no sorceress needed to complicate her life. But her jealousy, the hurt feelings of a woman scorned by the only man she had ever loved, prodded her toward her goal--Conar's enslavement. If she could not have Conar, no one could. Hell had no fury as such a one who has been rebuked. **** "The old woman had a daughter who died," Ching-Ching informed Occultus. "The servants say she hasn't been right in the head since." Occultus steepled his fingertips and stared across the desk at his companion. "And this disrespect she shows Conar? What of it?" Ching-Ching shrugged his thin shoulders. "It seems she has ever treated him so. He thinks nothing of it, I am told." "I do not care for the woman. She is far too disrespectful, for my liking. Conar may not pay heed to her insults, but they are heart-meant. Even Holm could see that." Occultus frowned. "Set a man to watch her. I will know every move she makes while Conar is gone." "It will be done." Occultus lowered his hands and placed his scarred palms on the desktop. Pushing himself from his chair, he stared across the room as though seeing into the future. "Make sure this woman makes no contact with outsiders. See that she sends no messages that are not intercepted and read before they are delivered." "You suspect treachery from her, Master?"

"I expect treachery from everyone, my friend." He narrowed his eyes. "This MacCorkingdale woman has been around Conar all his life. We know there is a traitor in this keep who reports Conar's doings to the Monastery. The hag may be the one." **** In the shadows of the corridor outside the library in which Occultus and Ching-Ching spoke, two eyes glared. The traitor had been avidly listening to the men. With the scraping of Ching-Ching's chair, the spy fled down the hall. A message needed to be sent to the Monastery while time remained.

PART II Chapter 1 The campfire burned brightly and cheerfully. Crackling wood hissed and sputtered, and popping embers floated like fire-cast butterflies in the cool night air. The caravan of twenty-two people settled down for the night, wrapped in blankets and huddling close to the fire. They were ten miles from Boreas, another four from Marengo, and had camped rather than venture past sundown along the winding coastal road that snaked its way up Mount Serenia. With Liza fast asleep in a wagon Bent had driven, all talk now centered around the coming confrontation at the Monastery. "Do you think we'll have any trouble getting into the place?" Tyne asked, then took a long sip of his mulled brandy to ward off the chill. Conar shook his head. "He'll want us inside. It'll be the getting out that will prove the challenge." "A challenge I hope you're up to," Duncan said, laughing. "I think so." Duncan stretched out and poked a stick in the flames. "Are you as confident, little sister?" The men turned their heads, frowning as Liza ventured from the wagon, her blanket wrapped around her like a shawl. She sat beside Conar and huddled into his welcoming arms. "Of course," she told Duncan, smiling. Shalu watched the firelight glowing in Duncan's eyes. Something in those dark depths disturbed the Necroman. He had felt unease ever since the big man joined them at Ivor. The odd looks he often sent Conar also disturbed Shalu. "Once inside," Conar said, "I'll find his conjuring chamber. It'll be there where he could do us the most harm. If I can neutralize it, at least one-third of his power will be destroyed. I'll leave his followers up to you men. Liza and I will find Tohre and Raja and finish them." "You make it sound too easy," Duncan warned. "What will Tohre be doing while we engage his men? Twiddling his thumbs?" Roget had been listening to the exchange of ideas. "I think we all know Kaileel's aware Conar is on his way. We also know he'd like nothing better than to destroy the lot of us. I think it's safe to say there'll be more than his followers to

greet us. He'll stop at nothing to crush the Force if he gets the opportunity. My money, however, is on Conar. As yours should be, Duncan." He gave the man an inscrutable stare. Duncan looked at du Mer. "I think Conar can take him, as well. What I'm trying to convey is that I know Tohre will not stand idly by while we massacre his followers. If Conar has some idea of what to expect from Tohre, it would be to our advantage that he tells us." "Are you sure?" Shalu challenged, giving a cool glance to Duncan. "Do you question my motives?" Duncan snarled, throwing the stick he had been playing with into the flames. "You seem too eager to put doubts in our minds," Roget answered. "If you don't feel secure with us, perhaps it would be best if you returned to Boreas." Duncan face Conar. "Do you doubt me, as well, little brother?" ---Conar stared at him for a long moment, assessing the man, probing the mysterious aura that had always hovered over Duncan Cree. Finally, he shrugged, unable to penetrate to the level of Duncan's soul he had wanted to see. "All I ask is that you do what you feel is right. I've no doubt you will do whatever you set out to do." Conar was aware he really hadn't answered the question. If anything, his response served to make those already doubtful of Duncan to look at him more carefully. "It would be best if each of you tried to uphold the others," Liza said. "Kaileel's most dangerous weapon is his ability to divide and conquer. If there is doubt in your mind about the man standing next to you in a fight, your entire mind won't be on the business at hand. I know of no surer way to get yourself hurt." "Or killed," Roget amended. "We have worked together before, Milady," Storm said. "Each of us knows what to expect from the others." Duncan's mouth turned hard. "If there are those of you who don't trustme at your backs, maybe I should stay with Legion." "That might be best," Conar said. Though flinching, Duncan's chin lifted. "So you don't trust me?" "I didn't say that." "You didn't have to, Conar!" Duncan got up. "I'll leave for Boreas tonight. I'll not stay where I'm not wanted." "You misunderstood, Milord," Liza said. "No one's questioned your honor. These men know little or nothing about you. It isn't that they distrust you. They just don't know what to expect from you." Duncan smiled. "I, Madame, am a McGregor warrior. These men should have no reason to question my motives." He stared at Conar. "But since even my own flesh and blood does, it will be best if I make myself useful to the Force somewhere where I can be watched!" Conar looked at Duncan, but didn't speak as his brother stalked off. He felt a vague unease go down his spine. When his gaze strayed to Shalu, he saw an almost imperceptible nod of agreement. Sighing, he eased his arms from around Liza, stood and stretched. He smiled down at his woman. "Will you walk with me?" She reached up a hand for him to help her to her feet. Dusting the sand and leaves from her riding breeches, she stumbled a bit as she lost her balance, leaning into Conar's hastily protective arms. "Will you look at the two of them?" Thom grumbled. "Is it really necessary topretend to fall just to have him catch you, Milady?" She smiled sweetly at the warrior and winked. "It makeshim feel manly, Thommy." She seductively batted her eyes at

her lover's snort of derision. **** A short time later, Conar and Liza sat beside a low outcropping of rocks. Small forest sounds broke through the silence, blending in with the soft nickers of their horses to their left. "A storm is brewing," Liza said, snuggling into his arms. Although no stars graced the heavens, bright moonlight filtered down from the smoky sky. The hour was late, and the air was much too calm. Conar looked upward, squinting at the haze. "Aye, I believe so. We knew it wouldn't be easy." "Has it ever been?" she asked, nuzzling her lips against the opening of his shirt. He smiled and kissed her temple. "He knows we're coming, so I can imagine he'll pull out all the stops." "Do you think we'll have all that much trouble from him?" "What do you think, Milady?" Liza let out a ragged breath. "I think he'll do everything in his power to destroy you. Just as I know I'll do everything in my power to see he doesn't." He cupped her chin with his hand and lifted her face to his. "There's nothing we can not do if we're as one, you know." "I would give my life for you, Conar McGregor." His brow crinkled with pain. "I would have no life without you." With tender care, his lips covered hers. She clung to him like a drowning person, her hands clutching his shoulders with an urgency that told him how desperately she needed him. His hands slid down her back and around her waist until his fingers found the lacings of her shirt. Her breath quickened as his lips drew on hers. Gently, he pushed the half-opened shirt over her shoulders until he revealed the creamy white rise of her breasts. Easing her down to the soft, fern-covered rock, he trailed sweet kisses along her chin and throat, then over the coral peak of one breast. He heard her gasp of pleasure, a sound he never tired of hearing. "Make love to me, Conar. Please." "The babe, Liza, isn't it getting--" "It will not hurt the babe, my love. She is well-seated within me." She roughly placed his hand on her breast. "I need you, beloved." "Then it would be my greatest pleasure to satisfy that need." ---Liza drew his lips to hers. As his tongue plunged sweetly into her mouth, she felt the earth move beneath her. Her body throbbed with longing. She was barely conscious of his hands as they fumbled with her clothing and his. She was beyond any feeling except the fire that burned so deeply in her womanhood. Only the sweet spring of his seed could quench the flames threatening to sear her. While the moon moved overhead, the lovers moved below on the soft, fleecy down of the earth. With fevered haste, they moved with the world in which they dwelt and soared to the stars and far beyond. Their love blended with the heavens and spiraled down once more to earth. And in the farthest reaches of the stars, the gods and Their ladies smiled a tender, sad smile, and sighed with the pleasant understanding of how great was this love between Conar McGregor and his lady. No mortal love had ever existed that could equal it, and no mortal love ever would. "The Great Windwarrior loves his lady-wife well," one golden-haired goddess commented to her mate. "Aye," her companion agreed. "The last time is always as sweet as the first."

Chapter 2 "I forgot to give you this," Rylan said. Conar cinched his saddle, then looked at the bottle in Rylan's hand. "What is it?" "That cook at Boreas forgot to pack this in your saddlebags, so she told me to give it to you. It's ale, I believe." "Keep it. I no longer have a need for spirits." Rylan shrugged. "Suit yourself. I won't look a gift horse in the mouth." He uncorked the bottle, took a healthy swig, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grinned and whistled. "Strong stuff!" "It's a bit early in the day to be swigging down ale, anyway," Conar joked. Rylan's face turned belligerent. "Don't be telling me my business! You aren't my keeper!" He lifted the bottle to his lips once more and stomped away. Conar's brows drew together into a frown. "He's nervous, Conar," Roget quipped, looking after Hesar. "He doesn't usually drink before sundown." "See that he doesn't start doing it now. We need more than clear heads this day. We need healthy bodies, as well." "I'll talk to him." Roget looked over his shoulder, searching for anyone nearby, then lowered his voice. "Brelan's already gone back to Boreas. He said he'd join us as soon as he could." "I hope his trip will prove unnecessary, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Something didn't ring true with Duncan." Roget put a comforting hand on Conar's shoulder. "I think he's a bit envious of you." Conar snorted. "There's nothing to envy! If I could, I'd stay close to Boreas myself." He glanced at the tall mountains. "I'd rather be going anywhere today than the Monastery." "So would we all, my friend." **** Liza stuffed her saddlebag, then rolled her blanket and strapped it to Seafarer's rump behind the saddle. Her worried mind centered on her children. She barely heard the conversations around her, or the creak of saddle leather as men readied to leave. She paid little heed to the nervous joking or ribald comments being hushed as men pointed her way. Her thoughts, instead, dwelled on a conversation she'd had at Boreas only the day before... ---When she had arrived back at the keep from Ivor, she'd gone immediately to see her children. It had been a long time since last she had been with them, and even though she trusted Gezelle to care for them, she felt a heavy pressure in her chest as she prepared to bid them each another farewell. Cory's silent tears affected her the most. "But why do you have to go?" he asked, and she went to her bedroom, quiet and weeping. On the morning of the day she was to leave, she sat in her room, staring at the miniature portraits of her children on the table by her bed. "I will guard them with my life," Gezelle assured Liza as she sat beside her.

Liza could do nothing but nod. Her sadness overwhelmed her. When Gezelle's arms went around her, she leaned her head against the other woman's shoulder. She covered her quivering mouth with a trembling hand, desperately trying to stifle her sobs. "What's wrong, Milady?" An undercurrent of fear drifted around Liza's heart, but she couldn't explain why. Something apart from the coming fight with Tohre disturbed her peace of mind, but she had no idea what it was. She eased off the bed and went to the window, looking at the courtyard. Workmen were tearing down the whipping post where so many Serenian men had met their painful fates, where her love had been so cruelly flogged. "I've something of vital importance to ask you, 'Zelle," she whispered. Gezelle joined her mistress by the window. "Anything, Milady." For a long moment, Liza said nothing, only stared down as the men felled the central beam of the whipping post. She took a ragged breath as the axemen began chopping away at the thick wood. "I want you to promise me, on the lives of our children, mine and yours, that if something should prevent me from returning, you will love and care for my children as though they were your own." "You need not ask, Milady, but--" Liza held up her hand. "There's more." Her eyes fused with Gezelle's. She held the woman's hand. "Promise me you will see that Conar remarries and provides them with a good woman to be their new mother." She shook her head as Gezelle made to protest. "Promise, Gezelle! Promise you will tell him of my wishes." The former servant nodded. "I--I promise." "And swear, on all you've ever held dear, on your love for him, that if the woman he chooses isnot the woman I would want mothering my children, you'll see her dead and buried and another in her place, no matter how much Conar might love her." Gezelle stared at her. "Milady, do you know what you ask?" "I know very well. I also know there are women who would sell their souls to Raphian to have Conar McGregor. Such a woman would stop at nothing to get her claws into him. Should something happen to me, his powers will be greatly diminished. Occultus has not dared to tell him that, but I know it. Without me, he'll be vulnerable to women who'll use their evil wiles to gain his attention." "Surely you know he'd not wish to marry again, should you leave him, Milady," Gezelle protested. "But I want him to, my friend. He's not a man to be alone. He may not realize that for a long while, but eventually he'll take a lady to wife if just to have someone be a mother to his sons. I'll have no woman hurt my children simply because she wants Conar in her bed!" She jerked on Gezelle's wrist. "Swear to me you willnot let some woman wreck my children's lives!" Gezelle must have viewed something in Liza's eyes that frightened her, perhaps had even glimpsed a part of what Liza, herself, saw, and suddenly looked as if she would scream. "Please don't go!" She fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around Liza's legs. "I beg you! Don't go!" Liza put a loving hand on Gezelle's head. "From the moment we are born, my dearest friend, our fate is sealed. We can not change it any more than we can change the course of the tides." She shivered uncontrollably, then threw back her head, her lips trembling with hopelessness. "We can not alter what is destined to be. Promise you will do as I have asked." Her voice broke as she slid to the floor beside Gezelle. "Please don't let me leave this keep without knowing my children are safe in your hands." "But how? I can not..." From the pocket of her riding breeches, Liza withdrew a small, clear vial of scarlet red liquid. "This is distolus of Maiden's Briar. It is extremely poisonous. A single drop in an open wound can cause harm. Applied to the skin over several weeks' time, it will kill." "Milady, I--"

"Six drops, Gezelle," Liza said, her face set and cold. "Six drops stirred into the woman's face cream will see her dead in less than a month. The larger the amount, the less time on this earth she'll have." Elizabeth A'Lex placed the vial inside Gezelle's palm and closed the woman's fingers around it. "Promise you will look to my children's safety and Conar's happiness." Gezelle eventually nodded, accepting the charge her lady had given her. "There is one thing, though..." "What, dear friend?" Her face crinkled with anxiety, Gezelle took a deep breath and slowly released it. Her voice went so low, it became difficult to hear, but her words poured directly from her heart. "You know I love him." Liza understood. Comment became unnecessary. The young woman who had traveled from Norus Keep as a lady's companion and had become a Queen's best friend, a Prince Regent's mistress, lowered her head. "I never gainsayed him my body, Milady. I gave it freely, and took great pleasure from his." "Conar is a wonderful lover." As if gathering her courage, Gezelle looked up. "It was never my intent, nor his, to ever betray you." "I know." "He was so lonely when you left him. So hurt. He used me to ease that hurt, and I understood. It was never anything more." She shook her head. "Or rather, not for him." Liza put her arms around her friend. "You are very dear to him. He told me all there was to know about his times with you. He felt great shame at having treated you so. He still agonizes over making you abort his child." Tears falling down her cheeks, Gezelle lowered her head. "Forgive me, Milady. Forgive me for every hurt I've ever caused you..." Liza's arms tightened around her. "There's nothing to forgive. Instead, I would thank you for helping my love in whatever way you could." "I promise, Milady...if the poison does not work, I'll cut her throat myself," Gezelle pledged, sealing the great friendship that had long ago formed between them... ---"Are you ready, beloved?" Snapping back to the present, Liza turned to face Conar. She forced a confident smile to her lips. "Aye, Milord." "Is something wrong?" He touched her cheek and smiled when she turned her face into his palm. His smile wavered as she cupped his hand closer. "Has something happened?" "I was just thinking of our children, that's all. I miss them." He sighed of obvious relief. "Is that all?" He drew her into his arms. "We'll be home before they hardly know we're gone." Against his warm chest, against the fabric of his silken shirt that smelled of cinnamon oil and sensuous male, she pressed her cheek. "I hope so, my love, I truly hope so..."

Chapter 3 Legion held out his hand to Brelan. "Take care. See that you come back nonetheless for wear, will you?" Brelan laughed. "I intend to. There's a certain young woman who would have Conar's hide, otherwise." "When does the ship sail?" Chase asked. "As soon as I get there. They should already be on board by now. It won't take long to get there on the sloop if I leave within the hour." Brelan pointed his finger at Teal. "Make sure my nag is taken care of until I get back, du Mer." "I'd be afraid the bugger would wager it away," Chase quipped, laughing at Teal's snort of disdain. "I wish you were going with us, Montyne," Brelan said. "He is," Legion answered, surprising both men. Chase raised a brow. "It's the first I've heard of it. I thought Conar wanted me here in case there was trouble." Legion shook his head. "Wait here for me. I'll see Brelan to the sea gate, then you can join him on board theMystic Wind. " "Does Conar know?" Brelan asked, a worry crease in his forehead. "He told me to do what I thought best in his absence," Legion answered, "and I am. Now, go on ahead, Bre, and Chase will join you shortly." Brelan sighed. "I'm not sure Conar's going to like this." He eyed Legion. "I'm not sureI like it." "It doesn't matter whether either of you do. This is one decision I feel compelled to make." Legion opened the library door and started along the flagstone path, his steps heavy as he walked toward the sea gate. Brelan had to walk fast to keep up with his brother. "There was a reason Conar wanted Chase to remain here. Our brother does nothing without a good reason. You know that." Legion didn't answer until his hand gripped the wrought iron ring that opened the tall gate. He looked down the curving stone steps, bordered on either side with thick clumps of prickly briars. He could just see the harbor from where he stood, the dredging operation that had preventedThe Ravenwind from docking at Boreas in full swing. "I feel this great weight on my chest, Brelan," he said, turning to face his brother. "I want to go with you. I feel a need to be there." "We all do, but there are more precious things to protect here than onThe Ravenwind. Elizabeth's counting on you to keep watch over the children. She'd skewered us all if one scratch touched her babies." Legion's lips trembled. "See that no harm comes to our lady, Bre," he whispered, his heart in his voice. "You know I'd give my life for her." Something dark and painful stirred in Legion's soul. He wanted to shout to the guards to keep Brelan there, to send every available soldier at Boreas to bring back Conar and Liza. It was all he could do to pull his brother into his arms. He brought him to his chest in a hard, protective pull. "Be careful, Brelan. Be very careful." Brelan hugged Legion, slapped him heartily on the back, then slipped out of his arms and shook his head. "You sounded just like Papa." He smiled. "The older you get, the more like him you become, big brother." Legion lifted his eyes to the heavens. "The gods forbid!" He gripped his brother's wrist, and before Brelan could see the tears gathering in his eyes, he hurried up the flagstone path.

**** "Conar told me why he didn't want you at the Monastery, Chase" Legion began when he returned to the library. "He feels you would not deal well with being there again." When Chase started to speak, Legion held up his hand. "And I know I should not ask, but I have no one else I can turn to that I trust." "What is it you want me to do?" Chase asked. Legion could barely answer. He had never felt so much agony, so much worry. It was as though his very heart was being torn out. "If, by some wild fancy of the gods, Conar or Liza, or both, should fall prey to Kaileel Tohre, I want your solemn and sacred vow you will find a way to free them." Chase drew in a long breath. "And if it means their very lives?" Legion held his friend's gaze for a long time. Everyone knew Chase Montyne had powers he seldom used. As a young man, he had trained with one of the best--Tolkan Coure. He had, like Conar after him, been installed at the Abbey of the Wind, and had become one of the greatest sorcerers Ionary had ever known. During the time of the Great Upheaval, when Domination-led troops invaded all the Seven Kingdoms, Chase had gone to Tolkan for help, but the old man refused him, reminding Montyne that he had never joined the Domination. Upon the death of his family at Tribunal hands, Chase had renounced his magic, vowing that using it would have been a slur to his lost family's honor. "Answer me, Legion," Chase said. "What if it means their lives?" "If Tohre captures them, he will kill Liza. Only you know what he might do to Conar. I will not see my lady slain nor my brother destroyed. Protect Liza as best you can. If it comes down to it, if there is no other way to save Conar, take his life. I could not ask it of the others, for I doubt any of them can do what you can." "Shalu could," Chase replied. "So could Jah-Ma-El. Both are capable of taking a life." "But would they take Conar's?" Chase didn't say anything for a long time. "No, they would not." "Then it rests with you, old friend. Would you have him once more in Tohre's hands?" "Never again." "Then you will do it?" Chase nodded. "I will see to it, Legion." After slipping the black crystal dagger from the sheath at his thigh, Legion flipped over the blade and extended the grip to his friend. "It's the one Regan used on him. Occultus tells me this is the only weapon that can"--he swallowed hard--"kill my brother." Montyne stared at the deadly looking dagger, as if loathe to touch the thing. Legion saw the uncertainty and dread in his friend's face. "There's no other way. I'm told he can be hurt, but not killed, by other weapons. This is the only device that will see the deed done..." "Aye, it is." Chase took the dagger, then quickly slid it into the waistband of his breeches. "You have discussed this with Occultus?" "He sees no threat to Conar, but we would be sure. He said, if the need arose, you would be the only man in the Force who loved Conar enough to kill him." Legion put his hand on Montyne's shoulder. "He said you were the only one who understood just how terrible Conar's life would become if Tohre should win." Shivering, Chase covered Legion's hand with his own. "I swear on my family's honor, should it come down to it, I will make sure Conar never falls into Tohre's clutches ever again!" Legion drew Montyne into a fierce embrace. "Do it quickly, Chase." His voice broke. "Please, Alel, don't let him suffer..."

**** Conar held his beloved's hand as they walked the length of the quay at Marengo harbor. Gathered along the shore, at the top of the hill overlooking the harbor, standing in every available spot, their people kept silent vigil as the Wind Force boardedThe Ravenwind, the sleek black schooner straining at anchor. The people made no sound, as if a single voice might break the magic circle of protection their love had encircled around the ship. Lips mumbled silent prayers to Alel for the safety of the journey. Brelan passed his brother and Liza, smiling at them, and went up the gangplank. He glanced back at them as he stepped onto the teak deck, looked at the people gathered, and apparently marveled at their displayed devotion. When Chase Montyne passed the couple, however, something broke Conar's composure. He stared after the Ionarian Prince, a heavy frown of concern on his face. "Don't scowl," Liza said. "You knew he wouldn't stay behind." Conar sighed. "I thought for once he'd do as I asked." He helped Liza up the gangplank and onto the deck, then searched Chase's eyes. "You knew I didn't want you to come." "So, sue me," Montyne quipped. Holm's voice blared, and the great anchor began to rise, its chain squealing in protest. In cadence with the noise came a low chant, staggered here and there among the crowd, gathering in volume and voice, soft and barely audible at first, then growing in depth and tone until the words could be distinctly heard. Everywhere Conar looked, people went to their knees, their right hands over their hearts. He had heard this cry before. Many times. The last time being in Chrystallus, five years before. It always brought a lump to his throat. It had become the battle cry for freedom in his land. "You have your people's love, little brother," Brelan said, slipping his arm around Conar's shoulder. "I know it well," Conar answered. "As they have mine." The great sails filled with the freshening breeze and it tacked toward the north, the chant ringing across the sea. "The Wind be at your back, Lord Raven!" someone shouted above the chants. The young man struck his arm straight out in front of him, fist clenched, thumb and little forefinger crooked in the sign of the Raven. Conar returned the salute. "And the Wind be at your back!" he called. ---Chase Montyne turned away from the love and adoration he saw on the faces of the people of Serenia. He needed to be alone, to think over the horrible promise he had made to Legion A'Lex. "Sweet Merciful Alel," he prayed to the heavens. "Please don't let me have to kill him."

Chapter 4 Waves crashed into the craggy slope of the mountain and sent spumes of iced white foam high up the rockface. A dull gray sky hung heavily above and blended into the gunmetal color of the onrushing waves. A sharp chill hovered in the early morning air where no gull or tern flew in the harsh North Boreal sea wind.

Below, in the cresting, heaving sea, the black ship rode at uneasy anchor, pitching and tossing, heeling over to the starboard side with every advancing wave. Even the high winds and high seas could not capsizeThe Ravenwind, but its shrouds dipped ever closer to the murky gray water. "Damn this wind," Holm van de Lar growled as he squinted into the teeth of the chill blow. "Why the hell couldn't he just have gone up that mountain pass and invaded the place like any ordinary warrior." "Because there'd be no way to get in without being slaughtered," Paegan answered. "Conar said there's no room to maneuver on that mountainside." "What if Tohre has men waiting atop that mountain?" Mister Tarnes asked. "The bastards could just push our boys over the side and be done with it." "Conar knows what he's doing," Paegan admonished. He staggered against the push of the howling storm. "The wind's supposed to help us, not hinder us." Dropping a jolly boat over the side of the ship, Holm and Paegan had twice rowed across the span betweenThe Ravenwind and the jutting rocks at the base of the mountain. Twelve members of the Wind Force were offloaded, each soaked wet long before stepping foot on the barren reef from whence their journey would begin. Now, Holm lifted his spyglass to the rugged cliffs and tried to keep sight of the climbers. The ship pitched and rolled beneath him like a bucking horse. "Give me that damned rope, brat!" he ordered Paegan. After lashing himself to the railing to avoid being thrown overboard, he brought the spyglass up once more. "Can you see them?" Paegan shouted. The wind flung him heavily against the captain. He skidded across the deck and grabbed the rail. Holm's fingers clutched his hand. "Why ain't you below like I told you to be?" Holm bellowed. Sea foam and droplets of rain speckled his face. His oilcloth poncho shone like polished steel in the fading light. "I wanted to see how they were!" "Here!" Holm ordered, handing the spyglass to his second in command. "Look your fill!" He held Paegan's arm to brace him. Though Paegan's fingers were numb from the cold, he took the glass. He scanned the cliffs and focused in on a climber, struggling to advance up the rock face, the high winds buffeting him against the stone surface. Paegan moved the glass a few inches and saw two others, staggered along the rock face, clinging desperately to the handholds and footholds carved by the wind and sea. The climb would have been hard even in good weather, but with the storm's punishing waves, the trek proved more difficult than anyone had expected. "He's at the top!" Holm shouted, pointing up the cliff. "If he hadn't gotten up there first and thrown lines down to the others, there wouldn't be a damned soul on that mountain!" Paegan lifted the glass and sighted the solitary figure, who seemed to be waiting for the others to catch up. A guideline hung down from him to the next climber. "He's a good climber," Paegan yelled. "We'd all still be sitting in Ivor Keep's dungeon if he weren't." "If he hadn't gotten up there so fast,they'd have all drowned!" Holm pointed to the reef where they had landed, now entirely under water. "He got that line going and they're doing fair up the cliff." **** The gale-force wind pushing against the ship seemed nothing compared to the slap of the oncoming water that plastered the men to the rock face. The watery fingers that clawed and dragged at their clothing threatened to pluck them from the mountain and fling them crashing into the surf far below. It numbed their bleeding fingers and brought shivers of teeth-chattering cold to their lips. High above the others, Conar watched as first Brelan, then Roget climbed closer to his position at the edge of the promontory. He had lashed himself securely to a large rock behind him, but the hemp bit painfully into his midsection, causing him to grunt from the pain. Having scaled to the top with little difficulty, he gave silent thanks to Ching-Ching, the man who had made him climb time after time, day after day, cliff after cliff. In those days he hadn't known why it was so vitally important that he become an expert climber. Then, he had questioned the training; now, he was glad he

had passed the monkey-man's tests of endurance. "Little bird doing exceedingly well," an amused voice whispered in his ear. "Little bird knew he'd better." Conar chuckled. He looked past Grice, who seemed to be having more difficulty than the others, then glanced at the low-flying clouds. He blinked against the painful stab of the rain in his eyes before returning his attention to Grice. "Watch yourself, Wynth," he mumbled, his heart lurching every time Grice's foot slipped. He looked past Grice for Storm and Chase. He couldn't see them for the rock ledges, but he caught sight of Tyne, spider-walking his way along one deep crevice. Conar located Liza, being lifted on a swinging chair secured to four strong ropes. He smiled, sensing his lover's nervous anger, yet his stomach rolled every time the chair moved. Making sure he had a firm grip on the pulley line, he tugged the chair upward inch by inch. With his right foot wedged into a crack in the rock, he used all his strength to heave the dead weight of his lady's body up the mountain. "Thank you, Grice," he mumbled, recalling all the weights he had lifted through the years. Still, Liza had another twenty feet to go before she reached the relative safety of Conar's position on the mountain. Her hair, blown free of the braid she had wrapped around her head, billowed in the sharp wind, obscuring her pale cheeks and lips. Conar felt her fear. Every now and again he would mentally send a word of encouragement to her before turning his attention to the other climbers. "Nice day for a climb, eh, Saur?" he quipped when Brelan gained the top. "Get stuffed!" Brelan grumbled, shaking from the cold wetness and his intense fear of heights. He swung his right leg onto the promontory and rolled away from the edge. Gasping for breath, he stared at the leaden sky, teeth chattering. Grice followed, rolling into Brelan as he came over the top. The two men looked at one another and grinned. Wynth climbed to his feet first, reaching down a hand to his old friend. "Up and at 'em, Saur! We don't have all day!" "Your baby brother is a determined man!" Conar shouted, now seeing Chand struggling to get his foot in a crevice, a look of defiance on his face. Grice looked down the cliff and nodded. "Hurry it up, Chandling!" "Go to hell, Griceland!" came the faint shout. "Been there!" Conar chuckled. Everything and everyone would be all right. Somehow he knew that to be true. "Let's get that little lady up here!" Brelan shouted, moving to help Conar work the pulley. He got a grip on the hemp, than stepped back so Grice, the stronger of the two, could also grasp the rope. In one movement, the chair surged upward another five feet, then again, bringing Liza only about ten feet from the top. Soon, Storm, Chase, and Tyne gained the apex. They helped the other men lift Liza all the way onto the promontory. Untying his lady from the chair, Conar assured himself she was none the worse for the trip. He quickly kissed Liza, then told Brelan to take her into a cave he had found earlier. Knowing his brother would see to her comfort, he temporarily put his lady from his mind and once more turned his attention to the last climbers. Chand barreled his way over the top, cursing and spitting like a cat. "Sorry, no-good, worthless piece of shit!" he snarled, pounding his bleeding fist against the stone. "I hate climbing!" Following closely on Chand's heels, a white-faced Ja-Ma-El labored up the rock face, viciously prodded from behind by Shalu, whose anger was stamped across his fierce countenance. With his eyes nearly popping with stark terror from his head, the warlock stopped moving and clung to the hemp, plastering himself as tightly as lichen to the rock, his face pressed hard into the surface.

"Shit!" Shalu swore from his position a few feet below. Looking out at the rolling sea, Conar sensed the storm growing worse. In a matter of minutes, the wind would increase, too, making it even more difficult to scale the slippery rocks. Jah-Ma-El, blocking the easiest area of the cliff to climb, subsequently delayed Shalu's ascent. The Necroman threw back his head and howled. Conar cursed and reached for the second rope he had carried to the top. Draped around both shoulders, the pulley system, three ropes, and a safety harness had proven more than a hindrance when he climbed. His shoulders throbbed with pain; his hands felt raw beneath his gloves; but again he silently thanked Ching-Ching for the training that had allowed him to get nine people to safety. Now, anchoring the second rope around a boulder, Conar tossed the coiled hemp to Shalu. Nodding with satisfaction when Shalu caught the falling rope, Conar waited to see if the others at the top had taken note of his intent. Satisfied they had, he shouted in Roget's ear. "I'm going after Jah-Ma-El!" Conar swung his legs over the ledge and scaled down the taut rope, more than conscious that his descent swung Jah-Ma-El away from the rock each time he pushed himself off the mountainside. In his mind he heard Jah-Ma-El's whimpers of fear and prayed the older man would hold tight. "Hang on, big brother," he whispered through the Veil. "I'm coming." Jah-Ma-El's head jerked upward, the terror in his eyes a pitiful sight. Yet Conar managed to smile at the man. "Fancy meeting you here!" he called. He slid the remaining distance to Jah-Ma-El. "Hang out here often, do you?" "I'm going to fall!" Jah-Ma-El shouted, his knuckles white. Conar braced himself next to his brother. "I won't let you." He hooked the safety line onto Jah-Ma-El's harness. "We're going to finish the climb, Jamie." Jah-Ma-El furiously shook his head, fright making his entire body tremble. "I can't do it, Coni! I can't!" "You can!" Conar put an arm around his brother's waist. "You're a strong man, Jah-Ma-El McGregor." He felt the man flinch. "Aye, I said McGregor! You're as good as any of Papa's sons and you damned well know it. Let go of the rope and put one hand around me. We'll move to the top together." "I can't, Conar. Before Alel, I can't!" "Aye, you can!" Conar said in a stern voice. He willed his brother to do exactly as he had said, but only Jah-Ma-El's lips, blue from the cold and quivering with his intense terror, moved. Shalu crab-walked up the cliff on the second rope. As he moved into position on the other side of Jah-Ma-El, he winked at Conar. He mouthed words Conar couldn't hear, but his meaning seemed clear--It's gonna take more than talk, fledgling, to get this turkey off the roost. Jah-Ma-El started to look down. "Don't do that!" Conar bellowed. "Let go of the gods-be-damned rope!" The wizard looked hopelessly at Conar. "I can't..." Conar knew every precious moment they wasted brought the storm closer to them. He decided the only way they could get Jah-Ma-El to the top was if the man was unconscious. Sighing, he snaked up the dangling rope beneath him until he had the end of it. Reaching around Jah-Ma-El, he wound the hemp around his brother's lean waist, then tied it in a secure knot under the man's underarms. Looking at Shalu, he shrugged, then deftly struck Jah-Ma-El's neck with the side of his hand. With one quick chop, the man slumped forward. Before long, the men finished the climb. Roget and Grice hauled up the unconscious warlock and safely brought him over the edge. "Everyone else is in the cave!" Grice shouted. "They've got a fire going."

Conar lifted Jah-Ma-El into his arms, while the others pulled the ropes over the top and coiled them into loose circles. "Had a helluva time getting the fire started," Brelan snapped as the men entered the cave. "The tinder was soaked." "What happened to Jah-Ma-El?" Liza asked anxiously, getting to her feet and throwing off a blanket. "He fainted," Conar explained and laid the unconscious man before the fire. "The climb was too strenuous for him." Each man had a oilcloth pack strapped to his back. The pack contained a few necessities--a blanket, extra shirt, and breeches--and other items they knew they'd need after the climb, such as several squares of peat moss from which the fire had obviously been laid. Their weapons, swords, bows, arrows, and the like had been hauled up behind Conar before the others had begun climbing. Among the "weapons" was a fat bottle of brandy. "You better force a bit of this down Jah-Ma-El's gullet," Grice said, retrieving the bottle. Conar bent over Jah-Ma-El, stripping the cold clothing from his body. The man began to come around. Conar took the brandy and brought the bottle to Jah-Ma-El's blue lips. "Here, Jamie. Drink." He held the bottle as Jah-Ma-El slurped, sputtering. Shalu threaded the warlock's cold, blue-tinted arms through the dry clothing from Jah-Ma-El's pack. "Never let it be said that weever do anything the easy way!" Eyes turned to the cave's entrance. "Surprise!" Thom said and grinned, looking at the astonished faces. "What the hell are you doing here?" Conar asked, his brows raised. "I thought you were going to stay on the ship?" "How the hell did he get up here?" Roget snapped. "Grice and I brought in the ropes!" Thom's grin widened. "You aren't the only ones who can climb, my dear fellow. Besides, Holm thought it best if I joined you. We got a message that will certainly make your day." A frown of disquiet settled on Conar's face. "From whom?" "Tohre." "He sent a message to the ship?" Shalu hissed. "By mirror signal. We thought it best you knew--they're aware you've arrived." "Damn it!" Roget spat. "We made that stupid climb for nothing!" "Well, what did the message say?" Shalu asked. "You're going to love this." Thom laughed. "It said 'Welcome to hell, my fine young warriors!'" A vague unease settled over Conar. He had heard those words before, but couldn't remember when. "Why didn't say you wanted to be in on this, Loure? All you had to do was ask and I would've agreed." Thom shrugged. "That would've been too easy and not nearly as much fun." He rubbed his big hands together and held them over the fire. "It's the little surprises in life that keep us on our toes!" He sat beside Tyne and nudged the man with his shoulder. "Don't look so glum, Your Grace. You'll thaw out!" Tyne let out a huff. "It's not the damned cold that bothers me. It's the salt stuck in the crack of my--" He stopped, looking at Liza. He blushed and looked away. "We'll rest a while before tackling the corridors leading off this cave," Conar said, leaning back against the stone wall. "I'm sure Tohre will have more than a few surprises planned. Who'll keep first watch?" "Might as well be me," Tyne grumbled. "I sure as hell can't rest with my drawers stuck to my butt." "How long before the others join us?" Chase asked. Conar, who'd been nodding off, opened his eyes. "Belvoir and Bent know the way into the Monastery from the western face. I doubt Tohre will think of being attacked from both directions. I hope they don't get to their destination

until I've neutralized Tohre." "Why?" Thom asked. "The bastard doesn't play fair," Brelan quipped. "We should change," Grice remarked as he watched a now-conscious Jah-Ma-El slipping out of his wet socks. Chand began to strip off his tunic. "Good idea." Liza walked to Conar's pack where her clothing had been stored. She opened the oilcloth and looked up with dismay. "What is it?" Conar asked. She pulled out an emerald green gown of sleek velvet. "Not the best thing to wear for what we're about, Elizabeth," Brelan admonished. "Gezelle packed it." She looked at the men. "I'm sorry. I left the other clothing on my bed. I thought she'd..." "That's my Gezelle," Chand teased. "Always the lady." Liza sighed and stepped to the darkest part of the cave to change. "Conar?" Jah-Ma-El called. "Aye?" "Thank you." "I meant what I said out there, Jamie." Jah-Ma-El frowned. "About what?" Before answering, Conar made sure all the men looked his way. "When I get back to Boreas, I plan to call a special session of our newly forming Senate"--he settled his gaze on Jah-Ma-El--"to have my brother officially declared a McGregor, with all the privileges and rank that entails." Jah-Ma-El's mouth dropped open. "It's about damned time," Brelan said, lacing up his fresh shirt. "Conar, I--" Jah-Ma-El began, shaking his head. "Shut up before I throttle you," Shalu growled. "Humility don't become your scrawny white ass." A howl reverberated through the cave. Everyone leapt to their feet. Metal scraping against metal pierced the air as the men withdrew blades from scabbards. Conar's sword, the Deathwelder, however, slid silently from its sheath. The unearthly howl came again. "I think Tohre has sent an escort," Roget whispered. "Well, hell," Conar said with dry humor, "then let's go meet him!"

Chapter 5

From studying maps Occultus had given him, Conar knew which twisting pathways out of the northern tunnels would lead him to the Monastery complex. Sections of the ancient fortress were part of the Wind Temple, but it was the vast underbelly of the structure where Conar knew the hidden and obscene world of the Domination lay. Inside the mountain's gut lay the secret chambers where he, in chains, had been taken to be consecrated to the foul sect. He could vaguely remember the blood-red walls, dripping with fetid moisture and stinking of mold and mildew, dust and carnage, death and defilement. Even now, his nostrils picked out the scents, and he quivered with loathing. It would be there, he thought, anticipating revenge, that he would meet Tohre. It would be in those vile rooms where his destiny and Liza's would join to put an end to the Domination. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Now, as he and the others warily made their way through the spiraling tunnels leading away from the cave, he found his heart growing heavier, as though a great weight had settled on him. It wasn't from fear, he mused, sweeping a lock of damp hair from his forehead. Not mortal fear, at any rate. But whatever it was made him constantly turn his attention to the woman at his side, whose hand he held, whose touch hobbled him to the earth. ---Liza also felt the heaviness pressing down on her, but she understood what it was--the unmistakable presence and essence of pure evil. It crawled over her flesh and assailed her nostrils with the stink of the grave. The hair on her arms moved as though she stood in the midst of an electrical storm. She could almost taste salty, acrid blood in her mouth. All around, darting green lights flowed beyond her active vision, but her sixth sense recorded their passing just the same. ---Conar stopped, peering into the vast cold darkness. Ahead of him, by choice, Brelan held a burning torch and looked over his shoulder to see why his brother had stopped. "No one move," Conar commanded. He listened, sent out his powers to gather, to assess. He cocked his head, gaze narrowing as he looked at the ground. Then his eyes lifted. He looked past Brelan and probed the ebon stillness. Something was forming in the tunnel ahead of them. Conar could hear its scuffling, grating noise as it struggled to embody itself. His nostrils quivered with distaste when he caught the faint malodorous wave of its manifestation, the smell of rotting vegetation with an overpowering wash of something more evil and ageless. He could almost feel the air moving as the thing began generating a presence in the darting green lights he could see. Chase wedged himself forward, holding his torch away from the damp walls and vulnerable clothing of his fellow warriors. He laid a gentle hand on Conar's shoulder. "It's coming..." "The tunnel branches off in three directions just ahead." Conar turned. "Roget, lead half the men to the right. Shalu, lead the others straight ahead. Liza and I will take the left path." "It will follow you," Jah-Ma-El hissed. Conar gave an evil smile. "I hope so." "If it's all the same to you," Chase said, "I'll tag along with you and your lady." Conar glanced at him. In the faint light of the torches, he could see the determined look on Montyne's face. All too suddenly it became clear to Conar why Chase was there. "We would welcome your company," Liza said, as if anticipating Conar's denial. "With you, a follower of the White Path, by our side, it will add to our power--" "I can take care of my own, Chase," Conar whispered. "I know you can." Chase's eyes fused with Conar's. "It wasn't Liza I was sent to protect. Don't argue, please. It means as much to me as it does to Legion."

---Liza looked from one man to the other, not understanding the discussion. A faint disquiet unsettled her nerves, yet she could not say why. When Conar relaxed, his nod signifying he had given in to Chase's ransom, she let out a long, heart-felt sigh and looked down. She saw a faint outline of glowing blue wavering around her body. She studied her hands and saw the same rimming of color, then looked up. Chase's body also glowed, his a darker, almost lavender, color. When she looked at Conar, she drew in a breath. The aura surrounding him shown a deep, shimmering purple, the blending of the Blue and Green, the White Path with the Black. She wondered if anyone else could see the changes occurring. ---The hair along Jah-Ma-El's arms vibrated when the three people began moving down the left-hand tunnel. Before following Roget's party into the right tunnel, he spared a glance at Shalu. "Be careful, my friend," Shalu rumbled in his deep voice. He cupped Jah-Ma-El's frail shoulder in his big hand. "Keep your ass out of trouble, eh?" Jah-Ma-El could only nod, feeling the comradeship and compassion, the undisguised love from this black man that he had never felt from anyone other than Conar. He tried to smile, his lips trembling, then turned his head, following Roget, leading him, Grice, Chand, and Thom into their assigned tunnel. ---Shalu, his way being lighted by Brelan, ventured forward, with Sentian, Storm, and Tyne following. The Necroman's head lifted high, his posture ramrod straight, his right hand firmly gripping his deadly broadsword. "It's unlucky," Tyne mumbled. "What is?" Storm asked. "Thirteen," Sentian answered for Brell. "If Thom hadn't come with us, we'd be twelve." "We'd have been thirteen, anyway," Storm said, "if Rylan had been able to climb, but with his foot mangled--" Tyne lowered his voice. "Don't you think it odd that Rylan woke up to a foot paining him so badly he couldn't come with us?" "The man was drunk," Storm whispered. "And in a foul mood. Because of it, Conar made him stay behind." "Aye, but don't you see?" Tyne argued. "The gods meant there to be only the twelve of us. With Loure, we became an unlucky number. It just ain't right, I tell you. Almost like an omen, you know?" "Stow that kind of talk back there!" Shalu snarled and guided them farther into the tunnel. ---"Smells like a dung heap in here!" Chase shifted his torch to his left hand and brought out a handkerchief. Exchanging hands on the torch once more, he juggled the burning rushes and kerchief to cover his nose. The fingers on his free hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "Why do demons have to smell so bad?" "It's in their contract." Conar nearly gagged from the odor himself, but he wouldn't remove his hand from Liza's to take out his kerchief. The smell had gotten much worse, a cloying, pungent scent that defied description. The temperature turned chill, growing colder by the moment. A low buzzing, like the flapping of thousands of tiny wings, filled the tunnel.

Something crunched beneath Conar's feet as he walked, each crackling step bringing more putrid aromas. "I think our friend is right ahead," Chase said a short time later. Conar dragged Liza behind him and gripped the hilt of his weapon. The black blade with its crystal pommel glowed a dark intense purple in the faint light cast from Chase's torch. The jewels inside the pommel seemed to throb in his hand. "Right or left flank, Conar?" Chase asked. "You're left-handed, so take its right side." He glanced at his lady. "Stay here, Liza." He pushed her against the wall, then saw the militant light of battle on her pretty face. "I mean it, Elizabeth!" He took the torch from Chase and handed it to her. "Stay where I put you!" ---Through the throbbing glow of the torch, amidst the shadows that played over his lean face, Liza saw his fear for her. She turned and squinted at the faint, pulsing red light that flashed along the tunnel like a revolving beacon toward them. Not wanting Conar mentally divided in his chore, she nodded gravely, willing him her love and her strength. "Ready, Montyne?" Conar asked. "As ready as I'm gonna be, my man." "Then, let's do it!" Conar charged forward, darting around a sharp bend in the tunnel, Chase close on his heels. The red glow deepened to a scarlet throb. Instinctively, Liza pressed herself against the wet, clammy wall. A mighty roar, like the bellow of a wounded bull, magnified a thousand times, shook the tunnel. Loose pebbles cascaded upon her. She covered her head and face with her arms. She wanted to be with Conar, but knew she'd only be in his way. With her heart in her throat, she heard the sounds of battle, the slide of metal along some alien hide. She knew the men attacked close enough to wound the thing, for its torturous howls turned deafening. Conar's shout of anger made her flinch. Blanching, she sensed the vile thing had either injured him or Chase. When a hand closed around her arm, Liza yelped in surprise, spinning around to face whoever had taken hold of her. "Oh," she said, relaxing, "it's you." ---Chase gawked at the thing lumbering toward him. Never in his worse nightmares had he ever encountered such a monstrosity. He had already wounded the vicious beast several times, pricking a few holes in the mottled gray flesh. Each stab had dispersed a thick noxious fluid that dripped to the tunnel floor and hissed, sizzling like potent acid. The aroma of the escaping "blood"--for lack of a better word to describe what oozed from the creature--smelled worse than its ghastly hide. The thing's breath blasted him with fetid air. "God!" he gagged, trying not to vomit. ---"Stay away from it, Montyne!" Conar warned, shivering as the monstrosity turned his way. "The thing's intent on maiming us." "No shit!" Chase snapped. Conar had no idea what it was, and had little time to even imagine. What he did know was that it was powerful enough to take the two of them to battle it. "This damn prick and poke ain't gonna do it!" Chase yelled. "I've got to get to its throat!"

"Which one?" The thing had five heads, each on a long neck that wobbled in all different directions at once. Getting to one would be hard enough as it was, with five sets of beady, vicious eyes gleaming his way. "You take one, I take one," Conar snarled. "Between us, maybe we'll get lucky." "And what the hell about the other three?" Chase grumbled, backing away as the thing sidled closer to him. A flat, oval head, elongated at the corners, sat perched on each stalk-like neck. The red eyes, covered over with what appeared to be movable scales, blinked now and again to hide the evil lurking inside the five ugly heads. Its feet--only two of them, thank Alel, Conar thought--were webbed, but four arms lined each side of the creature's rotund body. A long, thickly scaled tail with serrated ridges flopped repeatedly on the ground. Although small and practically a part of the chest wall, the hands had long, wicked-looking talons that dripped the same sort of venom oozing from its wounds. A spray from those flexing fingers had already burned Conar. "Can you get around to its back?" Chase shouted. "What the hell good would that do, Montyne?" Conar thrust his sword forward; Deathwielder slid through layers of flesh. But whichever way Conar moved, one of the beast's necks followed, its body inching around to better maintain its balance. "With one of us on each side, maybe we can hit a vital spot." Conar sidestepped a blast of nail-dripped acid. "Do you suggest I climb up its tail to get to its throats?" Chase feigned toward the beast, but the creature didn't take his bait. "Go on, Conar. Run up the tail. I'll cover you!" Conar sent his friend a damning look. "Well, do you have a better suggestion?" Chase hissed. "Think you it has a heart?" "Not from the way it intends to do us bodily harm." "Look at the chest. Halfway down. See how the flesh moves in and out? If one of us could pierce it, we might have a chance." Conar took a quick look toward Chase to see if he understood. That look cost him, for another spray of acid fell on his left forearm. He jerked back his arm back and bellowed. "Shit!" "Stay away from it, Conar," Chase reminded him in a sing-song, little boy's taunt. Conar shook his arm to rid it of the burning fluid. "Son-of-a-bitch!" "For all we know, the thing's a female. Try using your charm." "Go to hell." Conar thrust his weapon forward, but the creature slid away from him. "Head up, Conar!" Chase ran straight at the thing, his sword aimed at the spot where the flesh moved like a visible heartbeat. Acid splatted his leather vest, sending up smoke and making him yelp. Though he stabbed at the spot and missed, his sword slid down the body, opening an evil-looking gash in the creature's side. He groaned in frustration, then ducked his head, leapt backward, and rolled away from the demon's feet and thundering tail lashing out at him. "He don't like you, son!" Conar called. The creature lumbered toward Chase. Montyne spun around and tried to crawl away. His vest still smoked where the acid had hit him. His mouth compressed into a white line of pain. The demon slid toward him, its full attention on its attacker. Conar held his sword at chest level. Lunging forward, he drove the Deathwielder at the beast, feeling the give as the weapon plunged into the putrid body. The crystals inside the pommel vibrated against his palm, sending a shock up his arm and into his shoulder. He knew he had hit the one chink in the beast's tough armor even before he heard its

ungodly shriek of pain. Chase barely had time to scuttle out of the way before the creature crashed down. The beast burst open like a squashed melon, spraying thick acidic liquid and chunks of gray flesh in all directions. "Let's get out of here!" Chase screamed as he pushed himself up. When the body bubbled and popped, the stench grew insufferable. Both men gagged as they ran. Reaching a safe distance away, they bent over and vomited, holding their bellies as the contents poured out. In an effort to rid himself of the godawful taste in his mouth, Conar ran his short sleeve across his lips. He shuddered, then spat out excess saliva. "What the hell...was that thing?" he gasped. Chase moved away from the pool of vomit and slid down the tunnel wall, his legs shooting out in front of him. He strove to draw in fresh, untainted air. "My back feels like yours must have after Tohre was finished with you." He hung his head and gulped air. Conar walked to Chase and held out a hand. "Let me take a look at your back." Chase looked wearily at the strong hand, then gripped it and allowed himself to be lifted. He winced, moaned as his shirt stuck to the burns on his back. "I'll be all right." He shook his head when Conar started to protest. "There's nothing you can do. Maybe Liza brought something with her." Conar had been standing there, slumped with fatigue, his breaths deep and calming. At the mention of his lady's name, he turned his head and took several steps down the tunnel. "Liza?" When no answer came, a tremor went through his body. "Liza?" The still-burning bundle of rushes lay abandoned on the ground. Conar retrieved it. "Elizabeth!" he screamed in rage, stumbling toward the central tunnel where the team had parted company. "Elizabeth!" "Conar--" Chase said, his shared fear making the word a litany of sympathy. Conar turned terrified eyes to Montyne. "He's got her, Chase! Tohre has my lady!"

Chapter 6 "I know you didn't want me, but I couldn't keep away, Brelan. He's my brother, too, and I'll be by his side in this whether he wants me or not!" Brelan exchanged a quick look with Jah-Ma-El. The others--Grice, Chand, and Shalu--were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with some of the Domination's guards. Chand and Grice dispatched two apiece. A fifth quard screamed as his life's blood flowed from a gaping wound in his belly. Duncan Cree wiped his blade on the guard's shirt. "How did you get in here?" Brelan asked. "I came in with Bent and Belvoir. They're not far." "And just why the hell aren't you with them?" Jah-Ma-El probed, Conar's intent to legally name him a McGregor making him bold.

"Whatever either of you thinks of me, I couldn't stay behind when my own flesh and blood is in danger." Duncan resheathed his sword. "Where is Conar, anyway?" Jah-Ma-El regarded him for a long moment. "We don't know. We separated a while back. From the sounds we heard earlier, Roget's group have encountered opposition, as well." Duncan looked around when Shalu joined them. The heavy scowl on the Necroman's face made his jaw tighten. He turned his attention on Grice. "Maybe we should split up and see what other mischief we can get into." "Always the fighter, eh, Cree?" Grice asked, his handsome face expressionless. "Fighters and lovers," Duncan said. "That's the McGregor men, right, Bre?" He patted his sword. "We like to let blood and semen, be it man or virgin!" Shalu snorted, his contempt obvious. He stood his ground as Duncan's attention moved to him and narrowed. "What is your problem, Taborn?" Duncan growled. The black man raked his eyes down the frame of the man facing him. With another snort of derision, he turned away, looking at Brelan. "You'd better find your brother, Saur." He returned his gaze to Duncan. "There is treachery about, I think." Duncan stepped closer to the Necroman. "Are you accusing me--" Brelan wedged himself between the men. "Not now. Let's find the others. It's quieter than I like." **** In another part of the tunnel system, Roget and Sentian stood fighting. At their feet, a dozen or so slain temple guards lay in pools of cooling blood. Now, three additional guards engaged the two warriors in swordplay. They circled, back to back. Their swords flickered brightly in the light cast from the rushes scattered along the walls. "For the love of Alel, Heil, get on with it!" Roget yelled. One attacker, obviously unaware the two men had comrades, flinched as though struck and turned a suddenly pale face to Thom Loure, leaning in the shadows against the tunnel wall. As Thom shifted sideways into the light, arms crossed over his wide chest, a wicked grin on his rubbery lips, the attacker dropped his weapons and fled, screeching to the heavens. "Was it something I said?" Thom joked. "The bastard will be going for reinforcements, thanks to you!" Sentian growled, lunging at his opponent. Thom sighed and pushed away from the wall. "I'd better go get him, then." "Do be quick about it, will you, old man?" Storm yawned from his place on the other side of Thom. A yelp sounded across the room. One of the remaining attackers went to his knees, Sentian's blade buried deep in his chest. A bloody froth of fluid dribbled over his gasping lips and he pitched forward when Sentian withdrew his blade. He laughed. "Are you still working on that fellow, du Mer?" Roget lunged forward, catching his foe off guard, and rammed his blade home, skewering the attacker from side to side. He pulled the blade free and the man dropped to the ground. "I see you gentlemen have been entertaining yourselves," Shalu called as he, Jah-Ma-El, Duncan, and the Wynth brothers came into the light from one of the darkened tunnels. "Nothing of real interest, though," Roget said. "I expected better of Tohre's Elite." "These aren't his Elite," Thom said as he loped back down the tunnel into which he had chased the runaway attacker. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "There'shis Elite!" Standing in the archway of the tunnel stood thirty to forty heavily armed and outfitted warriors, their swords

glistening in the torchlight.

Chapter 7 Brelan met Chase at the side entrance into the Wind Temple. From the worried look on Montyne's face, Brelan knew something was terribly wrong. "What's happened?" "Elizabeth's missing." Chase panted. His face ran with sweat, while the fingers of his left hand dripped with blood, matching his blade. "When we got into the damned Monastery, we came up against Temple Guards. I lost track of Conar in the fighting. I don't know where he is!" A look of self-disgust flowed across his flushed face. "We've got to find them, Saur!" "We'll keep looking until we do!" Brelan's heart wrenched in his chest, but he thrust aside his fear and tried to think rationally. "Where did you last see him?" "Over by that bridge, the one that leads to the classrooms. I've searched the rooms, but I can't find him." Chase bent forward. "And I can't find her, either." Brelan's spine tightened. "We will!" He pointed to a long corridor leading to the left. "I'll take that way. Do whatever you can." Chase straightened. "I intend to..." **** Conar's heart slammed against his ribcage. It pounded in his ears. He had never been more afraid. Not the time when he feared for Liza's life when she gave birth to their first child, nor when he had been stretched across the whipping post at Boreas, nor when he had awakened in the Labyrinth Penal Colony. Never had he been more aware of his own helplessness. He trembled from head to foot. His stomach bunched into a knot that brought a sour taste to his mouth. A merciless ache above his right eye caused intense pain with every footstep he took. "Not now," he begged the gods between clenched teeth. "Don't let me have the damned headache now!" Somehow he had become separated from Chase, but it didn't seem to matter. Nothing mattered except finding his lady. His voice had gone hoarse from calling her name. The sound of it still reverberated back to him through the thick stone walls, the empty rooms of the Monastery, the hallways. Every corner turned seemed a letdown when it proved devoid of the one shining light in his life. He put a shaking hand to his right temple and rubbed at the agony. It felt as though a sharp stick jabbed at his eye. His sight began to blur; light played along his peripheral vision. "Where are you, beloved?" he whispered, even his voice making him wince with pain. He knew in his soul Kaileel had her. He couldn't feel her presence, no matter how hard he tried. No strumming lifeforce beckoned like a beacon to him. No light, no warmth, showed him the way. No faint scent of lavender teased his nostrils. She seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth; it seemed everyone had, as he confronted the Monastery's empty rooms and deserted corridors. And yet, he thought, closing his eyes to ease the agony in his head, he knew Liza was alive. He might not have felt her presence, but he knew in his heart he would have sensed her death. Kaileel wouldn't have had time to kill her, or wouldn't possess the power to do it on his own. No, Tohre's way would be to do irreparable harm to Elizabeth McGregor, to neutralize her powers. But Conar knew the longer it took to find her, the slimmer the chance he'd find her alive and unharmed.

"Call out to me, Elizabeth," he pleaded into the Veil. "Give me an idea of where to look." Only silence met his fearful probing. Arming the sweat from his forehead, he continued across the suspension bridge that led to the Arch-Prelate's quarters. He had yet to find the passageway into the nether region of the Monastery. He knew it wasn't far from where Tolkan Coure had resided, but each door he opened revealed the everyday working chambers of the place--classrooms, dormitories, and reading rooms. Every room brought back memories that tormented him, tightened his groin with fear. Their yawning emptiness did nothing to alleviate the remembered shame and unreasoning terror he felt at being in them once more. Even smells brought back emotions he thought long dead; they wafted up to remind him of his tenuous hold on sanity in this vile place. Some rooms took extra courage to enter, to make sure no one lurked inside the darkened walls. With every step into such confining chambers, he thought he would scream with sheer, blind panic. But he forced himself to continue. To search. To look into every dark corner, every hidden space. Somewhere in the maze of dimly lit corridors and silent rooms lay a portal into the belly of the vile place, an entrance into the evil that was the Domination. And he was running out of time trying to find it. "Beloved," he sighed. His grip tightened on his blade. "Conar." He stopped, sucked in a breath. It hadn't been his beloved's voice calling to him. He heard a noise. Faint. Hushed. Furtive. A door closed; a footstep sounded. A moment of silence followed, then a choked-off scream. That voice he recognized all too well--"Conar!" He ran. **** Roget and Grice had followed a pathway from the Temple's sacristy down to the work area, where monks made their wines and ales. The air stank of acrid hops and barley and fermenting fruit. The casks lining the walls gave off a pungent odor, almost as intoxicating as the beverages they held. "Where is everybody?" Roget asked, shaking one of the casks. They had found no inhabitants, not even a stray worker. "What did hell do? Open up and swallow the lot of them?" "With any luck." Grice poked his head into a storage room, found nothing, and started to turn. Something caught his eye. He entered the room. Beside a low-hung door lay a swatch of fabric. He picked it up and held it to the light. Green velvet. "From your sister's gown?" Roget asked, joining his friend. Grice stared at him. "Something's happened, du Mer." He crushed the velvet in his palm. "I know it!" "Let's find the others," Roget advised, starting to leave. "No! There's no time." He tugged on the low-hung door's handle. The door stuck tight. "Damn it," he spat, yanking, trying to pull it open. "She's in there, du Mer! I know she's in there!" He kicked at the door. "Here, let me." Roget wedged his blade into the crack between the door and the jamb, but the portal didn't budge as he tried to pry it free. "There must be another way in."

"But where?" His cheeks hot, Grice screamed in rage. "I'll get through this goddamned door if it's the last thing I do!" He scanned the room. His narrowed gaze fell on an axe, leaning against a worktable. He hefted the weapon in his massive fist, tightened his grip, then crashed the blade into the door. The axe bit deep, splitting the wood and leaving a long gash in the oak. Wynth twisted the blade and jerked it free. Using every bit of his strength, he smashed the axe into the wood again, grinning like a devilish child when a chunk of the wall broke from the door. He pulled out the axe and struck again. This time, the door shuddered on its hinges and cracked down the middle, one half gaping crazily into the room beyond. Tossing away the axe, barely hearing Roget's hiss of warning, Grice assaulted the broken wood, widening the gap and laughing evilly as it split and gave way. He saw the crosspiece of a latch stretching across the door. He flipped the crosspiece out of its wooden supports and the rest of the door swung inward at a broken angle. Roget whistled, following Grice through the destroyed door. Once beyond the portal, he groaned. They stood in a vast underground cavern of stalagmites and stalactites. The whole place glowed an iridescent pink that hurt the head and made the stomach roll. An unidentifiable, putrid stench made their eyes water, while the air seemed as hot as an inferno. "Where the hell are we?" Roget asked. "That may beexactly where we are," Grice said, marveling at what appeared an infinite distance of soaring limestone formations above. "Where do we go from here?" Grice wasn't sure. He hated to get separated from du Mer. There was always safety in numbers, but there were dozens of pathways leading from where they stood, and none of them were marked, although all seemed to be well-traveled. The only sensible thing to do was to split up. "We'll start on the right," he said. "I'll take the first pathway, you take the next. If it should be a dead end, come back and take the one two tunnels away from the one you entered. If we stagger our searches, we can soon cover all the paths." "What if they have no end, Wynth?" Grice glared at him. This du Mer brother was more of a pessimist than Teal! Though he felt like throttling the man, he gritted his teeth and shoved Roget away. "Just find her, damn it! Find my sister!" **** Conar's footsteps echoed down the steep and slippery steps, leading into the further reaches of the Monastery's underbelly. He passed black oaken doorways, locked and barred from the other side, but knew his lady wasn't behind them, for he felt no calling. Every pathway stood open, nothing barred his way, nothing lurked about to delay him. He sensed Tohre had planned it that way, charted the path he trekked. If a door was locked, Tohre had made it so, leading him only where he wanted Conar to go. Now, he didn't bother to check other closed doors. He kept to the open hallways and doorways, going deeper, and deeper still, into the bowels of the mountain. **** "Elizabeth!" Brelan's voice had thickened, gone hoarse. He wandered down the long hallway, looking into empty rooms that stared back at him with contempt. He pounded his fist against a wall, leaning his head against the paneling, tears of frustration coming to his eyes. "Elizabeth," he sighed, feeling her nearby, but inaccessible. "You'll find her." "My lady?" he gasped, hearing the voice of the lady to whom he had been Sentinel for many years. He turned, looking for her in the dark corridor.

"Search, my warrior," she whispered. "Search." He bowed his head and pushed away from the wall. His lady had given him all the help she could in this evil place. Brelan was about to go back down the corridor, to try another way, when he heard a distant shout. He stopped, listened. The cry came again. "Brelan!" He headed toward the sound. **** "It's some antechamber," Roget said, gripping Grice's arm. He'd been seeking Wynth for more than twenty minutes. "I don't know where it leads, but I've a hunch it'll take us where we need to be." "Then, lead on!" Grice snarled. "We're wasting precious time!" **** They found the entrance to the underground passages at the same time, bumping into each other at a juncture in the path. "Have you seen him?" Jah-Ma-El asked, his hand gripping Shalu's brown arm. "No sign of him." "They're in trouble, Shalu." Jah-Ma-El's voice trembled along with his body. Shalu looked at the others--Tyne Brell, Chase Montyne, Roget du Mer, Grice and Chand Wynth, Storm Jale, Sentian Heil, Thom Loure. He wasn't in the least surprised to find Duncan Cree missing. He settled on Chase and saw fear in the Ionarian's pale blue eyes. He heard Jah-Ma-El repeating his words. "They're in trouble! They're in terrible trouble!" "I know," the Necroman whispered. "I know."

Chapter 8 Conar passed a trickling waterfall. Vague memories came back in a rush and staggered him--roughly being pulled past it, kicking and bucking, screaming through a gag, his arms bound securely behind him, his ankles chaffing at the thick manacles that kept him from running. Now, he grabbed hold of a roof support and drew in a ragged breath, looking at the waterfall with fear and loathing. The plummeting waters brought it home to him that he stood near the place where he'd known his greatest pain. He tore his gaze from the crashing waters and looked around. He stood in an antechamber, dimly lit with blazing torches spaced every four or five feet apart. Carved from the natural rock of the mountain, a ragged, gaping hole in the wall framed the waterfall. When he looked to the wide double doors at the end of the antechamber, a chill ran down his spine. He knew that was where he'd been taken, the Ritual chamber where he had been forcibly consecrated to the evil of the Domination years before.

He could almost smell the warm, saline stench of the dead goat's blood, dripping on his naked body as he lay strapped to the black marble altar, set within the blazing red pentagram of Raphian. He thought he could even hear the chanting that had slimed over him that night, and could feel Tohre's hands on him. "Stop it!" Closing his eyes, he violently shook his head to rid himself of the invading thoughts. He shuddered, his hands shaking so hard his sword rattled against the stone floor. His nostrils quivered with fear. When he opened his eyes, the door seemed closer, more threatening, bulging out at him as though alive and breathing in his terror, feeding on his bravery. He could hear every shallow, rapid breath he dragged into his lungs. His fingers flexing around the hilt, he brought up the sword and reluctantly headed for the double oaken doors with their gleaming black varnish. His spine felt taut, while he gazed back and forth, terrified something would jump out at him. If he had been less brave, he imagined he would've soiled his clothing. As it was, his shirt stuck to him where sweat flowed freely under his arms and down his chest, across his back, vividly reminding him of Tohre's fingers trailing across his... "Don't!" he yelled. He heard laughter--vile and loathsome and infinitely amused. "Damn you!" he bellowed, hurrying to the doors and flinging them wide. He raced into the room, his heart slamming in his chest, his throat unable to close against the groan of terror that squeezed through his lips when he took in the room in which he had been tortured. Conar felt the hair on his arms stir. His bowels threatened to loosen. The only light came from thirteen metal torcheliers, each holding thirteen candles. All were black except for the first, seventh, and thirteenth, which were so scarlet they appeared almost black. The light shone evilly on a four-foot-tall, black-marble sarcophagus, dominating the room's center. "Oh, Alel," he moaned, memories lashing him like physical blows. This was not only the Ritual Chamber, but the Punishment Chamber, where recalcitrant boys were brought to be broken, where once he had nearly died inside the cold stone crypt. Bile leapt up his throat. He shivered, violently, unrelentingly, his eyes filling with hot tears of shame and dread, fear and pain. He scanned the room, the floor with its dual circles, the outer circle holding the black torcheliers, the inner encompassing the sarcophagus. On the far wall stood a giant statue of Raphian, the Storm God, the Destroyer of Souls, the Unholy Deity of the Domination. The statue grinned at him; the horrible blazing eyes of blood-red rubies seemed to throb with every beat of Conar's heart. He tore away his gaze, looking at the iron bands set in the four corners of the sarcophagus. He knew those bands could be pulled and the top of the crypt would mutate, the shape change. The upper and lower sections could be separated until the altar was set in a cruciform pattern, an extended "X" slab with the iron bands used to restrain the unlucky victim's wrists and ankles. "Sweet, Merciful Alel," he pleaded. He took a step away from the altar, and, almost of its own volition, his attention was drawn to the ceiling. He wasn't surprised to see a dead goat, its throat slit open like a smirking demon's grin, hanging from the rafters. He could almost feel the stickiness of the goat's blood on his own flesh. "Alel, please! Make the memories stop!" Yanking his gaze away from the obscene sight, he looked once more at the altar and saw something standing there. His brows drew together; his breathing stopped. He stared at the object for a long time before he finally found the courage to move. On legs that threatened to buckle, he crept forward, crossing the outer and inner circles of the pentagrams, feeling the revulsion rising in him as he stepped across the lines between evil and good. He hesitantly climbed the thirteen steps that led from the fifth point of the pentagram's inner star to the base of the sarcophagus. His breathing came in quick gasps. The room had turned ice-cold, and he could see the white haze of his breath as he exhaled. When he ascended the last step, a jolt went through his body, stunning him, turning his spine to jelly, as he recognized the object on the altar.

Conar's heart filled with fury and fear. "No, Tohre! Never!" The blood-red crystal goblet appeared to take on a light from the candles. Its contents overflowed, oozed down the sides and pooled at the stem as though unseen hands continued filling it. He moaned, a low, keening cry for help that came from the very depths of his being. "No...I won't." The goblet seemed to pulse, sending more thick black fluid over the rim. A stream of it ran to the edge of the altar slab, trickled over the edge. Conar gagged when he caught a whiff of the strong smell rising from the floor. His mouth filled with water, a warning knifing through his mind like the jagged streak of lightning. "Drink it," came an insidious whisper. Conar spun around, trying to find the source of the words. Nothing moved. Nothing looked back him. "Drink it." "No!" He took a step backward, going down one step, away from the goblet. The chalice continued filled with unspeakable, vile filth, which slid across the marble slab toward him. "Drink it." "No!" He stumbled down two more steps, his head swinging from side to side, searching for the owner of the disembodied voice. "Drink it." He skidded down the remaining steps, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the evil on the altar. He had once before tasted the vicious, degrading contents, and he'd never do so again. "Drink it, Conar." The voice sounded ancient, soothing and seductive, infinitely pleasant and melodious on the ears. "Get away from me," he whispered, once more crossing the pentagrams that left him feeling unclean and violated in the worst imaginable way. Something crunched beneath his boot. He jumped away, and what he saw made him shudder all the way through his soul. His mouth formed a single, heartfelt, silent denial. With his eyes filling with hot, unshed tears, he bent over like an old man, extended a shaky hand, and touched the item. His heart plummeted, and his throat closed with intense fear. Hooking his fingers under the object, he cradled it in his hand as though it were the most fragile and holy of relics. A groan, one of endless misery, came from the heart of him. He crushed the object in one tightly clenched fist. Throwing back his head, he howled--"Kaileel!" The sound echoed back to him in a hundredKaileel's. "Yes, Conar?" came the amused reply. He spun around to find no one. "Retribution, my sweet Prince. Retribution." With a whimper of hopelessness, Conar dropped to his knees. He jammed his clenched fist against his quivering lips, moaning in pain. He rocked back and forth, his breeches soaking up the obscene fluid trickling down the stairs and puddling beneath him. He grunted in agony, squeezing his eyes shut over his misery. "Will you leave her in my tender care, Conar?"

He felt his body spiraling into darkness. The air grew inconceivably colder, and he felt numb from the chill. He brought up his other hand to cover the fist pressed against his lips, then he stared up at the altar, the goblet, and its overflowing brew. "Drink it," the command came once more. He sank back on his heels and lowered his hands to his lap. "I can not." "Drink it...make it part of you..." Still cradling his right hand in his left, he unclenched his fist and stared with tearful longing at the thing in his hand. It had imprinted itself in his flesh, intertwining with the heavy scar in his palm, the lighter birthmark. His fingers twitched, and a part of it spilled over his palm, dangled down his wrist. "Liza," he sighed, looking at the finely wrought gold chain attached to the talisman she had forged for herself of their combined marriage bracelets. The one she never removed from her neck. The source of their combined powers, now laid to waste by the touch of Tohre's filthy hands. He moaned and closed his fist around the chain once more, painfully pressing his hands into his lap. "You will drink it." He glared at the empty room, hoping for, willing Kaileel to appear. "Where are you, you foul bastard? Come and get me if you want me, you son of a jackal!" The room remained empty, but an echoing laugh vibrated through the air. Mocking. Challenging. Warning. A low sigh of wind whistled--then came silence. "Come and get me, Tohre!" "Drink it." "I'll find her," Conar whispered between grinding teeth. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed as he turned his head, searching the cold, dark corners. His nostrils flared with hatred and his breath became deep, regulated. "I'll findyou! " "Only when I'm ready for you to do so..." He got to his feet, the talisman clutched in his hand. With a violent rush, he tore up the altar steps and flung his arm across the slab, sending the chalice hurling through the air to spray its evil contents on the far wall. "I'll find you, you son-of-a-bitch!" He flew down the steps, knocking over three candelabras in his haste, then bolted through the opened doorway. He heard the doors slam shut behind him. **** Chase stopped, listening. A tremor of fear run down his spine. He sent out what power he had that was not being corrupted in this unholy place and found Conar's lifeforce, throbbing like the beat of a runaway horse's heart. "What happened?" he whispered. "What did you encounter?" He glanced at his companions, then walked away from them, listening once more for the hum that could tell him Conar's location. But the heavy throbbing had vanished. All Montyne could gain from his intent probe was the primal fury left in Conar's wake. Chase looked around. The place brought back memories he wished had been laid to rest. If he was being bombarded so heavily by the evil in this place, Conar, who had endured far more malevolence here than Chase, must nearly be buried beneath it. "Be careful, Conar," he pleaded. "Watch out for Tohre's bag of vicious tricks."

**** All torches in the antechamber had been extinguished, and the room lay in total darkness. He stood still, felt his pupils expanding, seeking light. A small rush of wind passed his left shoulder, and a door opened before him, light beaming through the crack. A feeble halo of yellow haze faintly lit the ceiling. It seemed alien. Menacing. He advanced on the doorway with cautious steps, for this was one portal that had been locked and bared against his entrance before. Now it gaped open, bidding him entry. "Come." Conar snorted at the command. "Do I have a choice?" "No." He ducked under the low stone archway. Ahead lay a long, narrow tunnel, so close in width, his shoulders touched both sides as he moved forward. The claustrophobia of his childhood reared its head, and for a moment he felt the old fear, the old agony closing up his throat. But he resolutely pushed it aside, stamped it down, refused to allow it to take over. The moisture of the walls seeped into the fabric of his shirt as he passed, and he placed his full concentration on the clammy, unhealthy, insipid feel of the dampness against his cold flesh. He heard the sound of bubbling water and carefully listened. Trying to get the direction of the sound fixed in his mind, he realized it was ahead of him and off to the left. Gently running his hand along the wall, he felt a vibration of some unknown source--large, untamed, powerful. Puzzled, he pressed forward until the tunnel split into four sections before him, each identical. Each dark and sinister. Forbidding. "Where to, Tohre?" he shouted. "Choose." He let out a ragged breath and chose the tunnel farthest to the left. "Always the Left Hand Path, Tohre," he said beneath his breath. ---Deep in the shadows, an evil smile lurked in the darkness.

Chapter 9 Heaving a frustrated sigh, Brelan leaned against a beam and screwed up his eyes to see through the dimness. Ahead, on one side of the tunnel, a waterfall trickled down the stone wall. He poked his head through the hole in the wall and looked downward. He whistled, taking in the sheer drop--bottomless, from the looks of it--and drew back his head. Doors lay ahead, but he found them locked. The tunnel ended a few feet past the double black-oaken doors, so he had no alternative but to turn around. His sixth sense caused him to retry one of the doors, but it seemed bolted tight. He stared at it, wondering why he felt such a need to enter that portal. He heard a mighty roar, but couldn't deduce its agent or from where it originated. His torch had begun to die, so he took one out of the wall brace and lit it with his dying flame. The rushes caught and blazed into life. He decided to rest a moment, his hearing keenly attuned for any more calls of his name. This tunnel was the fifth he had searched from the stalactite cavern where he'd started. He was bone-tired, his eyes aching from peering through dark caverns and tunnels. He had passed Chase twice, but his friend had been glum, uncommunicative, a wary frown on his face.

Pushing away from the wall, Brelan began his long trek back through the tunnel. He scanned the floor. While following a wandering crack in the stone, his peripheral vision picked up something that made him stop and look back. His gaze traced the crack to the wall, then lifted, going up the granite surface as the crack widened and became a man-sized crevice. Using his torch to illuminate the slit, he saw torches scattered along a distant wall, lighting some unseen pathway. Taking in a deep breath, he wedged himself through the slit and came out into another narrow tunnel, which seemed to lead under the waterfall. Hoping against hope it didn't drop into the pit he had seen, Brelan moved forward, careful where he put his feet along the narrow ledge that became his pathway. Something scooted across his instep. A large rodent scampered into the darkness. Shuddering, for he truly despised the furry creatures, Brelan nearly squealed in answer to the rodent's chattering voice when it doubled back and shot across his foot again, as though something had frightened it. "Bloody little bastard." Even through the boot leather, Brelan felt the rodent on his toes. He shook his foot to ward off the feeling and peaked over the ledge, then wished he hadn't. The dark drop-off seemed infinite. He sucked in his breath and plastered himself to the wall. Brelan heard a loud, prolonged hiss. Eyes widening, he stilled. He bit off a scream when something barreled out of the darkness from beyond the waterfall and skipped past him. Another hiss told him the animal had been a badly frightened cat. "What the hell are you guys seeing up there?" Brelan muttered, not at all happy with the animals' reactions. He hated to get wet under the waterfall, but there didn't appear to be anything else he could do. The slim ledge behind the cascading water jutted partially into the water's flow. With his torch sputtering, he pushed his hand against the wall, close enough, he hoped, to keep the torch dry as he passed under the water. Carefully placing his foot on the ledge, he started over the makeshift bridge nature had provided. Icy water tumbled over his head and chest, thoroughly soaking his shirt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his sense of humor told him he wouldn't have to take a bath that night, and he giggled. Between the climb to the Monastery and this, he reckoned he was getting a complete cleansing. A low chuckle replaced the giggle. "Better to laugh than cry..." As he cleared the waterfall, he realized with a sense of disquiet that the ledge had begun to take on a definite incline. He shifted his torch, grazing his knuckles on the sharp rocks, grimacing with the pain. He held up the torch and frowned. The pathway rose at a steep angle. He didn't dare look down, which would have put more fear in his soul. Shivering, he had a horror of falling into the unseen pit, never to surface again. Putting his right foot on the incline, he started to climb. He used his free hand to brace himself against the wall, to feel his way along. The farther up the ledge he went, the louder that strange rumbling noise became. It sounded weird, sinister, and for some reason it put a steel barb of fear in his heart. Whatever it was, it made a lot of noise and he was heading straight for it. Another scream brought him up short, almost made him tumble into the yawning cavern below. He plastered his quivering body to the wall, hands pressed to the rocks, torch spiraling into the darkness as he let it go to keep himself from plummeting. The scream had sounded close. Very close. And it had been choked off, as if a hand had clamped over the screamer's mouth. Because of the rumbling, Brelan couldn't tell if the scream had issued from a male or female. His eyes adjusting, he began to detect a faint glow and continued up the incline, extremely careful where he put his feet. As a loose rock skidded out from under his foot, he yelped with fear, pressing himself as close to the wall as he could get. His heart thundered in his chest; sweat dripped down his body in waves. He eased forward, felt steady footing beneath his boots, and sidestepped upward again. Something shrieked farther up the incline. Another small creature darted toward him. Sucking in his breath, Brelan prayed the thing wasn't large enough or strong enough to collide with him and send them both into the pit. As it brushed against his legs, it hissed, yowled in surprise, then shrieked as it tumbled over the ledge. Brelan looked down, and again wished he hadn't. The strange glow came from hundreds of feet below. He saw a sparkle of water as it tumbled over rock formations and splashed far up the cavern walls, a violently hissing trough of

water that fed downward. That's the source of the rumbling, he thought grimly. The water looked deadly. Its center swirled counterclockwise under the rock formations, disappearing into the blackness beyond the point where he could see. He had spent enough time sailing about in his ill-begotten youth to know a whirlpool. This one looked enormous, and by the force of the swirling water and the noise it caused, seemed to feed into something larger. The vortex itself slammed into the stone, shaking the walls with its might. That was the vibrating, humming noise he had heard. He laid his head along the stone wall and closed his eyes. If he had slipped into that, he'd have been sucked down into the whirlpool. Sucked down into the... Brelan's lids popped open. He gasped and stared downward, mesmerized by the water's power, its lethality. "The Maelstrom," he whispered, fear rising inside him like a striking serpent. Sweat ran down his sides, and he could smell his own sour aroma. Sudden overwhelming knowledge struck horror in his mind, and he knew at that moment where Tohre had taken Liza! **** Chase stared at the sarcophagus and knew immediately that this had been the source of Conar's fear. He saw the chalice lying on its side, a deep red residue clinging to its sides. "There are many honors a Brother may have, Chaseton," he could hear Tolkan instructing him from long ago. "The greatest of these honors is participation in the Rite of Transmergence." He had been only a child, a naive child at that, but he had understood well enough the teachings of the old reprobate. Tolkan had made sure of that. "Can you conceive of anything more rewarding than being mated, body and soul, to another of your kind?" Tolkan had stroked the damp blond hair where sweat had plastered it to Chase's forehead. "Think of it, Chaseton. Think of being a part of someone else, an integral part. Losing your own identity in the identity of your Master!" The Rite of Transmergence had been outlawed, but Tolkan had remembered it with fondness and reverent pleasure as he explained it to the shivering, beaten Ionarian Princeling. "Think of how intimate such an act can be. Your soul irrevocably absorbed by that of your Master. Two souls, but one body. Two minds, but one Control." Tolkan had sighed. His long vermilion-tipped nails had dragged seductively over Chase's bleeding back. "Just think of it." And Chase had. Even at his young age, he could think of nothing more vile, more heinous or fiendish. There was no other Rite in the plethora of Domination nastiness that could equal such a despicable thing, no other obscene ceremony designed more to exact infinite vengeance than what Tolkan had called "The Retribution." Montyne's wide shoulders slumped. He supposed he had known all along what Tohre had planned for Conar. Taking in the room where he had also been punished, he felt an overpowering urge to flee, to run as fast as he could from this horrible place where boys had been turned into broken men too early and too often. "Before Alel," Chase told the leering statue of Raphian, "I will not let Tohre do to Conar what he plans." He held up his arms. "I would rather have my friend's blood on these hands than allow him to know the agony of being trapped inside the tainted soul of his worst enemy!"

Chapter 10

Conar moved his torch to light the narrow slit in the rock wall. The tunnel that had started at the doorway had become progressively more narrow; he had to force himself sideways to advance. His arms and shoulders had been scraped raw in places, and the wounds bled a little. The tunnel had ended at this wavering slit and he wasn't sure he could squeeze through the opening. Upon closer inspection, he knew he couldn't. "Goddamn it!" Frustrated beyond anything he had ever felt, he cursed the wall, the mountain, the tunnel--and Kaileel Tohre. "Damn you!" He pounded the fist in which he still gripped Liza's talisman against the wall. "Do you hear me you slimy bastard?" "Of course, I do." Shaking his head like an angry bull, Conar headed back the way he had come. Behind him, Tohre laughed, taunting him, mocking him. His shoulders scraped painfully over the rocks and he grit his teeth to keep from cursing. His shirt ripped on a snag. Wrenching his arm away from the wall, he heard the fabric tear even more. Growling in fury, he smacked the wall with his fist and cut his hand on something sharp. He shouted with the pain and jerked up his hand, scratching a long furrow along his arm as he did. He felt blood dripping to his elbow. He carefully put down his arm and wiped his hand on his pants. Straining through parts of the passageway that seemed to be more narrow than before, gouging his flesh against sharp stones, he clenched his jaw and kept moving, not caring anymore that he bled freely in at least a dozen places. The most important thing for him was to find another way to reach the low, vibrating source of unknown sound he kept hearing. Each time he pressed against the wall, he could feel the vibrations grow stronger. By the time he reached the beginning of the tunnel and stood trying to decide which tunnel to take next, he was beyond reasonable thought. His anger was like a festering sore, ripe to burst. Nothing, and no one, save Elizabeth McGregor, could have lessened his rage. His nostrils flared wide with fury. His long legs pumped like twins pistons as he stormed toward the right-hand tunnel. "Where are you?" he shouted. "Can't you find me, Conar?" came the laughing rejoinder. Realizing time ticked away with deadly seconds, he bolted down the long, twisting corridor of stone, with no regard to what might be at the other end. When he could no longer hear the humming vibration, he stopped, took a deep breath, and willed his heart to slow. Nothing could be accomplished this way, he decided miserably. He had to think. He was letting his anger get the best of him, exactly what Kaileel had known would happen. He had to calm down. He had to rationalize. Easier said than done, he admonished himself, plowing his blood-sticky fingers through his hair. His main concern was time. The longer it took to find Liza, the more time Kaileel had to harm her. That bleak thought tore at his already hurting insides, totally unmanning him and bringing tears. If Kaileel hurt her... He couldn't bear the notion. It hurt too much. It scared him too much. He took a deep breath and strode to the tunnel's end, where a thick door barred the exit. It wasn't locked. He swung open the portal, stooped down to leave the tunnel-And moaned in defeat. He found himself back in the antechamber, standing before the door leading into the Ritual Chamber. He snarled, swinging his head side to side in anger. Every door that had been shut, locked, and barred to him before, now gaped open, their dark interiors lying in wait. He wanted to sit down with his head in his hands and sob. He couldn't afford the luxury. Squaring his shoulders, tamping down the urge to go stark raving mad, he took the doorway closest to him. Spiraling stone steps ran steeply downward, jagging away into total darkness. The dull gray stairs looked wicked, crazily jutting at weird angles as they disappeared into the ebon beyond. The risers themselves looked too narrow for his booted feet, and he'd have to be careful descending.

Taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves, he put a foot on the first tilted step. The stone gave way. Before he could jump back, his foot skidded downward and he lost his balance. He also lost his grip on the torch. His arms windmilled as he crashed down the shaft of the spiraling steps, his back and hips hitting the wall from side to side. He landed at the bottom with a thud, gouging a long furrow in the small of his back on the last riser. His tailbone throbbed with the impact. Gingerly moving his arms and legs, he felt genuine surprise that nothing seemed broken or sprained. His sword, secured across his back in its baldric, poked at his lower ribs on the right side where the hilt had decided to remind him it remained. Letting out a thankful breath, he pushed his hand along the floor until he felt a wall, then braced himself and got unsteadily to his feet. He couldn't see a thing in front of him. He stood in total darkness. Even narrowing his eyes brought nothing but wavering sparks of blood-light behind his lids. "What now, idiot?" He felt along the rocky wall, wincing at the slimy, unsavory, and moist surface. With one foot feeling ahead of the other, the toe of his boot tapping for obstruction, he inched forward. To try to climb the steps would be futile, he realized. The risers themselves were slanted downward, like the steps. Such stairways were meant for descent, not ascension. Besides, he thought grimly, he knew he was exactly where Tohre wanted him to be. The vibrating sound seemed closer here, more intense. The floor beneath his boots hummed. Conar moved along until his hand touched what appeared to be a corner. Removing his fingers from the stone, he touched only air before him and to the sides, no obstruction at all. He eased his foot forward, felt firm ground, and carefully turned into the opening. Sliding his foot from side to side ahead of him, he took small, mincing steps should he find a drop-off or perilous pratfall. His right hand clutched Liza's talisman so tightly, the metal dug into his flesh, but it was a part of her that seemed his shield and protection. He would not pocket the precious medallion for fear of losing it. At that moment, it was the only connection he had to his beloved and just having it in his hand made him feel better. In the distance, a glimmer of light suddenly appeared. It wavered in an arc, back and forth, like a beacon at the end of the narrow path. Stagnant, heavy, and oppressively warm air filled the passageway. An undercurrent of something alien played just under Conar's subconscious; warning bells began to go off in his head even before two skittering creatures flitted past him in blind panic, their fearful chirping feeding on his own sense of bravery. He smelled the air changing. Along with it came that identifiable odor he had smelled when he and Chase had battled the demon hours ago. He shifted the talisman to his left hand and drew the Deathwelder from its sheath. Holding the black sword in front of him, he purposefully moved toward the swinging light. A sound like nothing he had ever heard howled into the darkness, answered by another, more sinister howl that drew out long and shrill. No sooner had that howl ended than another began, closer this time. Conar's flesh crawled. Whatever lay at the end of the passageway had company. Conar felt the things before he saw them. His sixth sense, so finely attuned, picked them up on his internal radar, warning him before they could scuttle out of the end of the passageway and come at him. They slithered over his feet, nipping at his boots with razor-like teeth that pierced and sank into the leather, although not deep enough to touch his flesh. One unseen entity snapped at his knee. Hearing the low growl, Conar flattened himself against the moist wall. He jabbed at the floor with his blade, grinning when he heard a startled, piercing yelp, much like a puppy would make. Then something rumbled with a deep, penetrating bass, shoving him sideways along the wall, his already-bruised shoulder sliding through the muck and slime. Straightening, turning to face his attacker, he heard tiny clicking sounds all around him, but couldn't see anything in the darkness. Once more he thrust his sword downward. Instead of encountering prey, he heard what could have only been laughter from the things surrounding him, one laugh deeper, older than the others. Had he wandered into a nest? He stepped back, the thought not setting well with his courage. Just along his nether vision, he saw the arc of light move closer to him. He tensed, hoping the spill of light would illumine whatever held him at bay. He flinched as something sharp grazed his left hand. He drew it back with a grunt, feeling blood dripping from the wound. Conar sucked in his breath. It seemed the smell of his blood excited the creatures, who clicked and hissed, like dogs slathering over a bone. A satisfied groan came from that deeper voice, along with a sliding, shuffling sound that

moved steadily closer. After a grumble of laughter, the clicking sound intensified. Striking out with his sword, Conar heard the deep growl again, cooing to him. Something clawed at him, leaving a bloody gash down his right arm. The Deathwelder quivered in his sword hand and he tightened his grip on the hilt. "Only cowards hide in the dark and strike unseen at their victims, Tohre! But then, you were always a coward, weren't you?" The creatures issued a shocked intake of breath, then their menacing growls grew in volume until the wall began to shake behind Conar's back. How big are these things? he thought with worry. All of them seemed to be moving closer, bumping against him as he kicked out. "Tohre!" His boot buried itself into something soft and giving. As the deeper growl came from almost at his side, Conar stepped farther away. "Damn you, you bastard! Show yourself!" "You want to see your adversaries, my beloved Prince?" a voice called. "Then view them!" Before Conar could answer, the arc of light shot forward, nearly blinding him with its intensity as it threw the entire passageway into overwhelming light. He threw his arm over his eyes so his vision could adjust. As he did, something sank its sharp teeth into his left thigh. He screamed with pain, thrusting down his arms to push away the creature. His fingers encountered something so vile, so loathsome, he snatched them back. And when he looked down at the thing clinging to him, he nearly vomited in disgust. **** Thom Loure slumped down the wall, his hands coated with blood, the front of his shirt sweat-soaked and smelling of blood and gore. He plucked at the offending material, then shrugged. "He was a Hasdu, wasn't he?" Loure looked up at Storm. "Aye." Storm hunkered down beside his friend. "What was that he said before you killed him?" Thom shrugged. "I didn't catch it all, but it was something about an asp. He said he sold an asp to an Elite." He laid his head along the wall, exhausted from his bloodletting. "What does that mean?" "I don't know." "He was trying to tell you something, Thom. Something he thought would save his life." "Nothing would have saved his life." "Still," Storm insisted, "I think you should have let the man speak." "It was a Hasdu what murdered my brother, Rayle, or don't you remember that?" "I'm not apt to forget, Thommy. Rayle was a good friend of mine." Some vague memory stirred in Loure's tired brain. His forehead creased. "You know," he said, sitting up, "there was that time Conar was bitten by an asp in the garden at Boreas." He looked at Storm. "You think he knew who put that viper in the garden?" Storm shivered. "An Elite?" Thom stared at him. "There is a traitor among us, Jale!" **** The vile creature, maybe ten, eleven inches long, with teeth grinding into Conar's flesh, had wrapped its scaly body around his legs. The limbless creature looked like a giant slug, its back end tapering down to a twitching stub of a tail.

Two beady red eyes glared up at Conar as it worked its teeth through flesh and muscle, endeavoring to reach gristle and bone. Its body had wrapped so snugly around the lower part of his knee and calf, Conar could feel the constriction like a band of molten iron. Although no more than two inches in diameter, the creature made up for its size with the ferocity of its chewing. Shrieking, Conar jerked it away from his leg, his flesh shredding with blinding pain. He tossed up the creature and brought up his sword, severing it in mid-air. He gagged once more, hot bile rising in his throat, and he stumbled, eyeing another creature preparing to attack. Before Conar had a chance to back away, the slug-like being sprang from the ground like a grasshopper. One needle-sharp tooth caught the fleshy part of Conar's right forearm, snagging itself. With a speed and agility that boggled the mind, the beast wrapped its loathsome tail around Conar's elbow and constricted. In horror, Conar stared at the thing, the wide set of its closely spaced teeth snapping at him from a foul-smelling green mouth. A high-pitched sound of terror issued from Conar's lips. He slammed his arm along the wall, jamming his elbow against the stone with such force it brought tears to his eyes. But the motion crushed the creature. With a squish, it slid to the floor, oozing a noxious fluid that filled the air with breath-taking fumes. "Fuck!" Conar spat, shaking his arm of the creature's slimy residue. A fierce growl rent the air. Conar looked up to see two more things spring at him. He stepped out of the way of one, stomping on its bloated body with his foot, gagging as it squashed beneath his heel. He speared the other on the tip of his blade. Four more slithered forward, preparing to launch themselves, but the deeper growl roared out of the blinding light. Conar's heart ceased to beat when he took in the sight of the mother-creature as it shifted to block his escape. Slime dripped down the massive, corpulent, tube-like body. Its scales rose and fell like the breathing fins on a fish. Two huge blood-red eyes glowered at Conar with an evil so old and so powerful it feared nothing, the sweep of its vision leaving no doubt that it thought of him merely as fodder for its young. Conar trembled. A long thread of orange saliva dangled from it large amphibious mouth when it grinned. Two rows of razor-like teeth gleamed from the green pucker of its maw. A growl of satisfaction hummed out of its throat, and with it the putrid smell of its unholy breath. If Raphian, the Destroyer of Souls, had a mate on this earth, such would be the creature facing Conar. Around its tail, a dozen or so other creatures slithered over one another, snapping and clicking their teeth in a frenzy of hunger. Its body began to rise from the tunnel floor. It had to be at least ten feet tall, and five to six feet in diameter. Its belly boiled with unborn young, pushing against the greenish-gray flesh covering its abdomen. Even as Conar watched, the thing squatted, and with a pleased grunt, expelled more slug-like babes that wiggled like tadpoles on the stone. A putrid stench of mold and slime came from the wiggling larvae as they squirted among their siblings. Conar shuddered in revulsion, swallowing hard, trying to keep the bile in his throat from rising. He had to breathe through his mouth so the smell wouldn't bother him as much. He flattened himself against the gummy wall, terrified, his bravery trying to hide on him. Here stood the worst horror of anyone's nightmares, staring down at him, its fangs dripping hot, flesh-sizzling venom. Conar knew he couldn't fight all the slugs. For the first time, he felt defeat and didn't like the way it made him cower before this beast from hell. "Kaileel sent you to do his dirty work?" he snarled at the bloated thing. His breathing came in a quick, shallow cadence, while his heart hammered in his chest. "Is he so afraid of me he can't take me on himself?" He shifted down the wall, staring at beast's bobbing head. "He's afraid you can't take me either, so he made sure you brought your nest with you?" He eased away from the wall and brought up his sword. He gripped it in both hands, Liza's medallion pressing securely against the hilt. "Cowards!" The thing looked at the mass of offspring at her feet and hissed. The smaller slugs clicked in protest, the mother growled in warning, and the creatures reluctantly moved back, nosing the new larvae, rolling them along the wall and out of harm's way. The mother turned her attention to Conar, the gaping slit of her mouth twisted in a satisfied smirk. She moved closer. Conar clutched the Deathwelder. He knew the creature could rend him in half with those sharp teeth, and his only salvation lay in his sweating palms.

"Come on, bitch," he crooned, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he readied for her attack. She lowered her body to the floor, a wake of slime spreading out from around her. "Come on." He didn't take his eyes from hers, even though they made his gut spasm. "Come let me make those little bastards orphans!" A menacing growl came from her. She slithered closer. Her scaly mouth moved repeatedly with loud clicks, while more orange saliva dripped from its corners. She snaked her head toward him and laughed when he jumped out of her way."Coward!" she hissed, almost sounding like a human female whispering taunting seductiveness. Conar snarled and glared at the thing, bracing himself to run at her. She seemed to know his intensions, for her mouth gaped in an evil grin. Inhaling, she thrust out her unprotected chest in challenge, daring him to try to pierce her. She seemed to be telling him to give it his best shot, and when he failed, she would snap him up. He would have run at her. He would have tried to pierce the grayish green meat behind those iridescent scales. He would have killed her if he could, then turned his attention to the squirming offspring that hissed and clicked and glowered. He would have done all those things if he hadn't heard the scream. And it wasn't just any scream. It was Liza's. The floor opened up beneath him. Conar plummeted into the great gaping chasm, tumbling over and over in space. His head struck a blunt object. He yelped in pain, seeing stars and comets shooting across the darkness. His shoulder slammed into something moist and squishy, then he continued his free-fall into a long, black maw. A thundering surge of tumbling water and the loud vibration he had heard earlier became an awful, intense cacophony of ear-shattering sound. Then he heard nothing. He felt nothing. He saw nothing as his head again struck something hard. The darkness invaded his mind, blocking out everything else. **** Shalu's dark eyes sparked with fury. He glared at Jah-Ma-El, ignoring the warlock's flinch. "If we separate again, there's no telling how long it will take us to find Conar. We should stay together!" "I agree," Roget confirmed, nodding. "This traipsing about all these blasted caverns isn't doing anything but getting us frustrated. Let's stay together and we'll find him eventually." "Eventually," Sentian stressed, his teeth clenched, "isn't good enough! He's in trouble. I know it!" "As do we all," Chase maintained. "But arguing about it doesn't get us any closer to finding him, does it?" Thom rubbed his head, grimacing. "I'm game." He glanced at Storm. "I've got business to see to." "Let's take this tunnel," Grice recommended. "I've a feeling it might lead us somewhere." "And why is that, Wynth?" Tyne snapped. Grice pointed to the ground. Chase's face blanched. He bent down and put his fingers into the loose sand. Bringing up his hand, he looked at the glistening red dampness on his fingertips. "It's blood...Conar's blood... "Then what are we waiting for?" Shalu elbowed his way past Grice and entered the dark tunnel.

Grice looked at Chand, finding the man's cheeks wet with tears. "Keep good thoughts, Chandling. There are a lot of sharp rocks. Conar could have stumbled into one." "I'm afraid, Grice," the younger man said, his gaze following the others as they entered the tunnel. "I have this feeling..." Grice put his arm around his brother's shoulders. "We all do, brat...we all do." **** When Conar came to, he found himself in complete darkness. His head ached; the migraine that had fled a while back had returned with a vengeance. Nausea burned his throat. His eyes throbbed with the beat of his heart. Every cut and bruise on his battered body screamed in protest as he levered himself to his knees on the rock-strewn floor. He put a hand to his temple--it came away wet and sticky--then wiped the bloody residue on the leg of his breeches. Groaning, he got unsteadily to his feet and reached out a hand to find support. Locating nothing to hold, he wobbled until he could fairly command his steps. Hesitantly, he put out his hands and took a cautious step forward. "God almighty!" he gasped. His right leg agonized him, from the juncture of his thigh to his knee. He deduced he had pulled a groin muscle in his fall. He hobbled forward, every step bringing tears. Bending over, hands on his knees, head dangling, he took long, calming breaths. When he thought he could move without too much pain, he tried again. The pain still pestered him, but not as severe as before. He kept moving, trying to work out the strain. He had no idea where he could be in reference to the Monastery, but the constant humming and vibrations came from right ahead of him. He scanned the darkness, but could see nothing but gray wiggles of light. He heard nothing but the incessant humming and felt nothing but the vibrations emanating from the floor. Taking careful steps, he continued forward until, with a start and a spitting curse, he realized he no longer had his sword. "Smart!" His jaw clenched against his stupidity. "Really smart!" "Did you lose something, my Prince?" came a seductive croon. Groaning with weariness and anticipation of the pain, ignoring the faint laughter that taunted him, he turned and dropped gently to his knees. The soft impact of his knees to rock hurt him all over. He gasped, aching so badly he could barely draw another breath. He paused, gathering his waning strength, then bent forward. Reaching out his hands in the fine spray of rocks, dirt, and grit, he smoothed his fingers over the floor, searching for his weapon. It found him with a nice, clean cut along his left palm. The wound meant nothing to him but an intake of breath and a swipe of his palm down his shirt before he picked up his blade. He felt along the weapon to make certain the shaft had remained intact. Satisfied it had, he replaced the sword in his scabbard. Running the back of his wrist under his chin, he wiped away a haze of sweat and grime. He lumbered to his feet, feeling like an ancient man. A draft of cold air billowed toward him. Figuring that where there was air, there was eventually bound to be light, he made his way forward with a great deal of effort. As he walked, one foot sliding before him to feel its way, his mind worked. He remembered hearing Liza scream and the creatures he had been fighting before the world dropped out from under him. How long he had been unconscious, he didn't know. The pain in his head had intensified beyond endurance, and it became hard to concentrate on his actions. Stubbornly, he put one foot ahead of the other and kept going. His toe struck something. He tripped, going to his knees hard enough to bang his teeth together. His hands went out in front of him to break his fall, encountering jagged rocks that inclined upward. With a grunt of frustration and a wince at his scraped knees, he realized he had come to what appeared to be steps. He felt upward, finding more steps. The air drifted down from somewhere above. Although he craned his head and tried to pierce the darkness, he still saw no light. Resolutely, he got to his feet and began to climb. The steps proved steep and slippery with some kind of noxious slime. He could hold on to nothing as he climbed either. Not being able to see made it difficult enough, but maintaining his balance on the narrow steps seemed nearly impossible. He shifted his weight forward and prayed the steps wouldn't fall away into nothingness.

The closer he got to the cool air, the louder the humming noise became. It reverberated through his aching skull like a million bees. He shook his head--a mistake. Strong bile leapt up his throat with lightning speed to flood his mouth. He swallowed, too afraid if he bent over to retch, he'd lose his balance; one awkward movement could send him plunging into the blackness. He could do nothing but swallow as another wave of fluid bubbled up his throat and filled his nostrils. How far he had climbed, he could only guess. He had tried counting the steps, but his concentration rapidly dwindled. His calf muscles strained, his right thigh muscles seemed an agony, while his groin became an ache that defied description. His shins and knees felt on fire from the scrapes and bruises. He shivered, for the swirling air above turned frigid, blowing down with enough force to ruffle his hair. His teeth chattered and his lips grew so numb, he couldn't feel them with his tongue. It seemed the higher he climbed, the colder he became. Something wavered above. He stopped, squinting when he became aware of a faint blue streak of light about five feet away. It glowed in a long, thin strip around what could only be a doorway. The vibrations grew so loud, he felt as if he were back in the wind tunnel, deep in the godforsaken mines of the Labyrinth. The intense light changed from a pale blue to a darker teal as Conar reached the top step. His head violently throbbed. He couldn't see beyond the haze, but heard the sound of bubbling water and smelled the tang of salt. He pushed at a damp door. The portal swung open, revealing a bright blue light that left him hurting with its vibrancy. He put up his right hand, shielding his eyes to the glow. Something, or someone, shoved him hard from behind. He went sprawling to his knees in the thickly swirling dust beyond the doorway. He landed with a thud, his chin hitting the ground, making him bite his tongue. Furious at the attack, he spat and looked behind him to see the door slam shut. Over the loud humming and vibrations that shook his body, he heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being driven home. "Son of a bitch!" he snarled, shaking his head, ignoring the burst of pain. He pushed up from the ground and crouched on all fours. Hanging his head, drawing in breath, he saw blood seeping from the gouges in his knees. He let out an angry hiss and leaned back, plopping down on his haunches. With hands on his thighs, he glared at the blinding light, trying to see through the shimmering haze. "What now, Tohre?" No answer. His mind shot back in time to his first night in the Punishment cells at Boreas, at the shaft of light that had rained over him as he knelt on the cold floor, his arms painfully bound behind him, his wrists dragged toward the low-slung ceiling. He now felt the same overwhelming sense of hopelessness and abandonment as he had felt then. He clenched his fist. "You wanted me, Tohre! Here I am!" "Did you lose something, Conar?" came a seductive whisper. Conar flinched and looked down, bringing up his right, then his left hand. His heart pounded in his chest, while his lips parted in disbelief. He had lost Liza's talisman. "Damn it, no!" He swung his head, searching the ground for the medallion. He couldn't remember when last he had held it. Was it before he climbed the stairs? Before he fell down the hole? Before something pushed him into this hellish place? He couldn't recall. His fingers swept the ground, stirring up dust that wafted into his nose, mouth, and throat as he tried to breathe. He dug through the fine silt, but couldn't find the talisman. Turning on his knees, striking out in each direction, paying no attention to his pain or the dirt being driven into his wounds, he scooped up handfuls of the loose sand in an effort to locate the talisman. Beneath his shirt, his own twin talisman swung against his sweaty chest as he moved.

He stopped and glared at the locked door. He struggled to his feet and rammed himself against the black oak surface. The door held; its handle refused to move. "Open the door!" he shouted, pounding it with his fists. "Not in this lifetime..." Suddenly, the light dimmed, almost going out. Conar spun around. A fine mist rose from the ground, swirling around his legs, rolling over the cavern floor in cresting waves. The walls soared upward hundreds of feet, their glistening sides damp with moisture, shining as though inlaid with millions upon millions of diamonds. In the center of the vast cavern, the source of the vibration throbbed out a warning. Conar clearly saw the thing, his mind reeling with the implication. He took a step forward, his eyes on the vibrating source, and drew in a long, slow breath. A giant chasm yawned into the core of the mountain, dripping away from a ragged cliff only a few feet from where he stood. Water swirled out of the center of the chasm and sprayed the sides of its rim, wetting the floor and pushing back the fog as though the vapor feared the water. Conar had heard tales of this place, but the chasm, with its horrible secret, could wait. He had to find Liza's talisman. He turned his back on the evil thing and pounded the door again. "Open it, Tohre!" He kicked the wood, shoved against it with his shoulder. Anger saturated his mind, driving away the pain. "Conar..." He spun in the direction from which the soft voice had come, but saw no one. Only shadows drifted amidst the rolling fog. The same voice came again, from another direction. "Do you know where you are?" "Aye, I know where I am!" he bellowed, taking a step from the door, his head swinging in each direction, trying to locate the speaker. As a boy, he had learned the lessons of the Domination well. Tohre had seen to that. Kaileel had taken great pleasure in telling him about this place. "It is the Chasm of C-a-s-i-s," the sorcerer had said, spelling out the name, "but we never speak that god's name, Conar. That one is dedicated to the foulest of evils. So evil is He that whenever His name is spoken, calamity befalls the speaker. Not even during the time of His festival when the young girls are brought to be sacrificed to Him, do we call His name. So horrible is His vengeance, even His name can bring tragedy to those who even think it. Be careful--never utter His name. When you speak of His abode, you must call it the 'Maelstrom,' for it is the entranceway to the Abyss." Conar shuddered, remembering that long-ago conversation. The chasm, feeding downward into the deepest part of the ocean, had become the final unresting place for the lost souls thrown into its surging waters during the festival of the Nameless One. "Conar...Conar...Conar..." He turned his back to the chasm, searching the rocks, the shadows. "Come out, Tohre!" he ordered to the disembodied voice. "You wanted me, you bastard? Well, come and get me!" A low laugh. "Where is my woman, Tohre?" "Conar..." "Damn you! I want my wife!" "Is this what you're looking for?" Conar stiffened, then turned toward the chasm.

Chapter 11 Conar couldn't believe what he saw. Near the cavern's ceiling on a narrow ledge that jutted precariously over the chasm, stood Duncan Cree. In his hand he held something metallic, shining, dangling from his fingers, swinging back and forth, catching the glow from the eerie blue light--Liza's talisman. "Oh, I'm not Kaileel's man." Duncan laughed, swinging the chain until he could drop the talisman into his palm. He closed his fist over it with a finality that caused Conar to grunt his frustration. "But he's been quite a help to me, though. Haven't you, Holiness?" Conar saw Tohre striding from the shadows. his thin face split in a grin of indulgence. He was wearing the red robes of the Domination's Consecration and around the loose flesh of his neck dangled the symbol of Raphian, the Stormbringer, the Destroyer of Men's Souls. He carried a black crystal goblet, which he extended toward Conar. "Are you ready to fulfill your obligation to me, sweet Prince?" he crooned, his smile loathsome. Conar turned his steady gaze back to Duncan. "Where is she? What have you done with Liza?" The eerie blue light from the churning waters lit Duncan's face, making him look brutal and supremely evil when he threw back his head and laughed. His booming voice echoed through the cavern, an eerie sound, a sound filled with mirth. "Where you can't get to her, little brother. Rest assured I'm taking good care of our little darling." "Where is she, you bastard?" Conar yelled, his face hot with fury. "Such rudeness does not become the Heir Apparent to the throne of Serenia." In his eyes glowed the reality of a hatred long festering. "You, of all people, beloved Prince of the Wind, should know how to deal calmly and righteously with your subjects!" He spat the last word from between clenched teeth. Duncan reached into the darkness beyond. He drew a struggling Liza to the rim of the ledge and forced her toward the yawning chasm with its swirling vortex of water far below. A heavy band of hemp secured her wrists and ankles, and a cloth had been jammed between her lips, silencing her. She stared into the waters below with terrified eyes. Conar's heart plummeted. "Liza!" he called, the pain of the situation in his voice. He wanted to scream when she raised her head and looked beseechingly at him. "Oh, Liza," he whispered, feeling the cut of that stare to his very soul. Duncan held a length of rope, attached to Liza's wrists. He pulled her against him, snaking a long arm around her waist. With his free hand, he threw the end of the rope toward the ceiling, where it looped over a crossbeam anchored from one side of the chasm to the other. Liza tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her waist. "She's a handful, isn't she, little brother?" Grinning, Duncan placed his hand over her left breast, caressed her through the fabric of her gown. "So soft." "Keep your hands off her!" Conar reached down to his thigh and pulled out his dagger. "She's a hot-blooded woman, Conar. If she's as fiery in bed--" "I'll slit your throat!" "You're in no position to make threats, dear boy." Kaileel smiled as Conar faced him. "It's quite a climb, don't you think? By the time you make it, Duncan will have finished his task." Conar's breath came in shallow gasps of fear. "What task?"

"You'll see." Conar reluctantly tore his gaze from Tohre and looked up. Duncan had stepped back from Liza. He jerked on the rope and laughed as he dragged Liza's arms above her head. He pulled until her toes left the security of the ledge. "Duncan, no!" Conar shouted, rushing to the chasm's edge. "Your days of telling me what to do are long gone!" Smiling, Duncan drew on the rope again, lifting Liza higher. Coiling the hemp around his massive forearm, anchoring it, he tugged until he suspended Liza a good three feet from the ledge. The rope that held Liza's wrists lurched sideways. Her feet swung over the chasm as the rope slid farther across the beam. Duncan had swung her completely away from the ledge and she dangled helplessly over the Maelstrom. Conar started to go around the side of the chasm, but Kaileel's shout made him falter. "Stay where you are or Duncan will cut the rope!" As though to underline Kaileel's promise, Duncan drew a dagger out of his boot and put the blade on the thick column of rope traveling to the crossbeam. Conar recognized the dagger--one Occultus had forged for him in Chrystallus. Conar stared at Kaileel. His hands trembled on his own dagger. "Kaileel, please!" he begged in a tortured voice. "Throw down the dagger!" Immediately, Conar tossed away the weapon. "Tell me what you want." "You only have to do as I bid you." He held the vessel he carried toward Conar. "Drink." "I won't." "Do you think to bargain with me?" Kaileel asked in a humor-filled voice. "If I drink that potion, I will cease to exist." "Not true." Kaileel smiled. "You will exist--in me." A burst of disgust shot through Conar. He looked up at the terrified eyes of his woman, swinging over the gaping hole. He looked at Duncan, saw the hate blazing in his amused face, and knew Liza was as good as dead. "You can save her. You have it within your power to do so." "Tell him to bring her down, Tohre." "Not until you drink the potion." "Let her go, then I'll do whatever you want." "No,first, you drink the potion. Then we will discuss your whore." The pain in Conar's voice had deepened, making him hoarse. "Once I drink the potion, I'll have no say in what you do to her. I'll have her down from there, now, safe, out of Duncan's reach, before anything is finished between you and me." Kaileel's smile faded. "You seem to think you have bargaining power, my Prince. Let me assure you, you do not! Drink of the cup and I give you my word the bitch will live to see her children once more." He walked toward Conar, holding the cup in front of him. "Drink or therewill be reason to mourn at Boreas Keep." Angrily, Conar shook his head. "I have firsthand knowledge of your word. It has as much worth as dog shit!" Kaileel looked up at Duncan. "Cut the rope." "No!" Conar stared at Liza. Terror etched her sweet face, and he could feel her desperation like a tangible force, could

sense her begging him to leave, not to do as Kaileel ordered. She shook her head in denial, as if willing him to give her up rather than suffer what Tohre had planned. He tore his gaze from hers, unwilling to see the self-sacrificing love so plainly stamped on her beloved face. "Such a tender sight, Conar," Kaileel cooed. "She's willing to die for you." "She's going to!" Duncan called, laughing. Conar stared into his brother's face, wishing with all his heart he had the man's throat in his hands. "I'll kill you, Duncan," he said so low only Tohre could hear him, but Duncan seemed to understood the look on Conar's face. "She's as good as dead," Duncan said. "If I die, it won't matter. She'll already be a thousand fathoms below the sea." Conar's heart ceased to beat. His life passed before him on a wild spin of pain and misery, fear and shame, with only a minute particle of joy flying among the debris. His only real happiness in life was connected to the woman staring at him with such loving forgiveness in her beautiful face, a face he would not see floating beneath the waters of the Maelstrom. He would take his own life before he'd allow hers to be snatched away. "Let her go, Kaileel," he said, his shoulders sagging. "I'll do whatever you ask. I give you my word I won't fight you." "You'll do as you're told?" "You want me on my knees, I'll go to my knees. You want me to crawl, I'll crawl on my belly like a whipped dog. Just let her go." Kaileel came to him. He placed the chalice in Conar's hand and closed his stiff, blood-streaked fingers around it. "Drink now. Until you do, she remains where she is. I have given my word I will not harm her. She means nothing to me. Duncan could care less what happens to her, but he will do as I say. Once you drink, once you are a part of me, she'll not want you anyway." Conar flinched. "Without you as you are, she is no threat to me. I have no reason to kill her. She will be powerless once you are beyond her reach." Conar looked at the chalice's vile contents. "I will see her free or you know what you can do with your damnable potion! Let her go!" A muffled shriek sounded high above. Conar's head snapped upward. Duncan had moved backward off the ledge. He stomped on the narrow rock until it splintered with a sharp crack that echoed throughout the cavern like a snap of lightning. Stepping back, he loosened the rope around his left forearm and began to lower Liza, all the while grinning at Conar. "Oh, Alel!" Conar whispered. The horror on Liza's face as water rushed up to soak her cut him to the core of his being. "Don't do that to her!" "She's as good as drowned if you hesitate much longer," Kaileel warned. Looking at the chalice, Conar trembled so violently the liquid sloshed within, flowed over the top and splashed onto his hand. He glanced at Tohre, seeing the gleam of triumph lighting the skeletal face. Staring into Kaileel's insane eyes, Conar divined the chalice contained a deadly poison that would render him paralyzed in a matter of seconds, his body engulfed in agonizing pain. His mouth watered at the rancid smell, and his breath drew in the strong vapors. "The ancients called it Maiden's Briar," Tohre said. "It is made from a sea creature's secretions. A horrible death, I am told, but one necessary to what has to be accomplished." Even above the roar of the Maelstrom, Conar heard Liza's garbled sobs. He tried to blot out the sound, tried only to concentrate on the vile brew in his hand. Kaileel shook his head. "It will do you no good to beg. My days of being lenient and tolerant with you are long gone. Drink."

Conar took one last look at his lady, begging her with his eyes to understand, ignoring her muffled denial through the gag covering her mouth. He scanned her beautiful face, mentally touched its contours, kissed the eyes, the cheeks, the hidden lips. He let his gaze wander down her precious form, trying to memorize the exquisiteness of her beauty. At last, he looked away from her and at his tormentor. "You won, Kaileel," he said, heartbroken. "I tried, but you won." "Go on," Kaileel cooed, licking his lips. "Do it." He put a gentle palm on Conar's scarred cheek. "Become One with me." He caressed the hot flesh, then withdrew his hand. "I am waiting, Beloved." Willing his mind to blot out Liza's cries, Conar brought the chalice to his lips, seeing the triumph, the final revenge on Tohre's face. He closed his eyes, placed the goblet against his lips, and tipped it. "Good," Kaileel whispered. "That's right. Drink it. You must drink all of it. Down to the very last drop of blood!" As the liquid entered his mouth, as he tasted its vileness, the thick, mucous spread of it over his tongue, as he swallowed the first mouthful, he felt the evil invading his very soul. He paused, squeezing his eyelids together to the unholy taste, and was about to take another swallow when he felt a sharp sting along the back of his forearm. The chalice flew from his suddenly numb hand. "No!" Kaileel bellowed in rage, pushing Conar aside. Conar turned to see Raja de Lyle in the doorway, an arrow nocked in her longbow. Even as Kaileel charged her, she let fly the deadly missile, missing the advancing sorcerer by only a fraction of an inch. But it was enough to make him stop his headlong rush. "Put down your bow or Conar's whore dies!" Kaileel turned his furious glare up to Duncan. "Sever a strand of the hemp!" "Raja, please!" Conar shouted, rushing forward and standing side by side with Tohre. "Do as he says or he'll kill her!" "Think you I care what becomes of her?" she snarled, her lovely lips drawn back over white teeth. "For me, Raja. Do it for me." He held out his hands. "I beg you!" "I don't give a damn about her! Let her die! She is unimportant. I saved your life. You are mine, now. Step aside and I will rid you of that lecherous filth standing beside you!" She jerked another arrow from her quiver and nocked it, sighted the bow, pulling the bowstring taut to her right cheek. ---Unnoticed by the three people below, Duncan nicked the fiber of the rope before he flipped over the dagger, his thumb on the hilt. Bringing his arm over his shoulder, he started to throw the wicked weapon at Raja. Suddenly, with stunned disbelief, he looked down to see the protruding shaft of Raja's arrow and fletch buried in his chest. He turned a shocked expression to his attacker. "I am your Sentinel, my lady," he whispered. "I love you." "You would have killed your brother, and that I would not allow," Raja said, though her lips never moved. Blood dribbled from a corner of his mouth. "Conar deserves to die." "You will die for thinking so!" Duncan opened his mouth to speak, but blood poured out, bubbling down his chin and onto his wide chest. He stumbled backward, dropping the dagger. When he collapsed, the rope around his forearm snaked down to his wrist, jerking his arm upward. His fingers loosened on the hemp. Liza's body jerked, pulling Duncan away from the wall. His weight acted as a counterweight to keep her from crashing into the chasm, but her body still lowered well past the rim. ----

"Liza!" Conar screamed. He pushed Kaileel out of the way and ran to the edge of the chasm. Kaileel spun around to face Raja. A malevolent grimace stretched his thin lips. "You won't have him either!" He put up his hands, palms outward and flung a rune at her. "Jatel nyiat!" The force of the cosmic blow slammed Raja against the doorframe. The arrow she had started to nock slipped out of her grip, spiraling uselessly to the floor. "Damn you!" She drew the last arrow from her quiver. Bracing her arm, her thumb jammed into the fistmele of the bow's curve, she resighted the arrow in its rest and drew the bowstring taut. ---A distance of twenty feet separated Conar from Liza, plus another eight or nine feet down into the chasm. On his belly, he scrambled to the edge of the pit. "Liza! Hold still! I'll get you out!" Liza spun around and around. Water soaked her body, drenching it in wave after wave. Her arms dripped blood from the hemp cutting into the flesh at her wrists. With no way to get to her, Conar wanted to cry. Suddenly, a popping sound caught his attention. He looked at the rope above Duncan's dead body. His breath stopped as he watched a strand of hemp come free of the braid. "Liza!" "Conar, no!" Raja yelled. "Forget her!" He thought of flinging himself across the chasm, hoping to catch the rope, and by using his forward momentum, land on the other side where Duncan hung, half-suspended in the air. In the brief second it took him to get to his feet, he reasoned he might be able to haul Liza to safety if he could only gain the far rim of the chasm. Ignoring Raja's repeated warnings, he backed away from the edge of the chasm, preparing to make a running jump. Tohre hurtled into Conar just as an arrow sailed past the sorcerer, barely missing him. Conar crashed onto the floor, the sharp, jutting rocks further splitting open the flesh on his knees, but he barely felt the pain. He knew he had little time to save his lady. Fury bubbled up in him, past the rim of sanity. He twisted under Tohre's dead weight, realizing the breath had been knocked from the Arch-Prelate. He flung over the older man, straddled him, and wrapped his hands around Tohre's throat. Pressing his thumbs into the hollow, he felt a frantic pulse beating as Tohre struggled to draw air. "You...can't...kill...me..." Tohre sputtered, his mouth gaping wide. "You...can't..." In an attempt to pry Conar's fingers from around his throat, the sorcerer tried to flip Conar toward the chasm's edge. Conar tumbled to the side, making a full rotation until Tohre lay beneath him only inches from the drop off. Conar fought harder than he had ever fought in his life, the winning more important than at any other time. His eyes fastened on Kaileel's, his lips pulled back in a primal snarl of savagery, Conar's powerful hands squeezed the fragile throat. He felt the cords of Kaileel's neck straining, and took hope from the way the evil man's face turned a purplish-red as he struggled to breath. "I...can't...be...killed..." Conar knew the exact moment Kaileel made the decision to topple them both over the edge. He didn't know if he'd survive the fall, but he understood that Tohre would. The ages-old sorcerer, having stored up soul after soul after soul with his unholy transmergences, would live on until another, more powerful, sorcerer took his life in the time-honored fashion--a sacred quarrel through the black muscle of his wicked heart. Conar idly wondered if the arrows in Raja's quiver were the kind needed to slay Tohre, thinking they likely were. If only he could reach one of the missiles... He heard the snap of another twist of hemp on Liza's rope. Snarling with rage, all thought leaving his battle-engorged mind, Conar twisted to his left, drawing Tohre on top of him, then beneath him, away from the chasm's edge. Tohre's face registered defeat, then a hopelessness Conar never thought to see in those vile eyes. Though glazed from lack of air, the pale blue orbs still fused with Conar's, staring at him with something akin to love. The thought nauseated him, then turned his spine rigid as steel as a momentary surge of glee invaded his soul. He felt Tohre weaken, the furious strength waning from the wicked hands.

"Die!" Conar sneered from beneath clenched teeth. "Die!" The part of his brain functioning normally heard a goodbye--Liza's goodbye. Enraged, Conar brought forth a greater strength into his fingers, and he felt Tohre's windpipe crumble beneath the pressure. ---Out of breath, Brelan had run as fast as possible when he'd heard Conar's shouts. He had found the entrance to the cavern and climbed steadily upward, oftentimes on his hands and knees, until he gained the wide crevice where light filtered through in a dual band of smoky blue rays. He hadn't expected to find himself directly above the Maelstrom, nor to find Duncan's dangling body. But the sight that greeted him when he looked into the chasm filled his soul with icy dread. With disbelieving horror, he stared into Liza's wild, flaring eyes. He pushed Duncan's body out of his way, silently rejoicing when the movement swung Liza closer to the rim and to his reach. Dropping to his belly, he reached for the shredding rope, only to hear it pop. "Elizabeth!" he shouted, springing for the hemp. He screamed when the hemp burned a deep cut in his right palm. The rope yanked on his arms, nearly popped them from their sockets, as he caught Liza's full weight. Agony shot through him, but he held on with every ounce of power in his body. Brelan saw Liza slam hard into the wall, heard her head crack against the stone. A deep gash appeared on her left temple. Blood gushed from the wound, spraying the chasm walls as she swung unconscious. ---Conar sensed his lady's pain. In that instant, he loosened his grip on Tohre's throat. Gurgling, Kaileel wedged his hands between Conar's arms to force open the hold that threatened to strangle him. He drove his left knee into the juncture of Conar's thighs. Grunting, Conar doubled over in agony. He dropped onto his side, holding his tortured body. Tohre scrambled to his feet. "Don't touch him!" Raja yelled. Tohre viciously slammed the toe of his boot into the small of Conar's back. Yelping in pain, Conar tried to roll away from the next kick. It caught him anyway, this time on the thigh, numbing his leg all the way to his toes. Gasping in maniacal pleasure, Tohre kicked again. Intense pain shot through Conar's side. His eyes widened as he found himself almost on the chasm's rim. Tohre dropped to his knees, blood and spittle dripping a steady stream from his open mouth. Conar heard a shriek of fury, then saw Raja. Her hands drawn into claws, she flung herself at Kaileel's unprotected back. Her fingers gouged through his thin blond hair and into his scalp. Blood trickled from beneath her fingernails. Tohre bucked, tried to throw her off, but she leaned into him. The force of her body slamming into Tohre's carried them both to the edge of the chasm, then into the yawning hole. The sorcerer's furious scream, Raja's insane laugh of triumph, reverberated through the cavern and Conar's head, before being lost in the tempest. ---Brelan tried desperately to haul Liza out of the pit. Fist over fist, he pulled the rope, straining, his fingers slick with his own blood and tearing flesh. Though he inched Liza closer to the top, Brelan felt his strength ebbing. With a sob of frustration, he squeezed his eyelids shut and continued to yank, groaning with every movement, grunting with each victorious tug upward. He ground his teeth, drawing on every bit of willpower left in his body, and ignored the agony in his muscles. "Elizabeth," he called, but received no answer. He knew she'd been injured, could feel it, but refused to dwell on it. "You're going to be all right, Sweeting. I'll see to it!"

---Conar gasped, feeling the drag of a broken rib when he sat up. He protectively clamped a hand over his side. The throbbing agony in his loins seemed nothing compared to the band of pain circling his chest. He struggled to his knees, retching. His head dropped to his chest as he crouched on all fours, trying to catch his breath. Though he had watched the two bodies hurling into the pit, he could still feel Kaileel's hatred festering and knew the bastard had survived. He pushed himself up and looked over the chasm's edge, expecting to see Liza hanging there. Instead, his mind reeled when he saw Brelan struggling to haul her unconscious body to safety. Scrambling to his feet despite the broken bone and throbbing flesh, Conar knew better than to call Brelan's name; the distraction could prove fatal to Liza. He held his breath as Brelan drew her upward. Praying every prayer he knew to every protective power, Conar sent Brelan what remaining strength he had of his own. "I've got her," Brelan said, his eyes flicking for an instant on Conar. "Don't worry." Sweat glistened on Saur's face as he continued pulling the rope with bleeding hands. Finally, Liza came close enough for him to lean out and take hold of her arm. Once he steadied his grip, he let go of the rope. Terrified, Conar drew in a harsh breath, watching as Brelan captured Liza's other arm with his free hand. On his belly, inching his way toward the far wall, Brelan kept tugging. He looked exhausted, close to his limit. He took quick, deep breaths through his opened mouth as he strove to bring Liza onto the ledge. A nearby torch threw his face into a blaze of eerie light, grotesquely distorting his handsome features and turning his eye sockets into wide, gaping holes. Softly so as not to startle his brother, Conar called to him. "She's bleeding, Bre." The sight of the blood on the top of Liza's gown, turning the green emerald black, brought pain to his voice. Brelan flinched, but tightened his grip and finally pulled Liza onto the narrow ledge. "Is she all right?" Conar called. "I don't know." Brelan scooted back along the ledge, drawing Liza with him until he could take her into his arms. He gently turned her so that her head rested on his chest, then pulled a dagger from his belt and sliced the rope binding her wrists. Reaching down, he slit the rope at her ankles. "She's breathing, but still unconscious. There's a wound on her temple, but I don't think it's that serious." "Head wounds bleed profusely," Conar mumbled, astounded he could say such a mundane, irrelevant piece of idiocy at this moment. He shook his head in annoyance. "She's waking," Brelan reported, shifting Liza against him and smoothing back her hair. Liza blinked several times, drew in several shuddering breaths, and looked into Brelan's face. Her skin turned as pale as freshly fallen snow. She whimpered in pain. "Oh, Brelan, no! Not you. Not you!" Looking momentarily pained by her words, Brelan glanced at Conar. Shrugging, he drew Liza's trembling body closer, then kissed the top of her head. "Well, I love you, too, little one," he joked. It was the last thing Conar heard him say. With an earsplitting crack, the rock ledge sheared off from the rest of the wall. In horror, Conar watched Brelan and Liza plummet downward amidst rock and rubble. He dashed to the edge, peering into the violent tumult of heaving mist and water far below. "Liza?" he questioned softly, expecting to see his beloved clinging to the rock face. The walls of the Maelstrom rippled with jagged edges. The bubbling waters of the tempest lapped upward, spray swirling at the rim. "Bre?" he asked, feeling his heart begin to pound.

A terrible ache began in his soul and his entire body went numb. He could not move, could do nothing but stare into the heaving waters, searching for any glimpse of Brelan struggling to hang on to Liza and make his way back to the top. "Brelan?" he called louder, blood pounding in his ears. "Brelan, where are you?" He began to pant like a winded stag, his breath coming in short, painful spasms to his bruised lungs. "Brelan, answer me!" The Maelstrom roared, and the rock beneath Conar's feet rumbled ominously. He staggered against the tremor and almost fell into the gaping hole. With a gasp, he moved back, squiggles of light playing at the edges of his vision. "Beloved!" Conar experienced the single word in the very depths of his being. It sounded forlorn, infinitely without hope. It reverberated through him like the seismic shifting of the rock beneath him. Suddenly, he felt something pull free of him, jerk out of him as though he were being torn in half. "No," he whispered. His numb mind fully registered what was happening, understood that the power that had dwelt in him since his conception, magnified with Liza's coming, been an extension of their love, fed him and cared for him andmade him, was leaving. "No," he spoke again, louder, more forcefully. He sank to his knees, stretched out on his belly, and tried to see past the swirling waters. "Liza, help me! Liza!" It came as a sigh, boring gently through his brain and traveling swiftly to his heart--"Goodbye, my heart." He felt the remainder of whatever had been inside him flee on a rush of breath. "Nooo!" he screamed into the chasm, his loss settling on his shoulders like a rock. He would have flung himself into the evil chasm had not one of the Outer Kingdom warriors--those never seen, shadowy creatures who were never far from his back--grabbed his legs. "Nooo!" Conar screamed that one word repeatedly as men began pouring into the cavern. Their faces blanched white at his wild, keening shrieks of denial. He struggled to free himself of the Outer Kingdom warrior's hold, then Shalu's, then Sentian's, then Thom's. The piteous bellows pouring from his mouth filled his mind. "You can have the gods-be-damned power! I don't want it! I never wanted it! Just give her back to me!" His only answer came from the crashing thunder of the Maelstrom. "Nooo! Don't take her away from me again! Not again! Sweet Alel, please! Please! Nooo!" He spat. He twisted. He snarled and cursed. He fought like a demon from the Abyss. "Liza! Come back! Don't leave me!" He began to convulse with his agony. "Brelan!"

Mindless in his grief, he clawed at the edge of the Maelstrom, his fingernails shearing away as he grappled to gain purchase on the stones. Blood sprayed from the ravaged fingertips, but still he clawed. He shrieked as Thom and Sentian pulled his hands free. "Let go of me!" he screamed, bucking in their grasps. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his hair blew wildly in the force of the Maelstrom's wind. "Let me join her!" Shalu took Conar's chin in a firm grip. "You can not help them now." Conar's lips drew back in a fiendish snarl. "Let me go to my woman!" "No." Shalu's large hand gently caressed Conar's scarred cheek. "Your lady is gone, son. She is lost to you. A Daughter has returned to the Sea." A scene from long ago rushed up to spread before Conar's wild eyes. The moldy smell of Norus Keep, the colors of the coverlet on the bed in which Liza lay, the texture of her silken hair as he stroked it came back to him as though it was happening at that moment... She clung to him in her nightmarish sleep. Her hands clawed frantically at his shoulders and she gasped for air as though she was drowning. "Conar! Help us! He can't hold me much longer! The ledge is going to give way!" "I am here, Beloved. You are safe, now!" She awakened to stare at him. "Conar?" "I am here, Sweeting," he said and kissed her. He had soothed her fears, calmed her with soft caresses and whispered words until she calmed. "You have had this dream before?" he asked. "Many times..." Now, Conar whimpered. "She knew...she knew..." A nightmare of his own pushed against him. He sagged in the arms of his captors, his teeth clenched against the agony of the memory.... He heard seagulls careening overhead. They seemed to mock him with taunting cries--"Come and see, Conar. Come and see!" Ahead of him in the breakwater, a dark mass lay in the waves. A chill shot through Conar's body and he walked like a condemned man toward it. He tried to turn away, but found he could not. He saw Brelan lying with Liza in the sweep of the breaking waves, his lean, taut body completely covering hers. Her black hair undulated in the moving water as it washed over her and her lover. One long, wet tress curled lovingly about Brelan's right forearm as though holding him to her forever. Her slim, white arms wrapped tightly around his back, pulling him ever closer. "She is his, now," the gulls taunted. "She is lost to you! Gone, forever...gone forever..." Throwing back his head, a howl of ungodly despair came from the depths of Conar McGregor. He jerked brutally in the grips of his captors, his keening turning to screams that went on and on until Montyne stepped in front of him. He barely saw Chase's fist coming toward him.

Chapter 12

Scattered about the dirt floor lay body after body of Domination followers, guards and priests alike. Sentian shook his head, looking at the men who had fought hard to keep their evil way of life intact. The smell of spilt blood and exposed entrails turned his belly. "How many men did you lose, Bent?" he asked, surveying the dead. "None," came the heavily-accented rumble. "The gods were on our side in this thing." Bent glanced toward the five hulking men leaning against the wall. "Those fighters from the Outer Kingdom are vicious." His hooded gaze slid past Sentian. "Is he all right?" Sentian shrugged. "Take some men and scout the place," Roget suggested. "There's bound to be gold stored here, precious gems, whatever. The booty we find will go a long way in feeding the poor and homeless of our countries." "Anything else, sir?" "You might also check the library and judicial offices," Jah-Ma-El said in a tired voice. "There may be papers that will be of interest. If it looks official, we'll want to read it." The giant nodded. His eyes filled with moisture when he looked at Conar. "Is there anything I can do--for him?" Roget squeezed the big man's thick shoulder. "There's nothing any of us can do. Just be there if he needs you." A grunt of grief tumbled from Bent's large lips. He spun around, and stomped back through the cavern. His heavy treads seemed to shake the very stone walls. These were all brave men, Sentian thought, standing among his fellow warriors. Blood still dripped from his own sword, as it did from many of the others, but not a one among them had nerve enough to speak to the man who mattered most. What was there to say? What words of comfort could one give when one's own heart was breaking? What could one say that would make anything better? Sentian had let loose his sword on his Overlord's enemies, hacking his way through temple guards and priests with mindless abandon until none remained standing within his line of vision. Repeatedly he had thrust his sword into bodies of the fallen evil scattered at his feet until the bloodlust in his veins had cooled. With hands and forearms saturated with blood, he had finally slumped against a wall in a dark section of the battleground, running befouled fingers over his face and into his hair. He drew his legs up to his chest and had given in to the wild grief that tore at his innards like a rampaging bull. He had rocked against his sorrow, his low whining sounding more like an animal than a man. His heart breaking, his soul bleak and barren without the shining light that was his lady's presence in this dark-lit world, he allowed tears to flow until all that was left was a warrior numb to the surrounding scene. "What will he do now?" Sentian whispered to the gods Who seemed to have turned Their eyes and ears from the Prince of the Wind. "How will he survive?" He thought of Liza's smiling face and shivered. "How will any of us survive...?" ---Chase Montyne tread angrily toward the others. "Well?" Roget asked. Montyne snarled, throwing his bloody dagger to the ground. "That bastard guard I tried questioning didn't open his mouth! He died saying nothing!" Roget caressed the hilt of the dagger strapped to his thigh. "We'll find the remainder of those loyal to the Domination. There'll be others whowill talk!"

"Aye," Chase spat, reading Roget's thoughts like a road map. "We'll find and kill them." At the grunts of agreement from his fellow warriors, he swung his attention to the far side of the cavern and sighed. "Conar hasn't spoken since he came to," Roget said. Chase's shoulders slumped, and he walked to where his friend sat. Conar, with head bowed and staring at the pebbled ground, looked pitiful. Chase took in the droop of those mighty shoulders, the way the hands were clasped and thrust rigidly between the spread V of thighs. He hunkered beside his friend, loath to touch the man for fear of shattering the fragile composure being held so tentatively in place. "We lost no other men, Conar," he whispered. "We've done what we came to do. We can go home now." Conar's lids fluttered. Slowly he raised his head. Chase flinched. In the twin depths of those dark sapphire eyes a soul-shattering sorrow welled, glazing the brightness, dulling the life in them. The pupils dilated with pain, sheer and unadulterated grief. No expression creased the ravaged, bruised face. "Let's go home," Chase repeated, gently laying a hand on Conar's shoulder. "We've done all we can here." Conar's finely chiseled lips remained closed. He stared fixedly, blindly at Chase, and barely moved as Shalu joined them. When Chase and Shalu reached down to help Conar to his feet, he stiffened as though he refused to leave this horrid place of death and destruction. "Let us help you," Shalu said. "Let us take you home, son." ---Conar allowed them to support him through the corridors and into the sanctuary of the monastery. He barely noticed the carnage sprawled around him, nor did he look at the rooms he passed on his way to the front entrance where Belvoir's men had horses waiting. He kept his vision straight ahead, glued to the massive iron doors leading to the outside world. The harsh gray of a storm's light made him squint at its intensity. He blinked, turning his head. He barely felt the weight of the great cape Sentian flung around his shoulders to block off the chill wind blowing down from Mount Serenia, or Heil buttoning the wool garment around him. And he hardly felt the rain falling on his face as they ventured into the open, or the hands that helped him mount his steed. Instead, he numbly obeyed their instructions to put his foot in the stirrup, to pull up, and settled in the saddle like a creature of habit. Sentian put Demonfire's reins in his hand, but the rawhide strands slipped through Conar's fingers as he forgot to grip them. "That's all right," Sentian said. "I'll lead your horse, Milord." ---Though Bent and seven others remained inside the monastery, those who had made the hard climb up the northeast face of Mount Serenia had mounted. Their jobs done, their attention turned to the steep, winding path that led five miles into the cusp of the valley--and home. Belvoir's face was puckered in sorrow, red from crying. When he and his men had come striding confidently through the secret chamber from which years before Belvoir, Hern Arbra, and Sentian Heil had taken Conar to safety, Queen Medea Wynth's Sentinel had been given the news of Liza's fate. "By the gods, no!" the old warrior whimpered and staggered away to vent his grief in private. After more than an hour he returned, seeming to have aged ten years. Now, his jaw clench and rigid, he swung up onto his gray stallion and jerked hard on the reins. The horse, as if sensing the warrior's frame of mind, sidestepped away from the other mounts. "Damn your hide, you son-of-a-bitch! Stand still!" he bellowed. "Ease up, Belvoir," Sentian said, seeing Conar's eyes flicker with tension. He jerked his head toward Conar. The warrior reddened with guilt. "Everyone ready?" Roget called. "Then, let's ride." When he looked at Sentian, a silent plea passed without a word

being spoken. Nodding, Sentian steadied his hands on the big black stallion's reins. As Roget headed down the trail, Shalu closed in behind him, then Sentian kicked his own mount forward to put himself between Conar and the others. Although the Serenian warrior wanted desperately to check, he never once turned to look at the man trailing in his wake. Sentian thought that would be an insult.

Chapter 13 Along the black sand beach, three men walked, leaving heavy footprints to be filled in with swiftly flowing waves. The sky turned an ominous metal gray, with low flying clouds rushing from horizon to horizon, boiling through the heavens like the contents of a witch's cauldron. A lone gull shrieked a warning as it sailed in the tumultuous current overhead. One man frowned at the bird's piercing intrusion into his thoughts. He turned his attention to the distance, where black churning clouds rolled toward the beach and a ship that lay at anchor a few hundred yards off shore.The Ravenwind bobbed heavily in the rough seas, straining against its anchor, the sails furled close to her masts. On board, men leaned against the railing, watching the three men as they trudged wearily up the lava-strewn rock of the beach. A sharp crack of lightning issued from the heaving skies. An answering boom of thunder followed, while a sudden sharp bend in the weather signaled a fiercer change. The men remained silent, their faces grim. One walked ahead of the rest, his attention never straying from a portion of beach where humpbacked black rocks jutted from the violently cresting sea. He stood ramrod straight, his mouth set in a hard, uncompromising line. Pure hatred--seething, festering, controlling--consumed him. He took long, purposeful strides, outdistancing the other two men. Lightning forked in the sky, spat to land in ear-piercing brutality, but he didn't even flinch. The metal sky turned black with fury. The wind felt as cold as any glacier on Mount Serenia. Shrieking its deadly chill through the heavens, it moaned in cadence with the crashing, pounding waves greedily lapping at the shoreline. The lone gull had disappeared to a safer harbor, but its cry lifted on the ghostly wind. Only forty feet separated the men from what lay in the breakwater. The leader's footsteps faltered as he got a good look. He stumbled to a stop, his heart filling with pain. Unable to move, he let the other men pass him. It felt as though quicksand encased his feet, dragging him down in a deeper, darker despair than the one that had found him earlier that day when the news had reached Boreas. Grice and Chand Wynth looked back at him. Water broke over the bodies, shifting them in the sand, seeming to settle them tighter into each others arms--into the arms of death. Legion turned his head, looking toward the heaving swell of the ocean. A sad, fatalistic smile touched his face as he saw the churning, rolling wave forming in the distance, slowly bearing down on the black sand beach. Though he heard Chand sobbing, he only watched the tidal wave surge toward them. The ship might be able to ride out the swell, he knew, but he and his companions wouldn't, for only a distance of a about one hundred feet lay between the shoreline and steep cliffs that led up to the ruined monastery, still smoldering from the fires Bent's men had set three weeks earlier. With his heart breaking, Legion told the others, "Go away." Chand looked at him. "We'll rig a gurney. We'll carry them back to Boreas." He obviously hadn't seen the threat far

out to sea. But Grice obviously did and pointed out to sea. "Chandling!" Chand turned and stiffened, but he stubbornly shook his head. "I'll not leave her here to the mercy of the damned sea!" "You've time to get up the cliffs, Wynth," Legion said. "The sea's coming to claim her daughter. It is as it should be. It is the way Liza would have wanted it. Leave, now." Grice turned, horrified. "You mean to stay?" "They wouldn't allow me to be with her in life...I'll be with her in death. Conar will understand..." "This isn't what she'd want!" Grice shouted above the deafening roar. He pointed to the bodies in the waves. "Look at her, A'Lex! Will you cause her pain even in the Other World?" Legion gazed at his beloved Elizabeth, her head nestled on Brelan's shoulder. Her long black hair flowed around the both of them. Brelan's arms were wound tightly around her, protecting her, keeping her safe from the worries and fear of death. His chin rested on the top of her head; the fingers of his right hand were threaded through her hair. Saur's face looked serene, content, happy, and infinitely satisfied. They looked like lovers who had fallen asleep in each other's arms. A'Lex wanted to touch them, but knew if he did, he couldn't leave them to the sea to whom they belonged. He studied Liza's face, committing to his mind the image of what he loved dearest. "Think of your children," Grice said, eyeing the approaching wave with apparent trepidation. Legion shuddered. "It's the only way I can be with her." "And how will you answer her when she asks why you didn't take care of Conar for her?" Grice yelled. "The man's a broken wreck! He doesn't eat. He doesn't sleep. How will you explain to Anya Elizabeth that you let her beloved waste away in his grief?" "I loved her!" Legion shouted, burying his face in his hands and sobbing. "You weren't the only one! Think what her death is doing to your brother!" Grice's voice softened, cracked with emotion. "You aren't alone. We all miss her, A'Lex. Make up your mind. Now!" Legion's shoulders slumped. He looked at the tidal wave roaring down on the ship and prayed to every god who listened thatThe Ravenwind would not capsize. Then he turned toward Grice, silently begging for help. He felt lost, alone. Nothing seemed to matter. "Youaren't alone," Grice said. A'Lex peered down once more. "Goodbye, my lady..." How he had loved her, he thought as he turned, his chin trembling. He led his brothers-in-law toward the rocks where they could climb to safety, out of the way of the advancing wave. Liza had been his dream when he had first met her that day at the pond. He watched with envious eyes as her love for Conar had shown like the sun. Seeing her unveiled the morning after Conar's wedding had snatched away all hope that she would ever be his. But he had never stopped loving her, and his love had grown with every passing hour. When she married Galen, Legion had been beside himself with anger and jealousy, rage and brutal disappointment. He had accused her of betraying Conar's memory, and for a while, had hated her as his queen while lusting after her as a woman. Yet, his love for her had never wavered. He knew in his heart he would never love another woman as he had loved her. Scrambling up the black rocks, he didn't look back as the wave heaved forward and ran up his boots. He kept his back to the sea even after he gained a place of safety, even when icy water spewed foam up the cliffs and spread under his feet, for he could not bear to see Liza taken away from him this last time. Once, she had been his. Keeping her had become his obsession. She had been his all, his every waking thought, his

very reason for living. Having lost Conar, the brother of his soul, he had poured his love into Liza and reaped a bounty of love and respect in return. Now, he had lost her forever. "And it is written," Chand said, "that the Sea Lady's mount will rise up from the depths of the ocean, carrying her on its snow-white back." He looked up. "Into the heavens." He turned and gazed at the tall peak of Mount Serenia. "Up to the highest point of the Serenian Alps." "Where she will once again greet her earth-bound lover," Grice finished. He, too, turned and stared at the tall peak. "And the Windrider and his lady will be reunited to fight the evil of this land." "Don't!" Legion commanded. "That shit you're muttering is just that...shit! Liza and Conar aren't the lovers of legend. No rose is going to bloom from a dead bush, either!" Even after they climbed down to a waiting jolly boat and rowed towardThe Ravenwind, Legion's fury and guilt rode him hard like a cruel master. He gazed straight ahead, wanting no comfort. Once he stiffly climbed the rope ladder to the ship, he went to the aft deck, braced his hands on the rail, and stared into the settling sea. As night lowered in the western sky, he still stood at his post. Even long into the chill evening, as the ship tacked toward Boreas Harbor, men stood in silent vigil around him, as if silently vowing to see he did no harm to himself.

Chapter 14 Jah-Ma-El opened the door into the room where generations of McGregor men had been born and had died. It had been the King's bedchamber for as long as Boreas Keep had stood on the violent sweep of the North Boreal Sea. Laughter had rang in these chambers; tears had sprung from grief-stricken eyes; cries of pain had echoed off the damask-clad walls. Many a newborn had lain in the wide oaken bed, thrust from its mother's body and into the world to rule, or be ruled, by the McGregor family. And people had died in that magnificent old bed. The last had been King Gerren. Now, it was into this room that Jah-Ma-El's brother had been installed, those who loved him putting him here, for they wanted no reminders of his lady to prod his grief. Sitting as still as a marble statue by the great mullion window that faced the dying sun, Conar stared into the fading light. His hands lay in his lap, his right hand cupping his left. His shoulders were slumped, defeated, without hope. He had been this way for four weeks, ever since climbing the steps to this chamber upon his return. He had not spoken, nor acknowledged in any way, the questions or looks aimed at him. It was as though he had withdrawn into his own private hell where company was neither tolerated nor recognized. Little food and water had passed his lips. Neither had he slept for long at a time in the bed, where covers lay spread out welcoming and warm on the thick down mattress. Dark circles of hunger and fatigue rimmed his bleak eyes, and two deep grooves of pain slashed down his unshaved cheeks. Jah-Ma-El shuddered. His brother was as close to death as any man dying of battle wounds. A pall hung over the room, and an almost preternatural silence. As the sun set in a burst of purplish-red, the room fell into near darkness. Sighing, Jah-Ma-El walked to the bedside table and struck a candle, cupping the flame with his hand as he went to the window. He set the candleholder on the window ledge, then hunkered beside Conar's chair. Conar appeared not to have noticed his intrusion. The unblinking sapphire eyes continued staring out into the gathering dark. Only the rhythmic movement of his chest indicated life existed in his slumped body. In candlelight, the pale oval face remained completely devoid of expression, a death mask placed over the vibrantly alive countenance. It tore at Jah-Ma-El's heart to see Conar this way. Haunted, in pain, wounded beyond repair, without purpose or depth or understanding. It was as though some demon had come during the time Conar had sat in this chair and sucked the

very soul from his grieving body. "Conar?" Jah-Ma-El whispered, although his voice sounded like a great gong thundering into the silence. No answer. No flicker of recognition. No movement of the rigid body. Jah-Ma-El licked his lips, gathering his thoughts. "You're not the only one who's grieving." Again no sign Conar had heard. A tiny spasm in the curled fingers of his left hand gave the only indication movement remained possible. Jah-Ma-El had been sent to try talking to Conar. Legion, Roget, Teal, Shalu, even Storm, had all failed. Jah-Ma-El had thought long and hard on what he could say, finding nothing that might help. The words he was about to utter were not his own, but Gezelle's, for she had met him on her way to Amber-Lea's room, where Brelan Saur's distraught bride strove to bring a new life into a harsh world. "Remind him we love him, Lord Jah-Ma-El!" Gezelle had begged, fiercely clutching the warlock's arm in a grip that surprised him. "Don't let him stew in his juices. He's good at that. Wake him up! Make him come alive again!" "How do I do that?" Jah-Ma-El had inquired, not sure he was up to such a task, but willing to try. "Insult him. He hates that." Now, Jah-Ma-El set aside his normally taciturn ways and hitched up the breeches of his courage. He took a deep breath and made his voice as hard as he could. "If it's your intention to punish those who love you with your silence because you can not deal with your grief, then you are doing a good job of it." He put a sneer in his voice. "We can't help you if you won't help yourself. We feel grief, too. We hurt. We need someone to console us, but you're so damned selfish, you'd rather rot here that lift a hand to comfort someone else!" A flicker of understanding crossed Conar's face, then was gone as quickly as it had came. "Damn you, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch! Have you no heart?" Jah-Ma-El shouted. "Don't you give a damn about anyone but yourself? Are you so selfish that you intend to sit there and let us look after you like you're a newborn?" He gripped the arms of Conar's chair. "You self-indulgent bastard! Don't you think the rest of us have anything better to do than to babysit? How selfish can you get? Do you think your lady would approve of your churlishness?" The sapphire blue eyes wavered, blinked, then finally came into focus. The brows drew together in hurt; the rigid lips parted. Slowly, Conar turned his head toward Jah-Ma-El. The blue gaze locked, fused with Jah-Ma-El's. The lips quivered, but no sound came from the valiant throat that worked in an effort to silence what Jah-Ma-El knew could only be a cry of pain. Jah-Ma-El groaned with understanding. He moved his hands from the chair arms to his brother's hands, clutching them, encircling the cold fingers, entwining them with his own. "We understand, little brother. Really, we do. But you can't go on like this. You're damaging your health. I know your heart is breaking, but--" "I have no heart," came the answer in a dry, crackling voice. The lips pursed to still the trembling, then opened against a hitching moan. "Don't any of you understand? My heart is dead, so deeply buried at the bottom of the ocean, that it no longer beats in my chest. The only thing keeping me alive is my need for vengeance against Tohre." "Tohre's dead." Conar's blond head jerked violently from side to side. "He's alive somewhere in the Pit. I canfeel him, cansense his frustration and rage." He stared at Jah-Ma-El. "You think me mad?" He pulled away his hands, while his face set into an angry grimace--the first real emotion to cross his face in weeks. "Well, I'm not. Tohreis alive. I cansmell his evil, coming at me in waves." Jah-Ma-El shook his head. "Tohre drowned in the Maelstrom, little brother. Don't torture yourself with--" "Torture myself? I have no need to do that as long as Tohre is there to do it for me!" He threw back his head; his teeth gritted together. Through the constriction of his clenched jaw, his voice filled with a strident huskiness that gave Jah-Ma-El chills. "I want to cry, and I can't. I want to scream, and I can't. I want to die, and I can't." "Conar..." Jah-Ma-El pleaded, his voice thick with worry.

"Not yet. Not until Kaileel Tohre lies broken at my feet." A raging hunger passed over the tired, gaunt face, transforming it into the mask of a bloodthirsty demon. "I sit here and feel his hatred of me. He now hates me with the same intensity, the same kind of loathsomelove he once professed to have for me. He's so furious, he can barely breath." A bitter laugh came from the rigid lips. "Of course I crushed his larnyx, so he won't ever breathe normally again!" "This isn't good what you are doing, Conar. I--" "When a man is that angry, Jah-Ma-El, he begins to make mistakes, and I am going to be there when he makes that last, fatal error. When he does, only one of us will walk away. I intend that it be me!" "Suppose you're right," Jah-Ma-El conceded, yet still unconvinced. "Suppose he did survive. How would that have been possible? Think! No one could survive that plunge into the Maelstrom." Conar shook his head. "It's you who's not thinking." He gripped his brother's hand. "Do you know what he wanted to do to me?" He clutched Jah-Ma-El's hand tighter. "He wanted to fuse my soul with his, to transmigrate my soul into his own. That way, he'd have my lifeforce inside him just as he's stolen countless other lives before me. How do you think he's lived this long? It's all the souls he's stolen from men and women, even children, through the years. Whatever lifeforce was in that soul, however many years that soul would have survived, is now locked inside Tohre, giving him the same years of existence that should have belonged to his victims!" Jah-Ma-El nodded. "I can understand the concept. But what makes you think he's still capable of causing trouble? If he's locked inside the Pit, what harm can he do? All his men are either dead, dying, or imprisoned. He has no one who will follow him." "He needs no one to follow him," Conar sighed, annoyance heavy in his voice. "He's as powerful as he has always been." "How do you know?" "Because I can hear him in my mind taunting me, mocking me, challenging me! I can feel his hatred like a coiled serpent eating away at my gut. He has taken away from me everything I have ever held dear, and now he wants to finish what he started at the monastery. He wants to take possession of my soul. Failing that, he'll drive me to madness!" He buried his head in his hands. "Not if you don't let him," Jah-Ma-El said firmly. "Sitting in the dark, refusing to eat, to drink, wallowing in self-pity...that's playing right into his hands! What about those who love you? What do we do? Watch you waste away? What of your sons? Corbin is mourning his mother and needs you! Are you so callous that you can sit in self-imposed self-righteousness and leave it to others to comfortyour child? Will you deprive him of both his parents?" Conar sighed, closing his eyes to the hard questions, the even harder answers. He dropped his hands, shook his head in denial, his brow crinkling with hurt. "It's not selfishness," he whispered, horrible despair in his voice. "It's numbness. I feel nothing. I don't mean to worry any of you, and I'm not trying to kill myself." "You could have fooled us!" Jah-Ma-El pointed a thin, tapered finger at the tray of food, sitting on the table beside Conar all afternoon. "You didn't touch what Roget brought up. Or the food Sentian brought you at noon. Or the food I brought this morn--" "I'm not hungry. I can't eat." "The hell you can't! You just want to worry us into early graves!" "That's not my intention at all. It's just that I can see, and hear, and taste everything Tohre does. That one swallow from that vile chalice was all it took to merge a portion of my soul with his. It is that merging, that evil blending, that makes me sick to my stomach. I can't eat for the bile rising in my throat." "So you just starve to death, is that it?" "I'll get over it, will learn to ignore it. But for now, I can't. It's as much a part of me as the air I breathe." He turned his head and stared out the window again. The door opened, saving Jah-Ma-El from making another nasty reply. He sighed with relief, seeing Legion in the doorway, a look of resignation on his face.

Legion frowned at the tray of uneaten food, then looked at Conar. "He still hasn't eaten?" he snarled, coming in and shutting the door. Jah-Ma-El shrugged. "He says he can't." Legion's brows shot up. "He's spoken?" "Don't talk about me as though I'm not here," Conar grumbled. "You might as well not be!" Legion walked to the tray and stared down in disgust. An opaque film glazed over the congealing roast beef gravy. "Wasting perfectly good food is unconscionable." "I don't want--" Conar began. Legion swept the table with his arm. Dishes clattered to the floor; food sprayed the carpet. "Shut up! Just shut the hell up!" He strode forward and slapped Conar hard, ignoring Jah-Ma-El's gasp of outrage. Conar glared at Legion. "If any other man had dared do that, I'd--" "I told you to shut up!" Legion leaned over the chair. "If you don't, I'll slap you again. Harder!" A gleam of malice shot from the depths of the sapphire eyes. "You'd better not." "You don't want to eat? Fine. Don't. You can starve, for all I care. But youwill get your ass in that bed and rest. You haven't slept in three days." "Sleep is the last thing I need." "If I have to, I'll have my men hold you down while I pour one of Sern's sleeping potions into your gullet! You are dead on your feet!" "Don't even think of doing something like that. The days of me letting anyone force me into anything I don't want are long gone. Tohre took away my name and my freedom and my country. He took my pride and now he's taken my woman. Because of--" "Our woman!" Conar ignored him. "And because of that, I'll let no one else take anything away from me. And that includes my ability to say 'yea' or 'nay' to what is done to me!" "You won't have any choice." "Don't push me, Legion." Conar got unsteadily to his feet to face his angry brother. "I have nothing left to lose." A grim smile stretched Legion's face. "What of your sons?" There came a slight hesitation, a flickering in Conar's eyes. "I can take care of my sons." "Like you took care of Elizabeth?" The vicious words seemed to hit Conar like a lightning bolt. He crumpled into his chair, his lips trembling. "Don't hurt me like that, Legion..." "What the hell's wrong with you?" Jah-Ma-El spat, shoving Legion away. The older man stumbled to the fireplace and braced his hands on the tall mantle. He stared into the fire, his face burning as brightly as the coals. Jah-Ma-El knelt before Conar. "He didn't mean it, little brother. He's just hurting. He really didn't mean to--" "I know," Conar interrupted, "but the words cut deep, anyway." He turned to Legion. His voice grew hoarse with pain. "Don't you know I blame myself for her death? Don't you understand I always will? There's no need to pour salt into the wound."

Legion flinched, but didn't answer. Jah-Ma-El looked from one sibling to the other, finding equal amounts of pain on the two faces. A tension of outrageous proportions filled the room, along with a feeling of something having changed forever between the men. Jah-Ma-El let out a long breath, wishing he knew what to say to ease the bleakness of the moment, but nothing came to mind. "I'm sorry," Legion whispered. "I didn't mean--" "I know you didn't," Conar said warily, as though he, too, recognized something irrevocable has just occurred between them. Legion turned. "Will you please try to rest?" Conar looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll try." He pushed himself from the chair and walked unsteadily to the bed, as if his legs felt as numb as his heart. He grimaced, reaching for the bedpost. Sitting on the mattress, he heaved another sigh, then swung his legs onto the bed. He turned to his side, away from his brothers. "You want some cover?" Jah-Ma-El asked, but wasn't surprised when Conar shook his head in denial. "Can we get you anything?" Legion asked. No reply. "Is there anything we can do for you, Conar?" Jah-Ma-El inquired. "Aye." Conar craned his head and looked at them. A fleeting glimpse of authority crossed the ravaged face before the expression shut down and the eyes turned blank. "Stop hovering over me and let me grieve in peace." A flicker of agony. "That is the least you owe me." He turned his head away, dismissing them.

Chapter 15 Legion emerged from Conor's room and eyed two Outer Kingdom warriors flanking the door. "They'll be posted here every second of the day and night," Belvoir said. "You fear treachery?" Jah-Ma-El asked. As if feeling dwarfed by the bulky fur-clad warriors and their steady, unfathomable gazes, he eased away from them and viewed them at a safe distance. "I'd rather he be safe than us sorry." An exasperated smile touched Belvoir's mouth. "Besides, Yuri insisted." "Yuri?" Legion asked. "That is me," came a gruff, barking voice. When Legion looked into the warrior's face, the man flicked a quick grimace that must have passed for a smile, then resumed his stony stare at the wall across from him. The wicked-looking double-edged dagger in his hand made Legion shiver. "We are grateful," Legion mumbled.

"Something has come up," Belvoir informed Legion. "Chase is in the library and he asked that you join him." He lowered his voice. "Just you and Jah-Ma-El. He said to make sure no one else but the two of you come." "Why?" "I don't know. He was being mysterious about it. You know Montyne. The man's prone to secrecy." Legion nodded. "Right away?" "He said as soon as possible. I gathered from his expression it was really important." "He's been going over the books and ledgers Bent found at the Monastery," Jah-Ma-El said as he and Legion descended the stairs. "Think he found something?" "Quite possibly." Legion looked at his brother. "Why is it I don't think I'm going to like it?" "Lord Legion?" Legion's head snapped around at the feminine voice. He saw Gezelle leaning over the balcony. "Aye?" "It's a boy, Milord!" Gezelle's face glowed as she wiped her hand on her apron. "About seven pounds, I think." Legion had forgotten all about Amber-lea's premature labor. The lady wasn't due for another three weeks, but from the sound of the babe's size, he'd survive. He smiled, nodding. "How's she doing?" "She's sleeping. It wasn't a bad delivery at all." Gezelle shrugged. "As first-time deliveries go." "How's she doing?" Legion repeated. Understanding lit Gezelle's features. "She's a survivor, Milord." Gezelle waved, then turned back to the room where Brelan Saur had installed his wife upon their marriage. "He had two weeks with her," Jah-Ma-El whispered, as if picking up Legion's thoughts. "His days at Ciona with her were the happiest I'd seen Brelan in a long time." Legion nodded. "I'll ask her to stay here. She doesn't need to be in Ciona by herself." He looked at the second balcony and beyond, where Conar lay, no doubt, wide-awake and listening. He wondered briefly if his brother's thoughts had gone to the babe Liza was carrying when she fell from the ledge at the monastery. "Just one more wrong for him to right," Jah-Ma-El murmured, obviously thinking of the lost babe, as well. "And he will." After all, Conar McGregor was a survivor, too. **** "I was going over these family histories," Chase told them as he pulled aside volumes, looking for the one he needed. The dusty tomes sent up a musky smell, and tiny bugs wiggled on the papers strewn over the desk. He yanked out a thick red book wedged under a stack of scrolls; the scrolls rolled off the desk and to the floor, where he kicked them aside in his impatience. "When I read the family surname, I became fairly interested, since I was heavily connected with them at one time." "Du Mer?" Jah-Ma-El asked, reading the elaborate calligraphy on the cover of the book. "Aye," Chase answered absently. He thumbed the pages, wrinkling his nose at the dust and odor, until he found the correct place. He scanned the page, his finger running down the parchment. "Ah, here!" He turned the book so Legion could read. Legion bent over, squinting to make out the fancy scribbling. He shrugged. "All I can make out is the name 'Cull.'"

"Exactly! Roget's and Teal's father. It lists his so-calledcrimes against the Tribunal, as well as Roget's. It lists Teal's mother and information on that side of the family. But..." Chase picked up the book and peered closely at the print. "Listen to this... "In the Year now known as the Year of the Reaper, Duke Cullford Langston du Mer married one Teresa Adelaine Downs. Upon the marriage, the Downs family gave over into du Mer's keeping that portion of land from the fork of the river Minburn to that section of hillside known as Beggar's Knoll. The land, and the keep du Mer built thereon, was named Downsgate in honor of the family for their generous dowry. On the winter solstice of the Year now known as the Year of the Fox, du Mer's wife presented him with a son they named Roget Alexis. (Note: An attempt will be made to utilize this boy at our discretion.)" Chase looked up, his eyes filled with hatred. "There's quite a few of those kind of notations throughout these books." "Is there a book on every important family within the Seven Kingdoms?" Legion asked, looking alarmed. Chase nodded. "With birth dates and marriages and deaths. All the little scandals the families were involved in. Mistresses, lovers, etc." He pointed his finger at Legion. "Just listen!" "A second, illegitimate son, Tealson, gotten off a gypsy wench whose name has no meaning to our purposes, was born nine years later. This boy is considered to be unworthy of our interest since he shows no intelligence." "Teal will be delighted to hear that," Jah-Ma-El mumbled. "Don't interrupt!" Chase snapped. He leaned closer to the book in anticipation. "In the spring of the Year now known as the Year of the Laurel, the old Duke got with child a handmaiden of the Serenian Queen, Moira. The child, a worthless female, was also born during the Winter Solstice. She showed signs of magical ability, and was considered to be of a threat to us." Chase looked up. "It tells all about the mother, but let me finish with this before I tell you who she was." He could see avid interest on Legion's bearded face, confusion on Jah-Ma-El's. "During the birthing process, we managed to execute the mother, but the child survived our attempt to eliminate it with the unfortunate arrival of the grandmother. Jabus Andoire, one of the Cardinals at that time, would not let us try again for fear of retaliation by the Serenian whore, Moira, so the child survives. As the bitchlet ages, she shows no desire to use her talents and we have decided to ignore her. At the death of her grandmother, we installed the bitchlet at one of our Doorways, where she remained until interference by the Chosen." "The Chosen?" Legion inquired. Chase waved his hand in annoyance. "The book goes on to tell about how Roget was caught years ago." A flush spread over Montyne's face. "My part in it. Cull's death and--" He looked up. "Even Teal's recent marriage." "It's that up to date?" Jah-Ma-El asked. "It appears so." Chase closed the book. He fused his gaze with Legion's. "If we tell Roget and Teal they have a sister, how do you think they'll take it?" "There's no mistake?" Legion asked. "No other entry that might say she's dead?" "It names her and her mother. She's very much alive." Jah-Ma-El's face cleared and he sat in a chair. "One of the Doorways..." he whispered. "You know, don't you?" Chase asked. "I believe so." "Well, I don't!" Legion snapped. "If this woman is someone the du Mer's will be ashamed of--" "Not at all." Jah-Ma-El smiled, the first smile he had known in days. "I believe they will be stunned, true, but most happy with the situation." "Who?" Legion growled.

"Norus was one of the Doorways, Legion," Chase said. "AndConar was the Chosen," Jah-Ma-El whispered. Legion opened his mouth, as if prepared to yell his displeasure at the cryptic remarks. But then his mouth snapped shut. Opened and shut again. "You look like a fish when you do that," Chase taunted. "It's not becoming. Don't do it anymore." Legion snapped his lips shut, his eyes narrowing. He shook his head in wonder. "Gezelle?" "Her mother's name was Gwendolyn. She was one of the Queen's servants. Her grandmother, Rosaleen, was a Daughter of the Multitude, personal maid to Queen Moira." Legion slumped into a chair. "You're sure of this?" "The book reveals things I'd just as soon not know, but in this instance, I think a little good news will help everyone, don't you?" Chase shoved the book toward Legion. "Do you want me to call Roget and Teal, or do you want to tell them?" "Chandling Wynth has asked Gezelle to marry him now that Wes is gone," Jah-Ma-El threw in, talking about the former Elite who had died mysteriously while the Force was at the Monastery. "Of course the Joining has been postponed a while, considering Gezelle's mourning." Chase grinned. "Chand will have to ask the du Mer brothers' permission, now, won't he?" Legion smiled, too. "Oh, Roget's gonna love it!" "Roget?" Jah-Ma-El laughed. "It'sTeal who's gonna get the biggest kick out of this! Just think of all the children of Gezelle's and Wes' that Teal has pampered and loved through the years. Now, his title ofUncle Teal would be for real." Chase smiled. Maybe things were looking up after all. **** Legion wasn't surprised to see his brother sitting up in bed, staring vacantly across the room. He closed the door and walked to Conar's bedside. "You couldn't sleep?" Conar shook his head. "Did you even try?" No answer. Legion sighed and sat on the mattress. "I've got something to tell you." The blue gaze flitted his way in obvious fear. "Nothing's happened. As a matter of fact, it's good news." The sapphire orbs closed in relief. Legion lay a hand across his brother's. "You'll like what I'm about to tell you..." **** A silent Roget stared at Chase, while Teal grinned from ear to ear, his loud whoop making everyone jump. Both du Mer's had reacted pretty much as Jah-Ma-El had predicted they would upon hearing the news. Roget looked dumbfounded, struck speechless for what could well have been the first time in his life. His face went chalk-white, his expression puzzled and a little wary. But Teal nearly leapt for joy, his dimples so deep they looked as though someone had poked them there. Roget gasped, glaring at Chase. "This isn't funny at all."

"No, it's wonderful!" Teal looked around, striking out for the hallway. "Where is she? Gezelle?" His merry voice rose. "Gezelle?" "Wait!" Roget ordered, springing to his feet, sending his chair flying behind him. He ran after his younger brother. "Damn it, Teal, I said to wait! We'll both tell her!" He cursed, running after Teal, who bounded up the stairs. "Teal du Mer, you wait, I said!" **** Although he only mumbled approval, Conar apparently agreed with Legion regarding the good news. He looked at his hands. "She deserves happiness. Chand will make her a good husband." "Don't try doing this on your own." Legion squeezed Conar's fingers. "This is one time you shouldn't be alone. You've been alone too much in your lifetime, little brother." "Don't call me that. I'm not a little boy anymore." Legion understood. "I meant nothing by it. The endearment doesn't belittle you in any way, but if it bothers you, I won't use it again." "Thank you." "But I meant what I said. I don't want you trying to handle your grief on your own. I'm here to help." "This is something Imust do alone. It's a journey Imust take by myself. Believe me when I say you would not like to travel my road with me." "I would go to hell itself if you needed me beside you!" A look of intense sorrow passed over Conar's face. His lips twitched, not in a smile, but in acknowledgment of the offer. "You've been a good friend, Legion A'Lex. And as a brother, no man could ask for better. I have always loved you." "I don't see how you could after--" Conar shook his head. "I understood how you felt. Believe me, I did. Who better than I?" The pain in Conar's voice cut Legion to the core. He threw his arms around Conar and wept. The grief he had previously denied releasing now wrenched his body with thundering sobs. He felt Conar's arms hold him tightly, and vaguely heard low murmurs of comfort. When he at last pulled away, he looked at Conar's dry face. "I'm all right," Conar said. "But I need to be alone. Respect that. When I'm ready, I'll come downstairs." Legion wanted to stay, wanted to talk. Something deep inside him warned him to stay, but when Conar asked again that he be left alone, Legion surrendered and made to leave. Looking over his shoulder as he closed the door, he saw Conar staring vacantly across the room. He wanted to say something. Felt the need to, but couldn't. Conar's silence was like a warning that time had moved past words. **** Conar heard the door close, but didn't look that way. He sat as still as death, his heart beating so slowly, so wearily, in his chest. It wasn't really true that he felt nothing. He did. He felt an ache, a terrible ache that had settled in his heart and refused to leave. He knew he would have that ache for the rest of his life. He wanted it there to remind him what had to be done.

Chapter 16 He walked to her door and lifted his hand to knock, then thought better of it and turned to leave. But he stopped, looking at the worn carpet in the hallway. His eyes lifted to the torchlight on the wall opposite her door, and he watched the flame waver in a slight draft. Again, he turned, faced the door, and raised his hand. He still hesitated, more unsure of himself than he would have liked to admit. Unsure of his welcome, of her reaction to him, of his own feelings. A part of him wanted to rush into the room, to make sure with his own eyes she was all right. But another part of him wanted to run as far away as he could get, for he was the cause of her being where she was, and the cause of her tears. He leaned his head against the door's cool planking and closed his eyes. What if she blamed him? What if she didn't want to see him? What if his appearance upset her or caused her more pain? He pushed away from the door and stared at the handle for a long time, trying to make up his mind. He was about to leave when he heard her voice through the wood. "Who's there?" He flinched, looking down the hallway to the stairs. It was late, maybe too late, and he shouldn't be bothering her. When she called out her question again, he answered in a soft voice--"Conar." After a lengthy pause, he thought she wouldn't speak again, that she did not want to see him. But at last she told him to enter. Before he could run away, he reached for the handle and opened the door. Amber-lea was sitting up in the bed. A candle on the bedside table bathed her pretty face in an oval of translucent light. She looked pale, tired, infinitely sorrowful, but she held up her arms, beckoning him. It took him a long time to go to her. He eased himself on the mattress and leaned into her arms, laying his head on her shoulder. Her slender arms enfolded him. "It took me a moment to remember your name, Milord," she said in a weak and hoarse voice. Her fingers smoothed his hair. "I have called you Raven for so long." "Raven has left this world, Milady." "With his lady and his brother, Milord?" He flinched and would have pulled away, but she held him to her. "No, stay where you are. Let me hold you." "I am sorry," he whispered, feeling the numbness in his body nearly choking him with its intensity. "For what, Milord? You are not at fault." She bent forward and planted a soft kiss on his head. Her hands cupped the nape of his neck. "What happened was Alel's will." He wanted to cry. Heneeded to cry, but no tears would come. He felt as though his heart was breaking, but there wasn't a drop of moisture in his soul for him to dredge forth. He looked across the room to the pier glass that faced the bed and saw them both, lover and mistress holding onto one another, their true loves gone beyond sight and sound and touch. All they had now was each other, and the tiny being they had created together. As though she had read his thoughts, she smiled, looking into the pier glass, fusing her gaze with his. "Have you seen our son, Milord?" "Not yet." Her smile turned tender and dreamy. "What did you name him?"

"If you have no objections, Milord, I will name him after your brother." Her smile faltered and she tensed, waiting for his reply. He buried his cheek against her shoulder and closed his eyes. "If that offends you, Milord, I will--" "No. It would make me most proud, Milady, for him to be named after my brother." She seemed to relax. "Then, Brelan, it is." He opened his eyes, but did not look back at the mirror; he would not--could not--look at her. "You are well, Milord?" she asked, worry in her voice. "I will do." He eased out of her arms and gently touched her cheek with his hand. "And you? Are you well?" She shrugged. "A little sore, a little weak, perhaps, but otherwise, well." She pressed his cold fingers to her soft, warm cheek. "Your son is a most wondrous piece of work. He has your hair and coloring and his eyes are a bright blue." Conar's brows drew together. "Not sapphire, like mine?" She shook her head. "A pale blue. Like Corbin's. He even has the tiny row of moles on the small of his back that you do." He wanted to smile, felt like smiling,needed to smile at her remark, but he couldn't. His face seemed frozen, incapable of showing any emotion save pain and sorrow. He looked at her, hoping to convey his pleasure at her words, and told her that all his sons had such a unique configuration of birthmarks. He knew she had understood. "Itis difficult, isn't it, Milord?" she asked, obviously trying to make him hear the real question beneath her words. "The hardest thing I've ever had to endure." Conar kissed her cheek. "Thank you for giving me a new son, dearling." He took her hands in his and brought the palms together, kissed her fingertips, then eased up from the bed. "I shall see him in the morning." She sat up straighter, a spasm of pain crossing her face. Hesitancy showed in her pretty eyes. "If something should happen to me--" "Nothing will happen to you! I could not bear it, Madame!" "But should something happen--" She held up her hand to forestall his protest. "Will you vow that our son will be taken care of?" "Need you ask?" "I need to hear the words." She smiled tenderly. "Humor me?" Conar felt like screaming at her, asking her if she thought he would let anything happen to their child. But Legion's recent accusation hit him in the face--Like you took care of Elizabeth? "Aye, Milady," he answered, striding for the door. "On my life I will see that nothing happens to our child." "Milord?" she called. "I know you will!" He jerked open the door and fled the room, pulling the portal shut behind him with more force than necessary. He blinked at the loud bang and leaned against the wood, his hands on the handle, and hung his head. Did everyone think him incapable of taking care of his own? The question stung him. He hurried down the corridor, took the stairs two at a time up to his father's room, and slammed the door behind him, barely noting the two Outer Kingdom warriors who stood at attention when he hurried past. Flinging himself down on the coverlet, he drew fistfuls of the brocade into his hands and turned his cheek into the cool silk.

"I can," he snarled. "I can!" But a nagging voice at the back of his mind told him it wasn't so sure.

Chapter 17 Gezelle stared at the two men. On her lap sat her youngest child, her baby daughter, who tried to gain her mother's attention. But Gezelle's whole being centered on the du Mer brothers as they sat uneasily on the edges of their chairs, facing her. She looked from one expectant face to the other, and what she saw caused her even more confusion. Duke Roget du Mer looked as though he were about to fall into an apoplectic fit. He perspired, his tongue constantly darting to his upper lip to lick away trickles of salty seepage beading there. Two high spots of color on his cheekbones dotted his otherwise pale face. He wrung his hands in his lap, his fingers constantly twisting around one another. His left leg jumped as though he had just ridden a hundred miles at a stretch before coming to her chambers. His dark gold tresses looked as though he had plowed his fingers through them numerous times. As rigid and seemingly nervous as Roget du Mer, his brother seemed just that relaxed. A beautific smile lined the gypsy's face and he kept winking at Gezelle to show his apparent good humor. He continuously tapped his right foot on the carpet, while his fingers drummed out a rhythm on his thighs. He looked as though he might spring forward at any moment to clasp Gezelle in a bear hug that would squash the air from her lungs. He looked more immaculately groomed than Gezelle could ever remember, and his high color and twinkling smile were what caused many a maiden to give up her hymen to this handsome dark-eyed, dark-haired man. Now and again he would whistle, throwing back his head as though he would burst if he did not. When his gaze held Gezelle's, so much happiness filled those gleaming orbs, she felt giddy just looking at them. "Does it displease you?" Roget stammered, flinching when her attention leapt back to him. He fidgeted, jammed his fingers through his hair. "Displease me?" Gezelle asked, her brows shifting upward. She thought about it. It shocked her, amazed her, but, by the Grace of Alel, it certainly did not displease her! She managed a weak smile. "No, Milords. It pleases me well." Teal leapt to his feet in a quick bound that startled Gezelle. He plucked the babe from her lap, held it aloft to much cooing and chuckling on both niece and uncle's part, then brought the girl to his chest, where he cradled her lovingly. "We have a sister!" Roget cleared his throat and decorously stood. He plucked at his trousers, pulled on the crease, straightened his waistcoat, and aligned his tie. He licked his lips, but his mouth looked frozen with anxiety. A rather sick-looking facsimile of a smile did not please Gezelle all that much. He tried again and did a little better, but he looked as though he was about to mess his breeches. Gezelle giggled, seeing his tension and hesitancy. She opened her arms. "Come, big brother," she whispered, joy lighting her face, "and let your baby sister hug you!" Tears instantly filled Roget's blue eyes. He rushed forward, all restraint and insecurity swept away. His arms went around her slender body in a protective manner. "So," Teal asked, drawing Gezelle's attention. His expression turned grave, erasing the earlier humor and happiness, while his mouth set in a prim, proper line. Gezelle's brow crinkled with concern. "So, Chand Wynth wants to marry you, eh? Well, we'll have to see about that!"

His words brought a giggle from her lips. "Indeed we will!" echoed the Duke. "And--" The door to her room burst open. Cayn stood framed in the doorway, his face as white as a sheet and his hair tousled wildly. "Gezelle! Hurry! It's Amber-lea! She's bleeding!"

Chapter 18 Conar heard the commotion downstairs. He sat up and looked at his door. Something had happened. He knew it, felt it deep in his soul. Slowly he stood and walked to the door. He heard muffled, urgent commands, doors opening and shutting, feet tripping rapidly down the stairs from the second floor. He went into the hall, sighing heavily as his guards snapped to attention. At the balcony, he looked into the gallery of the second floor. Someone rushed past under his gallery and issued a mumbled command. Movement on the stairs caught his eye, and he saw Storm and Marsh carrying sheeting and pails of water. He frowned. Gripping the railing with both hands, he leaned out, peering down and saw Sadie and another maid huddled together, their arms around one another. "Sadie?" he called. The old woman's head snapped upward. The hate and fury in her look took Conar aback. He cleared his throat. "What's happening?" Sadie ignored him. The other maid, however, looked up. "It's the lady, Your Grace. It's Lord Brelan's lady. She started to bleed. The Healer's in with her." Conar felt as though he had been kicked in the gut by a Zephyrusian mule. He stepped away from the balcony in abject fear. He stumbled backward until his body slammed into the wall. Slowly he slid to the floor, his arms going around his drawn-up knees. He buried his face in the V of his arms and rocked forward, a low keening coming from deep inside his throat. "Ambie, no," he gasped, knowing beyond all doubt the girl would die. "I'm sorry. I am sorry..." He never knew how long he sat that way, hunched over himself, his hands clutching one another so tightly they became numb. All he remembered before one of the Outer Kingdom warriors helped him up was that he had heard a shrill, unearthly scream, then an eerie silence. When the crying began, he knew it was over. "Come up, Highness," the warrior said gently. "You go bed, now." The short walk to his chamber felt like being underwater. He could hear nothing, although the man beside him spoke in broken Serenian. It was like the time when he had been sentenced at the Tribunal. No sound entered his fogged mind, and he guessed that was just as well. Conar waited patiently for the guard to open his bedroom door, then stood still as the man unlaced his shirt and pulled it off, unbuttoned his breeches and helped him step out of them. In some distant part of his mind, he wondered why this strange man doing such an intimate act did not unnerve him as it should have, as it once would have. Maybe, he reasoned, it just didn't matter anymore.

What did it matter what anyone did to him now? Even when the man helped him into bed, drawing the covers over his chest and smoothed the hair from his forehead, he didn't react. He saw the lips moving again, but couldn't hear the words. He understood them, though, for respect and love filled the man's dark face as he bent over to blow out the candle on the night table. Turning onto his side, Conar clutched his pillow with both hands, drew up his knees, and lay awake the rest of the night, staring into the dark, hearing nothing, feeling nothing, paying no attention to the many times people came in to check on him. Inside he cried so hard he could barely breathe, but to those who observed him, he appeared dry-eyed and still. He did not move when they pushed the hair from his forehead and arranged then rearranged the covers over him. He ignored them as they talked, for his ears remained deaf to the sound. His soul ached and his heart died just a little more with each memory as it flitted across his mind's eye. He thought he heard childish laughter in the distance. When he threw back the covers and left his bed, he followed the sound to the window. Pushing aside the curtain, he looked into the courtyard and imagined he saw his long-lost sons and daughters sitting along the canopy as they had on the day he wed Liza. They waved to him, these ghostlings from his past. He placed his hand gently against the windowpane, his attention going to Tia, who had been his youngest. "I miss you," he said aloud, though did not hear himself speak. Tia ducked her head and swung her little legs against the canopy edge. Movement swung Conar's gaze to the far side of the courtyard, and he watched as women he had known long ago strolled past. Shades of this world he knew them to be. Each he had lain with and each had born him a child. Now, they, like their precious progeny, were no more. A sharp pain pierced his heart. He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of his smiling offspring, vanished mysteriously so many years before, and the women who had brought them into the world. Gone, his mind told him. All gone into the sacrificial fires of the Domination to punish him, or turned over to the lust of Temple Guards who had no doubt murdered them. He laid his forehead against the chill windowpane, his shoulders slumped and his hands clenched into fists. How many more had died because of him? Had there been women who had conceived his children who had not told him of his impending fatherhood? Had the Domination known about them and were they, too, only ashes on the foul wind that had swept his homeland? Guilt pressed down on him until he dropped to the floor and lay his head on the windowsill. His shoulders heaved. He began to cry, to mourn all those who, because their lives had intersected his, had suffered for it. When the rosy gold dawn of the new day seeped into his room, a single solitary sound returned to Conar's world. He heard a baby crying for its mother. **** Amber-lea Saur was buried in the graveyard of Ciona beside Brelan's mother, Angelique. Every member--save one--of the original Wind Force attended the funeral. A light rain misted down on the black umbrellas scattered around the raw, gaping, red clay plot, turning the soil blood red. Overhead, the sea gulls cried in their mournful voices as the cheery wood coffin was lowered into the maw of the grave. Sobbing echoed the dull thump of dirt that Grice and Roget shoveled onto the gleaming red casket. A single yellow rose, a gift from the solarium at Boreas Keep, had been laid on the casket's curved top, but soon it was hidden beneath clumps of red Cionian clay. ****

It was a three-day trip back to Boreas Keep in the drumming rain. The eight black coaches and hearse that had brought them to Ciona made slow time in the rapidly filling ruts along the roadway. The horses blew steam from their nostrils and bobbed their black-plumed heads, their black harnesses and reins jingling eerily in the soft snick of far-off lightning and thrumming thunder. "He did not need another tragedy to plague him," Shalu told Chase, Tyne, and Rylan, riding in the coach with him. The Necroman could not see out the window, for the oilcloth covering was tied down to keep out the rain, but he wished he could see. Closed places bothered him. "He hasn't spoken a word since it happened," Chase reminded them. "And, damn it! He hasn't eaten a morsel of food in five days!" "He can't be allowed to go on like this," Tyne answered. "If he doesn't eat soon, he's going to get sick." He looked at Shalu. "Has he had even water?" Shalu nodded absently. "A'Lex sent for mineral water from Corrinth. He made Conar drink two glasses, but the lad never said a word. Just drank it, then laid back down." "What the hell do we do?" Rylan reached down to massage his foot. Such weather as this played hell with his old injury. He drew off his boot and lifted his foot into his lap, smiling ruefully at Tyne's wrinkling nose. "Sorry." "So am I." Tyne covered his nose with his kerchief, his brows lifting in annoyance. Chase sighed. "There isn't anything any of us can do for Conar right now. He's going to have to come to terms with these deaths. At least the babe is healthy and strong. I don't know what we would've had to do to him if the babe had perished, too." "Were you there when he went in to see the babe?" Tyne asked Shalu. "Roget was. He said Conar didn't say anything to the infant, but he did pick it up and kiss it. He wasn't in there long. He went back to bed and he's been there ever since." Shalu eyes the coach's closed window with disgust. **** In another coach two up in line, Sadie sobbed, dabbing her withered cheeks with the moist handkerchief in her gnarled fingers. "She's with him, now, Senti...with her sweet man, Lord Brelan." A hitch in her throat nearly choked her with its sting. She had loved Brelan Saur like she loved Legion A'Lex and the young ones, Coron and Dyllon. She buried her face in her hands. "At least she's away from...him..." "But what I'm saying," Storm stressed, "is that Conar can't be blamed for what happened to Ambie. Cayn, himself, said it was a birth thing. But Conar blames himself, just the same." Sadie sniffed, turning her nose up in the air. Her gaze narrowed, but she kept her thoughts to herself. No one in this funeral procession might blame His Nubs, but the bastard himself knew where to lay the blame. At his own feet of clay! And Sadie blamed him, as well. His cock had brought about the babe in the first place. His rutting behavior had lain waste to another good girl's life. Sadie clutched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. Her toothless gums clenched together so hard it became painful. For five days she'd been trying to get food and drink into the bastard, but he'd touched nothing but that damned iron water A'Lex had provided. Well, she thought, sooner or later he'd have to eat, and when he did... A vicious smile eased the tension on her gums. **** In Boreas Keep, two Outer Kingdom warriors kept watch outside Conar's door. Another man called Yuri, the leader of this hulking group of protectors, sat in the room with the man he had sworn on his life to defend and protect. He looked toward the bed in which the young man lay, eyes wide and staring. "So much grief for such a good man," Yuri whispered aloud.

He could remember no one from his village in Probst who had suffered such calamity so many times as had Conar McGregor. His thoughts went back to the day he had been commissioned to leave for Boreas Keep, the day Misha had come home to report to the Tzar. "Go, now, Yuri Andreanova," the Tzar ordered. "Do your duty as I have commanded. See no harm befalls the young Serenian Prince." Yuri wondered why an outlander would so concern the Tzar and Tzarina. But he saw the deep worry on their faces and recalled how they had sent his comrade, Misha Kobliska, to that hellish prison colony the outlanders called the Labyrinth. "We have news that Conar McGregor is there, Misha," the Tzar had said months earlier. "He must be protected at all costs. Find a way to be arrested in Virago. There you will join with others who will be taken to the Labyrinth. You will be paid well for your trouble, and should ill befall you, your family will live in luxury for the next three generations." Yuri and his fellow captains had marveled at such an enticement. Surely this outlander, a prisoner in his own world, was vitally important to the Tzar with such an order being given. But why? No one knew. So Misha had gone, only to return with news that the man he had been sent to protect was home once more. "And so it begins," the Tzar had sighed upon hearing Misha's report. He flexed his finger at Yuri. "I have a mission for you Andreanova." After explaining where and how Yuri was to enter Serenia, the Tzar added something that confused Yuri. "Do all you can to protect him, to save his life if it should come to that, but donot intervene in any way in what he does with his life. His will is his own and he must never be second-guessed." At first, Yuri had strongly disliked the arrogant, self-important outlander he had been sent to watch over. He complained bitterly to the others in their contingent of how the man was little more than an uncouth, violent, licentious peasant--not the great monarch they had been led to believe. Everything the man known as Raven had done annoyed Yuri Andreanova. His whoring and drinking, then ultimately his drug taking, brought scorn from Yuri's lips and venom from his tongue when he spoke with his comrades. Even the fact that, despite their best efforts, the man knew he was being trailed did not impress Yuri. Nothing Raven did impressed Yuri. But all that changed the day Raven tried to kill himself. "Why didn't you let him die?" one of the warriors had asked. "You don't like him anyway. His Highness could not fault you for allowing the outlander to die." "We are to protect his life!" Yuri defended, not sure why he had interfered. It was a gray line and he knew it. If he had not interfered with what Raven had set into motion on his own, the man would have surely died. The lowly outlanders would not have had the stamina he and his men had possessed for standing under the icy waters that had revived Raven. Word reached Yuri that the Tzar and his sons were most pleased with his efforts at saving the outlander. And a paragraph in their letter widened his eyes--"He knows you're there. So do his men. You might as well not skulk about. You have our permission to go about in the open, even speak to him, if you have learned their language." Now, looking back at the man lying so still in the bed, Yuri sighed. He found he wanted more than anything to speak to this man. But he didn't have the words to say that could help. He just hoped someone did before it was too late.

Chapter 19

When he heard the quiet knock on the door, Yuri stood, casting a look at the bed. The prone man had not slept in all the time Yuri had been sitting with him, but he didn't seem as lost as he had when the coaches left the outer bailey for Ciona six days earlier. Yuri opened the door, not surprised to see Marsh Edan. "We just received news. Because of heavy rains, the coaches have stopped for the night about two miles from here. They won't be in until tomorrow morn." Yuri nodded and made to close the door. Marsh put his hand on the portal's edge and cocked his head. "I need to speak to Conar." Yuri stepped back to let the former Elite enter. He carefully thought of his words. "Wish you for me to remain?" "That's all right. I'll look after him a while." He looked at the bed. "I know you've been here for hours. Why don't you take a break?" "What you wish me to break?" Yuri's brows drew together. Marsh laughed, then clapped Yuri on the shoulder, easing him toward the door. "I don't want you to break anything, old man. Just go rest." Yuri's face cleared. "This 'break' means 'rest'?" Marsh nodded, ushering the Outer Kingdom warrior out the door. **** Marsh pulled a chair close to the bed. He frowned at the unwavering look in Conar's dark eyes. "Anybody in there?" he joked, waving his hand before Conar's face. He saw a flicker of life and shook his head. "If you don't stop playing dead, they're gonna cart you over to Bailswith to the nuthouse." Another flicker made Marsh smile. "You ain't as deaf to the world as everybody thinks, are you?" "No..." "Well, I hope you ain't got to piss, 'cause I ain't holding no chamberpots for you when you're like this." "Fine," Conar rasped. Marsh's smile slipped off his face and a look of concern settled there. "I know this is a stupid question, Milord, but are you all right?" A slight nod. "I'm glad. Are you hungry? You've got to eat something, Conar." "Later." "That'll have to do, I guess." Marsh sat back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. "What do you want, Edan?" Conar asked, finally focusing on him. "Legion and the others are staying the night at Bumsford. The rain down that way is terrible, and it looks like it's heading our way." Conar shrugged. "It doesn't matter." "Nothing matters to you right now, does it?" "Not really." "You didn't cause Amber-lea's death, you know."

Conar's mouth twisted. "I don't want to talk about it, Marsh." Edan let out a long breath. "No, I don't suppose you do." Irritation flitted across Conar's stony features. "If there's nothing else..." "I've been waiting for Legion to return to talk with him about what I've discovered, but since he won't be here until tomorrow, I didn't know if I should wait. I was hoping you were yourself, because what I have to say is important." Conar let out a long, wavering breath and threw back the covers. Pushing himself up in the bed, he leaned against the headboard. He rubbed his right temple, obviously suffering from a migraine. "Can't it wait?" "I suppose it could, but I haven't been able to sleep from thinking of it, and I needed to tell someone." Marsh sighed and unfolded his arms, then pushed himself from the chair. "I guess you really don't need to hear anything tonight about Duncan Cree's treachery." He turned to go. "You've found out something about Duncan?" Marsh saw interest gathering in the dark eyes. He shrugged. "Well, what I've learned makes no sense to me, but the Domination guard we questioned this afternoon swore it was the truth." "Questioned here?" Conar frowned. "At Boreas?" "We found the slimy little creep hiding in the Temple. He said he was trying to find the new Arch-Prelate." Conar pushed himself higher in the bed. "What new Arch-Prelate? I thought that bunch was killed at the Monastery." "Apparently not," Marsh said, swinging around the chair and straddling it. He braced his forearms on the tall back. "One or two escaped, but the one this guard was looking for wasn't there anyway. It seems he was in Boreas when the attack took place, and he's the only ranking Domination priest left." "Did the guard name him?" "He didn't know, but he described the man. The description sounded a lot like--Robert MacCorkingdale." ---A shiver of fear traced Conar's spine. He remembered the man he had first seen at Corinth, a young acolyte who had shown respect that Conar knew would soon evaporate. "Sadie's grandson." Marsh nodded. "And she well might have been hiding him here all this time." "She wouldn't." "You don't know that one like you think you do." Marsh snorted. "What did the guard say about Duncan?" Conar asked, wanting to get away from the subject of Sadie. Since the night Amber-lea had died, he had been having odd feelings about the old cook. Feelings that did not set well in his gut. "Well, you know Storm's wife?" "She's all right, isn't she?" Conar asked, immediately concerned. "Aye, she is. It's just that she's from one of the Inner Kingdom emirates and this man is a countryman of hers. As a matter of fact, they grew up in the same village. Storm and I are both from one of the emirates, though not of the same tribe as the man we questioned." That was something Conar had never known about the two cousins who had fought beside him for so many years. Though Marsh's voice had a slight accent, Storm's an odd lilt, never in Conar's wildest dreams would he have imagined the men to be from one of the Inner Kingdoms. "I thought you were Serenian." Marsh shook his head. "I grew up here, but I was born in Jabola, as was Storm. Anyway, this man asked to speak to Lynelle, Storm's wife. He wouldn't say anything to us until he did. I speak the dialect of the Jabol tribe, but the dialect

he spoke was Hasdu--" "Storm's wife is Hasdu?" "No," Marsh sighed, as if annoyed by the interruption, "but she speaks the dialect. I think this bastard was trying to play secrets. When Lynelle finished speaking to him, she went outside and wouldn't answer my questions. She looked terrified and refused to discuss what had been said. After a while, I got mad enough to threaten her with a few hours' jail time if she didn't tell me what the punk had said." "Did she?" Conar had grown more interested by the minute and felt color rise in his cheeks. "With a little persuasion. My cousin picked a stubborn wife." "And?" "It seems this man used to be a guard at the court of Sheik Jabyl-Jemann, the late ruler of the Hasdu, the one whose wife poisoned him by rubbing Maiden's Briar on his cock. You remember hearing about that years ago?" Conar nodded. "Vaguely." "At any rate, the guard told Lynelle the Sheik had sent him to Ventura to accompany a young woman there who would soon be leaving for her wedding here in Serenia. It seemed like an easy enough assignment, he said, but there were problems." "What kind of problems?" "The young woman had been engaged to a Hasdu Prince, but her father wanted an alliance with the Outland kingdoms, thinking it more advantageous, so he broke the engagement. That caused a tribal war between his people and the offended Prince's, making it necessary to flee Ventura in the dead of night in order to keep the Princess from falling into the Hasdu's hands. Once they landed in Ciona, three Serenian warriors met them, and they escorted the Princess to her new husband." Conar's brows drew together in confusion. "Where does Duncan come in? I don't understand what any of this--" Marsh held up his hand. "The woman was the Princess Cyle." Conar started. "Galen's wife! She fell from the balcony at Norus." He looked down at the coverlet, remembering what he had heard of the woman he had never met. "She was being poisoned." Slowly, Conar's head came up. "Are you sure?" "The guard said he overheard Duncan and Kaileel Tohre discussing how they had killed the young Prince's wife. They were bragging about it. On the day she died, she was so ill from the poison, she stumbled into the railing and fell over." Conar swung his legs from the bed and sat on the edge, hunched over, hands thrust between his thighs. "Tohre. I should have known he was behind the poor woman's death." Marsh put a hand on Conar's shoulder. "There's more, but I'm not sure I should tell you." He looked at Edan. "Why not?" "I don't think it would do you any good, and it might even be too much for you to take right now." He squeezed Conar's flesh. "It's best we wait on this one--" "Tell me." "I don't think--" "Tell me, Marsh. What more can I learn of Duncan's treachery that would hurt me more than him being responsible for my lady's fall into that damned chasm?"

"I want you to know, I would never willingly do or say anything to hurt you." "I know," Conar said a bit impatiently. "But I fear--nay--Iknow this will." Conar let out a ragged, annoyed breath. "What you say will be the truth?" When Marsh nodded, Conar gripped his arm. "Then say it and be done with it. If it hurts me, it hurts me. I'm no stranger to pain." Once more Marsh hesitated, then his shoulders slumped. He covered Conar's hand with his own. "Duncan was quite happy with the money Tohre gave him for ridding the Domination of Galen's unwanted wife. Tohre told him it was the least they could do since Duncan had carried out thesame mission for the Domination before with great success. No one had suspected the Brotherhood then, and they would not suspect them now." Marsh took a deep breath and tightened his grip on Conar's hand. "He named the woman Duncan had previously killed for them." Conar didn't want to ask. He didn't want to know. Not then--or ever. His mind begged him not to listen, to send Marsh away, to drown out the words that would bring his world to another jerking halt. His heart ached even more. He feared that if Marsh said the name, he would scream, and keep screaming until they did, indeed, cart him off to Bailswith. He tore away his gaze, lowered his hands, and in silent fascination discovered them violently trembling. "My mother?" Marsh didn't answer. He didn't need to. Conar's face crumbled with agony. "Kaileel had Duncan poison my mother?" Stark sorrow filled his soft words. "Why?" "To punish you." Nothing Marsh could have said would have hurt Conar more. His eyes glazed over, while blood drained from him face. The breath caught in his throat, and his heart missed several beats before starting again with a dull, heavy tempo he could hear in his ears. He pulled back from the hand that came out to comfort him. "Leave me." "But..." Marsh reached out again. Conar knocked away the hand. "Leave me," he bit out through clenched teeth. "I told you I shouldn't have--" "Get the hell out, Edan!" With a crash, the chamber door swung open. Yuri took militant steps into the room, his sword draw. "Milord?" Marsh stood and backed away from Conar's fury. "I didn't want to hurt you, I--" "Get out!" Yuri rushed forward and grabbed Edan's arm, propelled him out of the room, and slammed the door with a resounding thump. He turned, lowering his sword and found Conar's stare aimed his way. "I no go," came the belligerent statement. "I stay!" Conar stared at the man, not really seeing him. Though not directed at Yuri Andreanova, his words grew hollow, beseeching. "How much pain does one man have to experience in his lifetime? How much must he be responsible for?" Yuri's face crinkled with obvious worry. He took a hesitant step forward. "I no understand."

Conar clenched his fists on his lap. "How many tears must be shed? How much must he have taken away from him before the gods are appeased?" He slowly stood. "How much? Tell me, how much?" Yuri stepped to within reaching distance of his ward. He reached out his free hand. Conar jerked away and glared at the Outer Kingdom warrior. "What did I do?" came the ragged, unbelieving question. "What did I do for Them to punish me so? What terrible wrong did I do to deserve all this?" Yuri shook his head. "You have done nothing! Nothing!" "Then why?" Conar's voice came perilously close to the tears he could not shed. "Why have They hurt me so?" ---Again, Yuri shook his head. He understood what the man was asking, but he had no answers. He saw agony etched on that handsome, scarred face, watched the lips trembling with fury and pain. He could do nothing but stand there and shake his head when the man asking these torturous questions obviously needed answers. "They would not let me be with her in life, and They denied her to me in death. What more do They want of me? What else do I have to give?" Conar sank to his knees, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his guilt and pain. Yuri flung aside his sword and rushed forward, grabbing Conar even as he slid to the floor. He cradled the man's head against his wide chest, crooning, his own tears falling on the bright blond hair. "What more, indeed?" Yuri asked his own gods.

Chapter 20 Legion, with Teal, Roget, Grice, and Chand, stomped up the stairs and down the corridor to Conar's door. The two Outer Kingdom warriors on guard crossed their pikes to bar entrance into the room. "What is the meaning of this?" Legion bellowed. He attempted to thrust away the lethal-looking pikes, but the two hulks stepped closer together to block his entrance. "Get the hell out of my way!" The door opened. Yuri stared across the nexus of the pikes, then mumbled something in his foreign tongue. The two warriors snapped to attention and repositioned their pikes to a vertical rigidity that allowed Legion to enter the chamber. "Why did you keep my people out of this room?" Legion snarled as he hurried in. Roget's vile curse made him look back to see his men on the other side of the pikes, again crossed. He glared at Yuri. "Who the hell do you think you are?" "Your brother's man," came the sardonic reply. Yuri calmly shut the door in the faces of the other's. He threw the bolt for extra measure, then, folding his arms over his wide chest, he jerked his chin toward the bathing chamber. "He wash." "Who told you that you were in charge?" Yuri unfolded his right hand and jammed a thick thumb at his broad chest. "Me! I tell me!" The door to the bathing chamber opened. Conar stood framed in the late-morning illumination from the room's skylight. A towel enwrapped his waist, and he used another to dry his damp blond hair. Seeing Legion, he frowned.

"So, you're up, are you?" Querulous, Legion flung himself onto the settee by the fire. Conar entered the bedchamber and sat on the bed, vigorously drying his hair. When Conar didn't speak, Legion cast him an annoyed glance. "Have you eaten anything?" "Not yet." "Do you plan on starving yourself today, as well?" Calmly, Conar brought down the towel, folded it, and handed it to Yuri, who laid it aside. "Why are you so angry?" "Angry?" Legion flung out his hand. "I come home to hear that you're off limits to everyone in this keep but these"--he glared at Yuri--"thesemen! People are half out of their minds with worry because those barbarians won't let anyone check on you. Anything could have happened!" Yuri eyed Legion with obvious contempt. "He fine. We take care." Legion stood and walked to where Conar sat. "Marsh told me you had him literally thrown from this room. Is that true?" "Is true!" Yuri emphasized. "He deserve to be!" Legion stepped toward the man, unafraid of either his bulk or glower. "Marsh is the keep's Master-at-Arms! He's also one of the Wind Force...the man I left in charge to make sure Conar was safe!" He came within hitting range of the scowling Outer Kingdom Shadow-warrior. "Youdon't countermand my orders! Do you understand?" "I,his man!" Yuri growled. "I watch overhim!You, I no care about!" "Why, you..." Legion drew back his fist. "Stop," Conar calmly said. Legion turned around. Conar raised an eyebrow in warning. "That would not be wise." With a grunt of pure fury, Legion dropped his hand and put distance between himself and the menace smirking at him. He spat a vulgarity and plopped down on the settee so hard it skidded backward. Cramming his arms over his chest, he turned his full attention to Conar. "Did you tell him to keep people away from you?" "No, but it was just as well." "Why was Marsh thrown out of here?" "Yuri had his reasons." Before Legion could voice a retort, Conar held up his hand. "I had asked Marsh to leave several times and he didn't, so Yuri ushered him to the door." "Why?" "That's between Edan and me." Legion watched his brother stand and remove the towel from his waist. Though he had seen Conar naked many times since he returned from the Labyrinth, the livid scars criss-crossing Conar's back, turning it to a mass of puckered scar tissue, still made Legion cringe. He lowered his eyes as Conar accepted clothing Yuri handed him. "I'll be down in a bit," Conar said, stepping into his breeches. "There's something I want you to do for me before I leave." Legion's head snapped up. "Leave?" His brows drew together in an angry line. "And just where the hell do you think you're going?" "To Diabolusia." Legion shot up from the settee. "The hell you are!"

Conar shrugged. "You can't stop me. Besides, I won't be alone. Yuri and his men are going with me." "You aren't going anywhere!" Legion stomped across the room and put his heavy hand on Conar's bare shoulder. "Have you forgotten how much the King of Diabolusia hates us?" "He'll guarantee me safe passage." Conar pulled from Legion's grip and took a shirt from Yuri's hand. It wasn't until Conar pulled it over his head that Legion realized the material was a pale creamy yellow and the breeches were a dark tan corduroy. Conar, it seemed, had discarded the somber clothing of the Darkwind. The different colors of clothing gave Legion a feeling of betrayal, and he shook his head to dispel it. Not that he ever liked the black attire Conar had affected as the Darkwind. The ebon material never failed to give Legion the creeps, but this complete change unnerved him. He almost lost his train of thought, but his worry had not lessened. "You can't ride into Diabolusia without at least a heavy contingent of fighting men at your back. Why do you want to go there?" Conar tucked the shirt into his breeches, then nimbly buttoned his fly. "We have a couple of brothers there." "So Duncan said!" "They're there." Conar sat on the bed, then took one of the boots Yuri held out for him. The brown boot made Legion sigh, again making him feel a part of his life had gone forever. "Do you really think you're up to this?" Conar pulled on the second boot and stood, hitching up his breeches. He put a hand on Legion's shoulder. "Will you tell Sadie I'm starving and I'd like to eat before I go." "It's going to rain," Legion grumbled. "The damned weather followed us all the way from the funeral. By the time you eat, the storm will have started." He looked up with pleading. "Wait until tomorrow. Or until the weather improves. Please? What's a few days' delay in getting to that shitty place?" "I have my reasons for wanting to be there this weekend. Respect that, will you? For once?" Legion saw on his brother's face a firm resignation that hadn't been there for more than a month. He also saw the return of authority that he knew would brook no resistance. It would do no good to protest, but Legion would send more than Outer Kingdom thugs along with Conar, whether he wanted them or not! "How long are you going to be gone?" Legion conceded. "A week. Maybe two. It depends on how difficult it'll be to find them." He removed his hand from Legion's shoulder. "I intend to bring them home, if they'll come." "Whatever you think best." Legion cocked his head. "Your powers? They're gone, aren't they?" A look of intense relief passed over Conar's face. "I think they are." "Then how will you know if you're riding into danger?" "The same way any man knows. I'llbe all right." Before he could change his mind and have Conar locked up for safekeeping, Legion threw up his hands and went to the door. "Anything special you want for lunch?" "Chocolate cake." Legion's smile came slow, as did the burst of exasperated snorts, and the swinging of his head from side to side. But his mumbled "idiot" became a staccato of affection as he opened the door and ducked under the crossed pikes.

Chapter 21

Approaching the guard hut, Storm heard a royal commotion. "I can't let you in," a guard said for the fourth or fifth time. "That was the orders!" "Whose orders?" asked a woman. "Lord Teal." "Teal du Mer? That boy ain't never given an order on his own in his entire life! Who gave himhis orders?" The guard ran a trembling hand under his collar. Sweat dotted his upper lip. "I suppose it was the Duke. I don't know!" "Then you get the Duke down here to let me in! I ain't leaving 'til I see my boy!" "What's going on?" Storm asked, looking through the hut's grilled window. With her hands on her ample hips, Meggie Ruck glared at Storm. She thrust out her chin and pressed her lips so tightly together a white line circled her mouth. Her eyes shot venomous sparks. Storm smiled. "What are you doing here, Meg?" "Tell this jackal to move his scrawny arse out of my way, Storm Jale! I came to see my boy and there ain't a man in this pile of rubble that's gonna keep me from doing it!" "Let her in," Storm instructed the guard. "But, Lord Teal said..." "You want to explain to Conar why you kept his surrogate mother out of this keep?" Through the grill, Meggie poked a stiff finger into the guard's midsection, jabbing so hard he winced. "See!Open the goldarned door!" The man stepped back and did as she said. He turned hopeless eyes to Storm as Meggie marched into the keep. "It's all right," Storm assured him. "This keep ain't never been invaded before now!" Storm chuckled, clapping the man on his back. "Did I forget to tell you? Meggie Ruck's our secret weapon! There's not a keep in the land she can't breach!" **** Sadie MacCorkingdale kept a frozen smile on her face when King Legion said his brother would come down to eat. "Fix something special for him, huh, Sadie?" The King cupped her cheek with his big palm. "He's got to be starving." When he left her alone, Sadie hissed under her breath. "Oh, I'll fix him something special. I'll fix him a meal he won't soon forget!" As she stirred the gravy into a smooth river of creamy brown, she spat into the pot several times. She hawked up a slimy wad of yellowish phlegm and stirred it into the mashed potatoes. She gathered rat droppings from the pantry and mixed them with the peas, then dropped the sliced tomatoes onto the dusty floor of the creamery. "You won't even notice the dirt!" she snarled, peppering the rich red slices. "Just a bit of badly ground pepper, you'll think, you little son-of-a-bitch." Setting the plate on the kitchen table where she knew Conar would want to take his meal, she surveyed her handiwork

and felt good. But what she had in the pantry would put the finishing touches to his meal. "I'm gonna set your tail on fire!" She picked up the tankard of lemonade she had poured and carried it into the pantry. At the back of the little room, she rummaged behind spices until she found the six-inch, amber-colored vial of dark liquid. She started to pour the entire contents into the tankard. "What are you doing?" Yelping in surprise, Sadie spun around, her hand going to her throat, her fingers clutching the vial to her chest. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Conar standing in the doorway. "Lawd! You fair scared me to death!" She trembled from head to toe, terrified he had seen what she had done. He pointed to the vial in her hand. "What's in that?" Although his voice remained calm, only slightly inquisitive, Sadie saw the growing knowledge in his demon eyes. "What are you talking about?" Trying to laugh off the question, she brought down her hand, clutching the glass vial so tightly her fingers felt on fire with crippling arthritic pain. "Just a bit of lemon extract to spice up the drink." "Let me see." Sadie backed away. "See what?" Her heart thudded against her ribs. Although his face showed no anger, those eyes stripped her soul bare. "Ain't nothing to see, lad." With hand extended, Conar stepped into the pantry. "Give me what you've got." "What's going on?" Legion asked from the kitchen. "She put something in my drink." "No, I didn't!" Sadie said. "I was about to add extract when your brother scared the wits out of me." Legion entered the pantry. He picked up the tankard, lifted it to his nose, and shrugged. "It's lemonade, and she usually puts extract in it." "She was putting something in the drink--but not extract." "I don't know what you're implying." Sadie drew herself up, striving for intimidation. "What would I be putting into your drink?" "What, indeed? Give me the vial in your hand and we'll find out." Sadie sputtered, going soft and old-womanish. "Why are you trying to persecute me, Your Grace? All I was doing was trying to make your lemonade taste good. You know I wouldn't do nothing to harm you." "Not unless you thought you could get away with it," Teal du Mer sneered from the doorway. Sadie rushed forward, pushing both a surprised Legion and a silent Conar out of her way. She made it as far as the fireplace before Roget stopped her, dragging her around none-too-gently to face the others. "Get the vial!" Legion shouted. "Don't let her destroy it!" Sadie eyed the fireplace. Before she could act on impulse, Roget grabbed her arm. She yelped in pain as Teal pried the vial from her sore fingers. "I don't know how much was in here, but there's only an ounce left." Teal held the vial to his nose. "If it's extract, it's lost its scent." Conar walked out of the pantry and took the vial. He sniffed, then looked at Sadie. "What is this?" "I told you!"

"Poison?" Conar asked in a gentle yet knowing voice. "Of course not! You know better than that, Your Grace!" Teal snatched the vial from Conar's fingers. "Then it won't hurtyou to drink it, will it, old woman?" Before anyone could stop him, Teal dragged back Sadie's head and poured the vial's contents into her gaping, astonished mouth. She gagged as the liquid slid down her throat, choked, coughed, sprayed spittle and gasped for breath. "Damn it, Teal!" Conar growled. "The stuff could kill her!" Tears filled Sadie's eyes. " 'Tweren't nothing! 'Tweren't poison or the like!" Teal glared at her. "We'll soon see, won't we?" As du Mer predicted, Sadie felt the concentrated potion go to work almost immediately in her weakened, aged body. ---The cook's eyes took on a sheen of pure malevolence. Her lips pulled back in a fierce snarl. Two spots of high color shot to her sunken cheeks, and her nostrils quivered with rage. "It wouldn't have kilt the little bastard!" she shouted. "Ain't never done all that much harm to him that I could ever see!" "You've given him this before?" Roget asked. "Ain't never hurt him before. Ain't meant to do nothing but spur him on!" Her giggle sounded evil, as dry as an arid wasteland. Her nose lifted. "Ain't no poison, Your High and Mighty Worship," she spat at Conar. "Just a little bit of something to cause you grief!" Conar eyed the vial in Teal's hand. "What's in it, then?" Legion asked, gripping Conar's shoulder. "I don't know," he said. "Get Jah-Ma-El." His brother dashed from the room. Sadie glared at Conar with such hatred, such loathing, it staggered him. He viewed her spite, heard her curses, and wondered how he could have overlooked this old woman's utter hated of him. She struggled against Roget's hold. "You ain't nothing but a good-for-nothing shit! Whoring and drinking and getting babes on women who trusted you! Using them like common trollops, although they be good girls! Tempting them with that body of yours. You're the devil, you are! The demon from the Pit, you are!" Jah-Ma-El rushed in with Legion. "Give me the vial." He sniffed the top, frowned, then turned over the bottle. A single drop of purple fluid dripped into his palm. He swung his head toward Sadie. "The bitch was going to lace your drink with tenerse!" "What the hell is tenerse?" Legion growled. "Poison?" "No, not poison. It does a variety of things when mixed with different liquids. It can be a powerful sedative, or an even more potent narcotic. If you mix it in milk, you've got one of the most incendiary aphrodisiacs known to modern man." Conar's eyes widened. How many times had Sadie given him this drug? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Had she given it to him before he raped Elizabeth? When he had been violent with Gezelle? He stared in disbelief at the woman smirking at him. "Yeah," she spat, "you understand, now, don't you, you little bastard? I been giving that to you for years!" Looking intent on strangling the bitch, Jah-Ma-El started forward, but Legion grabbed him. "You don't know what that stuff can do to him!" Jah-Ma-El yelled, trying to pull out of Legion's hold. "It can make a man so angry," Conar said in a hollow, wooden voice, "so vicious with that anger, he is capable of

doing just about...anything." He hung his head and sat in a chair. "And he won't even know why." "I can tell you why!" Sadie shrieked. "You want to know?" She jerked out of Roget's grip and rushed forward, her hands raised into claws, going for Conar's face. He stood up so fast, his chair flew backward. He grasped her wrists to keep her from gouging his eyes. Staggering from her momentum, he pulled her against his chest. "Get your hands off me!" she screamed into his face, kicking out at him, jerking in his hold. "Get your filthy hands off me!" As Legion and Roget tugged Sadie away from Conar, she spat a mouthful of saliva in his face. "I hate you!" she screeched. "I hate you!" With trembling fingers, Conar wiped away the spittle running down his cheek. He stared at the woman, seeing her insane fury, watching with stunned fascination as she bucked and twisted against Legion and Roget. His face crinkled. "Why? What have I ever done to you?" "What have you done? What have you done?" Spittle flew from her mouth as she struggled to get to him. "You killed my Joannie! That's what you done!" "Joannie?" Conar asked, startled and bewildered. "I'd never have hurt Joannie." "You did!" Sadie roared. "You might not have had the knife in your hand, but you killed her just the same!" "What the hell are you talking about?" Legion shouted. "Joannie jumped off the Bumsford bridge. She killed herself. Conar had nothing to do with that. Hell, he wasn't even in Serenia when it happened!" Sadie's face glowed with evil. "He killed my baby! He killed my daughter! Might as well have plunged that knife in her as not!" "I could never have hurt Joannie, Sadie. We were friends." "Friends?" Her voice lowered to a venomous hiss. "Oh, you was friends, all right. That girl worshipped the ground you walked on, she did. It was always...'His Grace, this,' and 'His Grace, that'! She took to stealing things of yours, keeping them in her room, mooning over them. You'd pass by, smile that wicked smile, and she'd sigh like her heart was gonna break. Sheloved you, and you didn't even care! She was just one more light-o'-skirt to you, wasn't she?" Conar shook his head. "Joannie was only twelve. When I realized she had a crush on me, I tried to keep away. I didn't want her to get hurt." "But it didn't keep you from messing with her, did it!" Across the room, Teal gasped. Conar stared at the woman. "I never--" "You took her! Iknow you took her," she spat. "When you found out she had your get in her belly, you rode off to Virago to see your cousins! Everybody knew how you felt about your women getting with babe by you. Once you got them seeded, you'd have nothing more to do with them." A hitching sob shattered her voice. She spat like a cat, while tears ran down her weathered cheeks. "Joannie thought if she could but get rid of the babe, you'd come back to her." Out of the corner of his eye, Conar saw Teal slide down the wall, hands pressed against his ears, as if shutting out Sadie's fevered words. A whimper escaped his throat, but no one except for Conar seemed to notice. Teal looked into Conar's eyes, then turned away, guilt written on his face. Conar's gaze slid back to Sadie. "So she went to that old hag over to Bumsford. Rode all the way there that night." Sadie's mouth twisted with remembered pain. "Got rid of it, she did. Swept it down the privy." Her lips trembled. "Just like little Gezelle swept away her babe when you gother with child."

Blood rushed from Conar's face. Sadie sagged in Roget's arms. "She came home sick and still bleeding. I made her tell me what she'd done, who'd knocked her up. She confessed. I told her what a foolish thing she'd done. You wasn't going to have nothing to do with her, I tells her. Not you, not His High and Mighty Prince Conar. I told her once you found out what she'd done, you'd probably have her whipped for destroying a royal bastard." Conar closed his eyes. He could see Joannie MacCorkingdale's face, sweet and tender, so full of life and trust and charity. He supposed if he listened hard, he would probably hear her giggles. She had always been shy, a bit on the fearful side, but there had been good reason for that. He'd always tried to talk with a gentle voice to her, to encourage her at the drawings she loved to do. He had even convinced the castellan to find her a job in the keep so she could be near her mother. But not once, in all the years he knew her, had Conar ever touched her with anything but affection and respect. He'd make her laugh, or tease her into a better mood if he'd seen her moping about. He knew she had a difficult life, and he wanted to do nothing to make it worse. After all, at ten years of age, she'd been raped by one of the Temple guards. She had born a son--Robbie MacCorkingdale--who'd been taken away at birth and installed at the Wind Temple at King Gerren's request so the girl could hope to have a better life. When Joannie had killed herself, Conar had been sixteen. "Conar would havenever done such a thing!" Legion yelled at the old woman. "You told that child a lie, just to make Conar look bad." "I didn't need to make him look bad! He'd gotten my girl pregnant and left her. It broke her heart. She killed herself when she realized he wouldn't ever marry her!" "Marry her?" Legion gasped. "Joannie knew better than that!" "He told her he'd marry her! He said he'd make her his little princess. She told me!" Conar stared at Teal. He said nothing until the others, save Sadie, realized where his attention had gone. When Teal found the men looking at him, he got uneasily to his feet. "Is there more to this than what Sadie knows?" Jah-Ma-El asked. "Du Mer? Is there something you want to say?" Teal shook his head. Tears flowed down his cheeks. He backed toward the door. "I've got nothing to say. Nothing at all." "Teal weren't in on what was done to my girl!" Sadie sobbed, her loud slurps heart-breaking. "Ain't no man to blame for killing her but Conar McGregor!" "Teal?" Roget asked. "I know nothing!" Teal shouted, jerking open the door. He turned, fleeing. "Nothing!" "Conar?" Legion asked. "What's--" "It doesn't matter." Conar held up his hand. "The damage has been done. Nothing can change it." Sadie went berserk with grief. "Oh, by the gods, will you listen to him? All mealy-mouthed and sad-sounding. Do you think me so old I don't know when you're play-acting? All your life you've been fooling people, you demon. You have 'em thinking you're so good and brave." "That's enough!" Legion yelled. "Let her have her say," Conar interrupted. "It's been a long time in coming." "Aye," Sadie snarled, "you've got nearly all of 'em fooled. All but the likes of me! I've always seen right through you. You're vile and evil and mean as sin. You're arrogant beyond belief, thinking whatever woman you want should throw her legs in the air to you! You think you can just crook your finger and have any woman panting and lifting her skirt! Well, maybe you can! Maybe there are women who'd lay with the devil for a few coppers." Her face broke into a malicious grin. "But look what it is you've done to them women when they allow themselves to be used by you!" Outside the kitchen window, lightning flared through the heavens. A moment later came the booming echo of thunder.

A deluge of pounding rain struck the walls of the keep. "Every woman you've ever had dealings with has suffered because of you." "Shut your damned mouth!" Jah-Ma-El shouted. "You've been the pain, sorrow, and death of every woman that's loved you. Beginning with your mama dying because you wouldn't do what you was told, right on down to that wee baby Nadia, who had her throat slit ear to ear because of you!" Jah-Ma-El jerked Sadie out of Roget's hold and backhanded her. "Shut up!" She fell to the floor, holding her torn and bleeding lip, then fixed her vicious stare on Conar. "You were the death of poor little Ambie and now you'll be the death of me!" She cackled. "But I ain't never loved you!" Conar gripped Jah-Ma-El's raised fist. "Leave her alone." "Conar, the woman is--" Roget began. "Leave her alone." "She can't be allowed to stay here," Jah-Ma-El protested. Conar looked at Sadie. His lids flickered as she spat at him, a thin glob of spittle landing on his boot. He just stood there, trying to understand. Legion tried to draw Conar's attention away from the hag. "We'll get her out of the keep. We'll--" "No. This is her home. She was born here, and she'll be allowed to die here. Just leave her alone. Let her go back to work." "You can't be serious!" Jah-Ma-El bellowed. Stark pain and guilt ravaged, devastated, Conar's soul, along with agonizing feelings of betrayal and helplessness. But he shed no tears, for he had none left to shed. "But I am serious," he said, his words soft, tortured. "She's never hurt any of you. She's not likely to, now." When he turned away, he met Roget's gaze. "Make sure no one bothers her. I mean that." "You think I'll forgive you 'cause you allow me to stay?" Sadie yelled as he walked away. "I won't ever forgive you! You've got my gal's blood on your hands! I'll hate you 'til the day I die and curse you after that!" Conar kept walking, his spine straight, his shoulders squared, but his heart shattered and bleak. "You killed Joannie and you killed our beloved Liza!" He stopped dead in his tracks and turned. Sadie filled in the stunned silence with a high-pitched squeal of delight. "She died because of your evil jealousy. If you'd left her with herrightful husband, she wouldn't have been killed. She'd be alive if she'd stayed with the children you made orphans and--" Jah-Ma-El's fist rammed straight into Sadie's face, cutting off her words. Conar's entire body quivered with the same ferocity as when he had been strapped to the whipping post years before. He could even feel the sting of the lash dragging across his flesh. His lips trembled, his face blanched with agony, and his hands convulsed at his side. "Conar?" Legion whispered. Another crack of lightning shrieked outside; rain battered the window. Booming thunder shook the keep's foundation. Conar turned to the window, saw the flare of light, and spun on his heel, a groan of agony forcing its way up his throat. Hearing his name shouted behind him, he lunged into the service hall and ran headlong into the main vestibule. He jerked open the front door, barely seeing Meggie as he dashed into the rain.

---"Conar!" Legion's bootheels struck the marble floor with sharp raps as he skidded into the main vestibule. "Where'd he go?" Meggie pointed mutely to the open portal, then watched as man after man fled the keep, running blindly into the storm. She walked to the door, wondering what had happened to her boy now. Peering into the harsh slant of drumming rain, she could barely make out the men standing outside one of the covered walkways and pointing at the sky. "Sweet Merciful Alel." She drew her shawl around her and took the walkway toward the men. Her heart pounded as she neared them. "Conar!" Legion shouted. The men took off running for another walkway. Meggie hurried after them, wading through standing water, frowning at the feel of her slippers getting soaked. She entered the connecting corridor between the smithys and the medical wing just as the men vaulted up the stairs. "He's on the barbican!" someone shouted. Meggie felt the blood drain from her face and increased her speed. ---Legion gasped for breath by the time he and the others reached the outer stairs and came out on the battlements. "How the hell did he get up here this fast?" Roget asked, his own breath coming in puffs that frosted the air. Legion ran toward the southern part of the battlements, to the guard towers and barbican. He squinted into the pouring rain and saw Conar on the top portion of the fortification, his bare feet planted on two of the jagged upthrusts of the crenelated coping. His boots lay discarded at the base of the tower. "Oh, my god!" Roget gasped as Conar stripped off his shirt. Legion watched as Conar tossed it away, watched as it caught on a gust of wind and sailed into nothingness. Lightning zapped the air, stung the ground, shrieked like the dead turning restlessly in their graves. The portion of the North Boreal Sea that passed under the bridge leading into the keep began heaving. Waves lashed upward, licking at the old stones, flowing over the wooden planking of the drawbridge. Below the barbican's cylindrical structure, jagged black rocks shone evilly in the harsh flare of lightning. "Conar!" Legion shouted, cupping his mouth to be heard above the storm's roar. "Come down!" High above, Conar spread his arms wide to the heavens, let his head fall back, and prepared to jump to the craggy rocks below.

Chapter 22 Meggie stopped on the last step and leaned against the rain-slick stones of the outer staircase. She hung her head, bending over with her right hand on the slimy wall. Rain trickled down the neck of her gown. She panted from the exhaustive climb. A stitch ached her side, pain thudded in her calves, and she wheezed as she struggled to rest. When she heard her lad's name yelled repeatedly, she lifted her head.

"Sweet Merciful Alel." She pushed herself away from the wall. "I'm too old for this." On the battlements, she saw men huddled together, staring upward, oblivious to the drenching rain. She peered through the gloom, letting her vision go up, up, up, then drew in a breath of sheer terror. Her fat little legs pumped beneath the hem of her soaked gown as she hurried forward. "Just what is it he thinks he's doing?" she snarled, pushing aside Thom Loure and Storm Jale as she barreled her way through the men. "Conar!" Legion yelled again. "Please come down!" The wind staggered Conar on the barbican walkway. "Please come down, indeed!" Meggie snorted, furiously gripping Legion's sleeve and jerking his arm. When he turned angry eyes to her, she lifted her nose and fixed him with a withering look. "Please come down?" she mimicked. His face turned livid with rage. "Do yousee where he is, woman?" "I seewhere he is, Your Lordship. Whatmade him go up there, is what I want to know!" Legion snarled and cursed under his breath. He jerked his arm from her grasp and pointed toward Conar's precarious stance. "Do you know how dangerous that is? And here you are, asking foolish questions! Get yourself downstairs and leave this to us." "No!" someone shouted. Meggie's head jerked upward. Conar inched forward, hooking his toes over the rim of the stone. "Oh, my god!" Legion whispered. "He's going to jump!" "Like hell he is!" Meggie shoved the stupid man out of her way. She took two steps forward, cupped her hands to her mouth, and in a voice designed to make a man cringe, she yelled, "Conar McGregor, you stay right where you are!" Conar actually hesitated at her sharp command. Legion strode forward. "Woman, I said leave this to us and--" Meggie spun around and leveled him with a malicious stare. "You want him to jump, do you, Legion A'Lex?" "You know better!' "Then, letme handle this! The lad'll listen to me where he won't to you!" "For the love of Alel, Legion, let her try," Jah-Ma-El insisted. "What harm can it do?" Legion studied Meggie's furious expression. "All right," he said grudgingly. "If you think you can get that stupid shit--" "Watch your mouth!" Meggie corrected. Legion blushed. "Go ahead and try it!" She turned her back on him, walked a few steps closer to the tower, and craned her head to look up. "What are you doing up there?" Conar stood like a statue, arms lifted to the heavens, palms up, head back, rain falling harshly in his face. His long blond hair streamed with water; his flesh glistened with it. His light brown breeches had turned a dark umber. But he didn't move, didn't even wobble as he offered his body to the flashing fire hurling from the heavens. "Don't you ignore me, mister!" Meggie yelled. "You turn your butt around and look down at me!" ---Conar heard her, the woman he had come to consider one of his own, the woman who had acted like the mother he

had been so long denied. Despite the flashing lightning and booming thunder, he heard everything she yelled at him. He also heard the pique in her voice, the fear in Legion's. But he didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter to him anymore. "Conar! Goddamn it, boy! Turn your ass around now!" He lowered his head and stared at the crashing waves below. The jagged points of those beckoning black rocks poked menacingly from beneath the foaming, lashing water. He knew if he fell, he'd splatter like an overripe watermelon. "If you don't turn around, I'll never speak to you again!" "If I jump, I won't have to worry about it!" He flinched at his callous, arrogant words. He could picture Meggie's livid countenance, almost hear her snort of absolute exasperation, and almost smiled. But his smiles, like his tears, no longer came easily. And along with the vision of her anger came the certain knowledge that he scared her. For a woman her age, fright could be deadly. He sighed. "Why can't I just be left alone?" he whispered. He looked at the heavens, blinking against the water pelting his face. "Can You tell me why, Alel?" A crooked bolt of lightning sped from the gray, whirling sky. It speared into the depths of the moat, kicking up brackish water. "Because you're not alone!"came the answering thunder that jolted the wall on which he stood. Conar shivered, feeling the cold. For the first time since fleeing the kitchen, he came to his full senses when a blast of arctic wind licked his naked chest. More annoyed than numb, he slowly lowered his arms, denying the heavens his bodily sacrifice. He bobbled, hearing gasps from the crowd staring up at him. He steadied himself, inched his toes from the overhang, and turned. Instead of looking at those below, he stared across the battlements, his focus going unerringly to the pennants. The McGregor family standard. His and Legion's. "You are not alone..."the strange, stiff wind howled again. He peered down at Meggie's dear face, seeing her instant relief before she schooled her expression into a mask of anger. Again, he almost smiled. "Get down!" she scolded. "Right now. This instant!" His lips twitched. She was treating him like a child. His left brow rose. Like the child he was. A guilty blush spread over his cheeks as he looked from one face to the other, and the guilt drove deeper. Sentian, who helped save his life at the Monastery. Roget, who saved his life at the Labyrinth. Legion, who had once shared his own blood and breathed life into him to keep him alive. Storm, who once took a beating for him because he was too ill to withstand another lashing from Lydon's whip. Thom, who once took a quarrel meant for him. Marsh, who saved his sanity many times with his laughing ways and steadfast ingenuity. Gezelle, who had held him, bathed him, slept with him, loved him, and conceived his child. Meggie, who treated him like the son she never had, who loved him as much as he loved her. And off to the side stood the men of the Outer Kingdom, who had given up their country, their homes, their hearths, and their families to come to a strange land to protect him.

"Do you still believe you are alone, Conar?" No, he thought, he was not alone. "Nor will I ever allow you to be, my son." "Well?" Meggie snapped. "What in the blazes are you waiting for? A damned engraved invitation? Come down from there before you're toasted like a meringue!" He started, his father's long-ago words shooting up to him on a chill current of air. The memory of that storm-swept day when he had wanted to ride to Ivor to be with Liza came back to haunt him. His lips twitched again, and he began climbing down. ---Meggie didn't dare breathe until her lad alighted at the foot of the barbican. She glanced at Legion, saw his obvious relief turn to immense anger, and grabbed his arm. "Leave him to me." She stepped toward Conar, his face emblazoned with guilt, and held out her arms. "Come here, lad." Conar hesitated only a fraction of a second before he came forward. As if uncertain, he stopped and looked at her. For a moment, with his hair plastered to his cheeks and forehead, he looked so lost, so helpless. He sank to his knees and put his arms around her waist, turning his scarred cheek into the fabric of her wet gown. Her hands smoothed his wet tresses, and she cooed softly to him. After a moment, she pulled back. "Well, now. Have you had enough of a bath, or do you intend to stay out here until you're the color of a fish belly?" **** Meggie shut the door, blotting out the angry, surprised, confused faces of the men who had followed them to Conar's chambers. She threw the bolt, turned, and folded her arms over her bosom. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get out of them wet clothes." Conar looked at her and blushed. Meggie snorted. "Get those gods-be-damned breeches off. You're puddling up the floor!" "Meggie, I--" "Get 'em off, I said! You ain't got nothing I ain't seen before, and believe me when I tell you, Conar McGregor, it's no big deal!" Her nose twitched as his blush deepened to acute embarrassment. He slipped on a robe, then unbuttoned his breeches, turning so the robe would hide him from her. He stepped out of the damp clothing, secured the robe, then spun around, startled that she now stood beside him. She snatched the sopping clothing from his hand. "Go on with you. Get in the bed." She draped the breeches over a chair before the fire. Conar looked at the mattress, down at his bare legs and feet, then glanced at her. "I'll keep my back turned!" she snapped with exasperation. Before she could move, however, he took off the robe, crawled into the bed, then pulled the covers to his waist. He sat against the headboard and folded his hands in his lap. Meggie knew he was waiting. She also knew what had sent him scurrying to the top of that hellish tower. While the relieved crowd had escorted Conar to his chambers, Sentian told Meggie the whole story. Before, she'd felt anger; now, she felt fury. Not with Conar, but with the bitch who'd caused the boy's latest troubles. If there was anything he didn't need right now, it was more trouble. And anyone who gave it to him was permanently placed on Meggie's black

list. But, she thought, as she walked to his bed,that would have to wait. She pulled up a chair and sat down, gazing at him with a steady look that made him lower his head. "Don't scold me," he pleaded, studying the floral pattern on the coverlet with an intensity that amused her. "Wasn't planning on it." Her expression softened when he covered his face with his hands. She tugged at the restrictive fingers. "Take down your hands. Come on. Take 'em down." When his hands slid away from his face, he looked at her with such bleak hurt, it brought a moan of sympathy from her lips. "It got too much for you, didn't it? Things went a wee ways beyond your ability to control 'em, didn't they?" His pleading look for understanding cut her to the quick. "I know, baby." She cupped his cheek in her hand. "I know." "I feel like I'm losing my mind, Meg. A heartbeat at a time." Meggie smiled. "It feels that way, Sweeting, but it ain't so." She took his hand in hers. "You see this hand, lad? This is one of the strongest hands I've ever seen. And you know what? It's attached to one of the strongestmen I've ever seen." "I don't feel so strong, Meggie." "Maybe not now, but you will. It'll take a while, son. Every sorrow takes time to heal, but it will. Just you wait and see, now." He looked up at her from the sweep of his lashes. "I have to get out of here. Help me get out of here. Please!" "On one condition." She laid his hand on the coverlet, but would not let it go. "That you not ever do something so patently selfish and stupid again." He shook his head. "I won't." "Or nothing like it, either!" "You don't have to worry. Itwas a stupid thing to have done." "Aye, it was!" "Is there anything else?" he asked. "I just have two questions for you. Just what was it you were thinking when you was gallivanting up there, or am I flattering you?" ---There it was again, he thought, the hair on his arms and neck crinkling. Meggie's words sounded so close to his father's, it was eerie. Were these phrases standard parental reprimands? Did every father and mother use them? Would he do the same when Corbin and Regan and Little Brelan were older? He didn't remember saying such things to Wyn, but then he had not been there when Wyn reached his majority, had not seen the young man in five years, not since he had left him in Chrystallus, madly in love with Shalu's daughter. "My father used to ask me the same thing," he admitted. "That's because he, too, probably suspected you was addled!" "Addled?" he asked, wondering if he mayhave leapt over the boundary between sanity and madness for a time. "Well, maybe not addled," she amended. "Maybe it was just that you'd been pushed one time too many?" He nodded. Aye, he had been. "Well, don't you be worrying about it." She stood and adjusted the bedcovers. "You sit right there until Gezelle brings up your food. From today on,I'll be doing the cooking in this keep!"

"Meg, you've got the inn. I can't let you--" "You got no say in it!" She shook a finger at him. "Your brother hired me and that's all there is to it." "Legion had no right to hire--" "Jah-Ma-El did!" "Sadie is--" "No longer in charge of the kitchens!" Meggie snarled. "And before you get on that high horse of yours that you've been known to gallop on, ain't nobody turned the bitch out of this keep. She's just not going to be allowed to do her dirty work to anyone else as long as there's breath in this body of mine!" Heat rose in his cheeks. "And just whatwill she be allowed to do?" "Jah-Ma-El put her in charge of the ladies who do mending and such." Conar snorted. "She doesn't know the first thing about--" "Don't matter! You didn't want her thrown to the dogs--where she rightly belongs, I might add!--so we put her where she won't be no danger to no one!" Conar clamped his mouth shut and stared at her. "That's better," she said, as if sensing he'd given in. "Harry and me are getting too old to put up with the drunks and sots at the inn, so we'll turn it over to our daughters to run. Since my daughters don't like Dorrie, she can come here to work with the other scullery maids." "Would you like to reorganize my entire staff while you're at it?" he snapped, the old arrogance returning, despite his best intentions. "Might not be a bad idea, at that. Thank you for giving me your permission. Not that I needed it, you understand." His mouth dropped open when she waddled across the room and opened the door. She looked back at him. "I'm grateful to the gods and Their ladies and every other spirit out there today that you didn't slip on that wall, son." Her eyes misted. "I don't know what I'd have done if you had." Before she could cry, she hurried out the door and closed it behind her. Her footsteps sounded like hard slaps on the corridor. Conar heard a murmur of voices outside the door and knew his Outer Kingdom keepers stood in place. He looked out the window, where flashes of lightning still lit the sky. The rain had dwindled to a mere downpour, and the thunder rolled far off in the distance now. The room felt chill, but the blazing fire in the hearth brought back some of the feeling to his fingers and toes. "Thank you," he said to the stillness as he burrowed under the covers. **** Conar thought he was dreaming, but the faint touch on his brow felt too real. His lids fluttered open, and he stared into emerald green eyes that looked down with warmth and affection. "Go away, Raphaella," he said, fear and hopelessness rising in his voice. Her appearance was all he needed. "Shush, now." She smoothed the worry lines on his forehead with her fingers. He flinched, but her hand trailed down his cheek and came to rest on his shoulder. "Please, don't," he begged, too tired to fight. She shook her head. The long mane of black hair swung behind her delicate shoulders, issuing the faint scent of

lavender. "I did not come to trouble you, Sweeting. I came to say that you will always be welcome at World's End." "You got what you wanted from me." "Aye, the babe." She caressed his shoulder. "Our babe." "Why do you torture me?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "I am not trying to hurt you. What you did this morning brought the greatest fear to my heart. I wanted to make sure you never do that again." "I won't..." "That silly old woman was right, you know. You are a strong man, but your hands aren't the only strong part of you, Conar Aleksandro. You have such strong shoulders, too, Sweeting." Her hand felt soft on his flesh. She cupped his chin and brought his reluctant face toward her. When their eyes met, she smiled. "They are strong shoulders, but they are not strong enough to hold the entire weight of the misery that has settled once more upon them." "I'll survive," he said, bitterly. "I know, but I want you to understand something. Whenever that pain gets to be too much...when your shoulders finally sag beneath the weight of the suffering the gods heap upon them...when the pain is so hopeless you can no longer bear to see each new day begin, I will be waiting for you." "Why?" he asked, confusion and disbelief mixed in his weary voice. "To give you the peace you have earned, my warrior." She smoothed the hair from his forehead. "We will both be waiting...your son and I." "Son?" "I named him Rayne." He looked away from her. "The name is acceptable." "You have asked yourself thousands of times why I took a child from you, haven't you, Sweeting? And why I took him from you in such an unkind way." She softly touched his lips. "Would you have willingly lain with me?" He vigorously shook his head. She nodded. "That is why I went about it the way I did." Her fingertips moved to his neck, across his collarbone. She stroked his shoulder. "I wanted a child of yours, from your loins. It was because I knew I would lose Elizabeth. That we both would." He squeezed his eyes shut. A whimper of pain came from his clenched teeth as sorrow welled in his heart. "Remember what I have told you, Conar," she said, her voice fading to a whisper. When he opened his eyes, only the faintest scent of lavender remained. "Remember...I will be waiting..."

Chapter 23

Conar McGregor was a man tortured by his loneliness, a man humbled by his grief. His existence had become an agony, his every waking breath an effort. And, he thought as he gazed out his window at the gently falling rain, his knees had finally been brought to earth by the extent of his loss. His head bowed beneath the weight of sorrow, and his shoulders slumped from the pressure of solitude. What others had failed to do to him, Liza's loss had, at last, accomplished. He looked at his palms, palms that no longer bore the heavy scars of the Domination's Seal against their magic, palms that only bore the crescent-shaped birthmarks that had named him Prince of the Wind. His hands were no different than Legion's or Teal's or Sentian's, now. They did not mark him a sorcerer, for his power had fled, dropping into the Maelstrom with his lady. His power, what he had of it, had been channeled through her. A wry laugh came from his twisted mouth. That was something Occultus had failed to mention all those years ago in the Temple at Chrystallus. As far as Conar had known, the power instilled in him that night was to be forever. Now, like the love he had possessed, it was gone. The power had been something he had neither asked for nor wanted. It had been a simple fact all his life, and now that it was gone, he did not miss it nor long for its return. If anything, he viewed the loss as a blessing. His life, now as normal as his childhood had ever allowed it to be, was his once more. "The Domination is dead," Roget had stated only that morning. "There are no followers left for Robert MacCorkingdale to lead. Don't worry. We'll find the bastard, and when we do, we'll hang him from the highest tree!" Conar shrugged, turning from the window. What did it matter now? He looked at the room his father and mother had slept in for many years. His vision scanned the heavy oaken bed, the damask draperies, the wool carpet that covered most of the polished pine floor. He swept his eyes over the portraits that hung on the walls: himself, Galen, Coron and Dyllon, their wives. He would not look at Liza's portrait. It hurt too much. He sat on the bed, closing his heart to the sound of silence. "Oh, Liza," he whispered, squeezing his hands between his thighs. "I miss you, Sweeting." Idly, he wondered why he could not cry. The gods knew he had tried, but he could not squeeze a single tear from his eyes. His heart ached so badly he thought he would choke from the feeling, but there seemed to be no way he could relieve that hurt. And he found he could sleep no more than an hour or two each night. Most evenings found him staring blindly at whatever point he turned toward. What little appetite he had seemed to sustain him. The hunger rumbling in his body was not for food, but for an end to the numbness encasing his soul. He knew if he could justfeel, he could cry. He fell sideways and brought his legs up onto the bed. Turning onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. Terrible loneliness and sorrow filled his soul, dark with bleakness. A low moan fled on a long breath, and he pressed his cheek into the coolness of the pillow. "Why, Liza? Why?" He buried his face in the silken coverlet, his mind bombarded by the problems, questions, and demands that had come to him since Liza's death. "Do you have time to talk about..." "I want your opinion on..." "Conar, it's concerning..." "What do you think should be done in regard to..." "Thom has this idea about the traitor..." On and on it went. Person after person coming to him, laying their concerns at his bedside. Time after time he asked them to leave him alone, yet they had not. His head spun with all the questions, demanding he make decisions he was in no condition to make, wanting him to rejoin the living. "Stop it!" he had yelled only that morning. "I can't take any more!"

And yet, it went on. **** In the smoldering ruins of the Monastery high atop Mount Serenia, within the collapsed and burned-out walls of the Ritual Chamber far beneath the sacristy, a figure grasped a black cloak tightly around himself to ward off the underground chill. A bestial snarl poured from his throat, and his hands throbbed where he had bitten his nails into the quick. Nearly insane with rage, he paced the litter-strewn floor and turned occasionally to view the destruction around him. The black altar lay split in twain, its base toppled against a wall. The statue of Raphian had been crushed. The pentagram had been nearly obliterated by the sword points, which had defaced the magical lettering. Bent and twisted, the candelabrum lay scattered about the floor, candles stomped into waxy dust by vicious bootheels. A growl of savagery issued from the man's tightly clenched teeth. He spun around, his face throbbing with revenge. He mumbled phrases that had no real meaning, not really even words. "Damn you, Conar McGregor," he shouted. "Damn you to eternal agony!" He sank to the cold floor and threw back his head. "We took everything we could away from you and still you refused to join us! We took the one thing you cherished most and yet you would fight us still!" He bent over, his arms wrapped around his shivering body. "Why?" A cold wind whistled over the room, echoed through collapsed tunnels. The rich smell of lavender filled the air, and a lilting laugh seemed to linger on the wind. Robbie MacCorkingdale stared with fright around him. "Go away, you filthy bitch! We will win, yet! I will win!" The lavender scent wafted all around him, while the laughter seemed to seep into the very marrow of his bones, coming at him from every direction at once. "Never," the soft voice whispered in warning. "Never!" **** "They say he does not leave his bedroom, Master." Rasheed Falkar dipped his head in honor. "He takes his meals there and has not been outside the keep since he tried to jump from the battlements." "They should have let him," Prince Guil remarked. "I think not," another man answered in an amused voice. "It would have put an end to my revenge." Prince Guil looked at his friend. "Youstill want the man?" "Now, more than ever." He got up and stood at the window of his fortress, his lips forming a nasty smile. "He hasn't seen true pain yet."

Chapter 24 Chand watched her crying and wondered why he felt nothing. He had come to her, angry and hurt, and she confirmed what Sadie had said. "Why?" he shouted. "Why did you do it?" Gezelle hung her head, her face destroyed at his look of utter disgust. "He ordered me to..." "You could have come to Oceania. I would have taken you in." He paced the floor before her, his shoulders bunched

with fury. "To destroy an innocent life..." "Conar wanted--" "Conar! Conar! Conar! It's always Conar, isn't it?" His hand swept the air as though to rid it of Conar's name. "It is always whathe wants! Whathe needs!" His eyes filled with tears. "Would it have been him that you thought of when I made love to you?" Gezelle's head came up. "Have been?" she asked in a small voice. "Aye, Madame. Past tense! Do you think I would marry you now? Knowing you killed an innocent babe to stay with its father? And a married man, at that!" She shook her head. "You don't understand!" "You're right! And I never will!" Now, watching her cry, he wondered if it had really been love that made him dream of her night after night, that kept him alive in the Labyrinth. And if, indeed, it had been love, he wondered if that love survived only because this woman loved Conar as much as he, himself, once had. Was that the only common ground they had shared? If so, it had vanished. Had shattered beyond repair. As much as he had loved Conar, he now despised him. "Go to him, why don't you?" he snarled. "Lethim dry your tears!" Spinning on his heel, he marched from the room, his angry strides tapping hard on the marble floor. He snatched open the door, skipped heavily down the outside steps, and headed blindly for the stable, shouting for his stallion. "Where're you going?" Storm asked, looking up from mending his scabbard. "Home!" **** Gezelle sat alone, her love for Chand dwindling by the moment. She wiped a trembling hand over her face and stared out through the camouflage of her fingers. The viciousness in his tone had been bad enough, but his apparent disgust had been something else. It had cut her to the quick, and the wound's exposed nerve-endings throbbed with pain. Why didn't he try to understand? Or had he wanted an excuse, any excuse, to rid himself of her? "If that's what you want," she whispered, "then that is the way it shall be." Slowly she got up and smoothed her skirt. She adjusted the bodice and straightened the cuffs, then raised her head, sniffed, and rubbed away a recalcitrant tear threatening to fall. Stiffening her spine, she threw back her shoulders and headed for Conar's room. **** The dark, smoky tavern smelled of unwashed bodies and overpowering filth, its sullenness and sneakiness making Meggie Ruck cautious. She kept constant watch as she sat at the dirty table and waited for the man she had come to see. When a blowsy tavern wench, well past her prime and wearing enough makeup for six women, came to take her order, Meggie turned up her nose. "I'm waiting for someone." "You got to drink if you sit," came the shrill, tired answer. "Then give me an ale!" Meggie snapped, turning her face from the woman's pathetic countenance, whose stench could have knocked over any decent woman. Meggie drew a copper from her reticule, slapping it down with a grimace of distaste when her fingers touched the table's grimy surface. She quickly withdrew her hand, rubbing it vigorously on her skirt. Even so, she could feel the contact, despite the hasty cleaning. "You ought not to be in here," the wench said. "Ain't no place for a decent woman to be." Meggie squinted through the musty haze, watching the thin, frail woman plod wearily away. She noticed a bone-tired slump to the wench's shoulders and made a mental note to speak to her when she finished business with the man who

was already ten minutes late. As though her thoughts had conjured him, he slipped into the tavern and looked around. His dark face turned in Meggie's direction. He scuttled forward, his loose clothing flowing behind him as he made for her table. "Madame Ruck?" he asked, sliding into the chair across from her. "It was you who sent for me?" Meggie nodded. She sniffed, for his smell was worse than the tavern maid's, then she leaned forward, careful not to let any part of her come in contact with the table. "I hear you have all kinds of herbs and potions and the like." Sern Jamar nodded. "You need a poultice for your ails, Madame Ruck?" Meggie shook her head. She waited until the sighing tavern maid set a cracked mug of ale before her. "What is your pleasure, Lord Jamar?" the wench asked. "My religion prohibits spirits," he said in an arrogant, superior tone. "But I will take a glass of goat's milk, if you have it." Meggie's lip lifted. "Bring him an ale. I'll pay for it." At Sern's frown of displeasure, she snorted. "These bastards ain't got goat's milk, Jamar. You're lucky if they got ale." "I can not--" "I ain't drinking mine, either, but this is the only place where no one will bother us, and I want it kept that way. When in Ionary, do as the Ionarians!" Sern nodded, as if seeing the wisdom of her words. He put his arms on the table and leaned toward her, oblivious to the expression on her face as his garlic breath blasted her. "What exactly are you looking for, Madame Ruck? A salve for your arthritis? A poultice for the gout?" Meggie lowered her voice. "I hear you can put your hands to things most of us can't." She scanned his face. "Things that, shall we say, might be illegal elsewhere?" Sern stared at her. "Such as?" Meggie shrugged. "Such as something they call Maiden's Briar." The greasy, pockmarked face winced with shock. He shot back in his chair, his black eyes wide. His mouth dropped open and his horrible breath fanned the air like carrion stench. "Shut your trap!" she ordered, nearly gagging. She withdrew a kerchief from her pocket and brought it to her nose. "Do you have it?" "Why would you want such a thing? Surely you know it's a deadly poison." "Can you get the stuff or not? If not, I'll go elsewhere." He studied her angry face. "I know your husband--he's a good man. If he's been playing around, I can give you something to..." "Harry ain't done nothing! It's for a no-good, worthless bitch." "Dorrie?" Sern gasped. "Of course, not!" Meggie leaned as close as the kerchief would allow and still block out his stench. "It's for a cook who nearly spoiled the stew!" Understanding lit Sern's dark face, and he sat back in his chair. "She could have, at any time, killed him with her dirty work. Tenerse is not to be given so indiscriminately. It can be fatal when mixed with the wrong thing." "And she wouldn't have cared!" "No, she would not have."

"Then you can get me the poison?" Sern looked around, as if seeking eyes cocked their way, ears that might hear. He sat forward again. "How do you wish to use it? In her food? Drink? How?" Meggie frowned. "Does it make a difference?" He smiled. "We don't want it to be detectable, do we, Madame Ruck? What would be the good of exterminating someone if we are implicated in the eradication? Would that not defeat our purpose?" Meggie thought that over. "I see your point. What do you recommend?" Sern's smile widened. "The woman in question has arthritis in an advanced stage. I'm told it plagues her greatly. If you had a poultice you swore eased your own aches and ills, would she use it?" Meggie snorted. "She'd take nothing from me!" "But would she sneak it from you, if she could?" A spark of understanding lifted Meggie's brows. "She'd steal the gold out of your tooth if she could get to it!" Sern spread his hands. "Then, I'll make up a poultice for her pain." "How will you get it to me? "I'll leave it at your kitchen door under the pail you keep for slops. But be very careful, Madame Ruck. When rubbed liberally on the skin, it can kill in less than twenty-four hours. We would not want anyone else to fall in harm's way." "I'll make sure of that," Meggie growled. "Ain't but one woman who deserves a taste of her own medicine." "Then, it's all settled." "How much?" Meggie asked, opening her reticule. Grinning, Sern laid a dirty hand on Meggie's. If it offended him when she snatched away her hand, he didn't show it. His face filled with a gentle rebuke. "There's no charge, Madame Ruck." He scraped back his chair and stood, bowing slightly. "Consider it my contribution to His Grace's peace of mind." **** Two days later, Sadie MacCorkingdale slipped the small blue jar of Meggie Ruck's arthritis cream into the pocket of her apron. Slyly grinning with glee, she walked out of the pantry and the kitchen door. No one had seen her and no one would know to where that precious cream had disappeared. She crossed the courtyard and headed for the servant's quarters. She couldn't wait to apply the cream that would help rid her of the terrible, crippling pain. Sadie sat on her cot, uncorked the jar, and sniffed, smiling at the pleasant aroma of wintergreen that wafted under her nostrils. Digging her index and third finger into the cream, she scooped out a large dollop and kneaded it into the back of her left hand. The cream felt cool, soothing, and smelled pleasant. She spread it over her skin, dragging it through her fingers, then dug up more for her right hand. Rubbing the cream into her flesh, she felt the tingling, then the numbness. The absence of almost constant arthritic agony made her sigh with pleasure. "I can't feel it no more." She giggled, thinking of how Meggie wouldn't have the cream to use that night. "You can just suffer, Meggie Ruck!" **** At ten of the clock the next morning, when Sadie did not show up for work, a servant went to her room in search of her. After knocking several times, the servant finally opened the door and found Sadie, eyes glazed in death, staring at the ceiling. "The gods be good to you, Sadie MacCorkingdale," the servant said, although she didn't think that would be the

case. **** Sern passed Meggie on the streets at suppertime that evening. He paused at a vendor's stall shuttered for the night, casting her a sidelong glance as she pretended to adjust the fringe of her shawl. "I hear there was a death in the keep this morn, Madame Ruck," the nomad commented. "Aye, there was, I'm told." She glanced at him and grinned. "By her own hand she tried to poison my dear boy's mind, so by her own hand, she poisoned her own." Her mirthless laugh sounded chilling. "The difference being, you see, is that poison took not only her mind, but her treacherous life, as well!" **** When he heard the news of Sadie's death, Conar felt another part of his life slipping away from his grip. "It was old age," Cayn said. "Mixed with what may have been more than a dollop of guilt for having nearly caused your death." But Conar knew better. Sadie had felt no guilt over causing him pain and trouble. If anything, she might have gloated herself to death. Despite all she had done, and tried to do to him, he mourned her passing. He'd known her all his life. For as long as he could remember, she had fed him, had always been there. Even their arguments he had enjoyed, for the most part, never realizing her true and vitriolic anger. With her passing, another shadow of his past faded away. "She's to be buried here," he ordered, astonishing those who heard him. "This was her home. Make sure she has a fine marker." "You're being a hell of a lot kinder to the bitch than she deserved," Jah-Ma-El protested. "She felt she had reason to hate me. Maybe she did. I should have stopped what I knew was happening." "You were sixteen!" Legion grumbled. "If it was Teal who..." But Conar turned away. No one had seen Teal. He had simply vanished from the keep. Nor had he returned to his home to gather his belongings. It was as though he had cut all ties to Boreas and the man who had suffered there. "Just let it go, Legion. Time has a way of seeing the right to things." "He won't be welcome in this keep when he finally returns," Marsh snarled. "We've known all along there was a traitor in our midst--" Conar rounded on him. "You don't know it's du Mer, do you? It could be anyone." He leveled his gaze at Marsh's set face. "Even you." Marsh sputtered his outrage. "I wouldnever betray you!" "You turned on him once," Sentian reminded the ex-Elite. Conar left them in the solarium, arguing, making accusations against one another. He slipped to his room and shut the door, barring it to anyone who happened by. The Outer Kingdom warriors would see he remained undisturbed. Beside his bed, he slid to his knees, prayer beads in hand, and began the runes for the dead for Sadie MacCorkingdale's soul.

Chapter 25

"You're still determined to go to Diabolusia?" Legion gasped. Conar nodded, sighing with exasperation at the men who sat in the garden, arguing with him. "I'm fine." "You call trying to fly off the damned barbican 'fine'?" Grice snarled. Conar turned to his ex brother-in-law. "I'll not try that again." He lowered his head. "I was under a great deal of strain. But that was three months ago and I'm perfectly at peace with myself now." "The hell you are!" Chase spat. "You still don't sleep through the entire night. And what little you eat isn't enough to keep Tyne Brell alive!" Tyne agreed. "I eat more on a bad day than you have all week!" "I just don't need a whole lot to eat. Can't you see that?" "What I see is a man refusing to accept what's happened," Shalu shot back. "You're in no condition to go traipsing off to Diabolusia or anywhere else, for that matter." "Shalu's right," Rylan commented. "Why don't you wait a while longer? Send word to your brothers down there if you want, but stay here until you're back on your feet." Conar flung out an annoyed hand. "And just when will that be, Hesar? Tomorrow? Next week? Next year?" "However long it takes," Chase answered. Conar shook his head. "I can't stay here. I have to get away!" "You can't run from your problems, Milord," Bent warned. "They go where you go." "I'm not trying to run away from my problems! I just want to get away from Serenia for a while before you wind up committing me to Bailswith!" "That might happen yet!" Legion met Conar's angry glare with a blank look. "Running off to Diabolusia isn't the act of a sane man." Conar sat on the edge of the fountain next to Roget du Mer and gazed at the thorn bush beside the seagate. The bush had once been alive with sputtering new growth, but now, it lay withered and brown. He looked at the rose bush across the garden and found it, too, shriveled on the vine, its leaves lying scattered about the grass. Never would the rose bloom again, and the thorn bush was as alone as it had always been. "Conar?" Legion asked gently. "What's wrong?" Conar came out of his self-induced trance and turned to Legion. He saw the concern on his brother's face and tried to smile to reassure him he was, indeed, all right. But he still couldn't seem to smile any more than he could cry. "It's hard for me, Legion. You all mean well, coming to me with your problems and such, but you don't know what that's doing to me. I feel so lost here. I can't make any decisions now." "You don't have to," Shalu snapped. "I've told these fools to leave you the hell alone." "I'm already alone." "Alone in that way, you are not," Grice assured him. "There isn't a man here who would not gladly stay by your side, if you but asked him. Night and day, if it was required of him." "I can't ask you men to give up anymore of your lives for me than you already have. You've been more than loyal to a man who, in the beginning, wasn't even sure he could lead you. I've kept you from your homes far too long." He ran a tired hand over his face. "And there isn't a one among us who would've had it any other way," Rylan said. "We've stayed with you because we wanted to, not because you asked or led us to believe you needed us. We did so because we love you."

"And because we needed you," Chase put in. Conar saw his men smiling gently, looking at him with love, respect, and devotion--all the emotions they had ever had for him. "I thank you. But from now on, my journey must be made only by me. Where I go, you can not follow." "I can," Chase said. "So can I," Jah-Ma-El vowed. "Do any of you know where it is I intend to go?" Conar asked. Chase laughed. "What the hell difference does it make? Each of us has been to hell and back more than a few times. What's one more time?" Conar turned to Shalu. "You have a wife and family that needs you." Shalu shrugged his wide shoulders. "I do what I must do." His eyes warmed. "What Iwant to do, bratling." "I have no family to go back to," Chase said. "But you have a country that will need someone to govern it," Conar countered. Chase grinned. "It's lasted this long without me. It can last a few more months. If it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon go with you to Diabolusia as try to follow you unobserved." He cocked a tawny brow. "Either way, I plan on going." A wicked smile lit the Ionarian's face. "As was I," Roget piped up. "You may not want us, but I'm afraid you're going to be stuck with us." "And you'll need us at your back," Grice said. "He has men at back," Yuri quipped, stunning the men who didn't even know he was in the garden. Conar met Yuri's dark gaze and nodded. "Looks like we'll have a circus traveling with us, Andreanova." Yuri snorted. "Not necessary we do." "If you had it in your mind to leave us behind," Roget spoke from his place beside Tyne, "don't bother. Whether we ride with you or behind you, we'll be going to Diabolusia." All heads nodded in accord. "See?" Roget asked smugly. "A wise man knows when he's outnumbered," Legion prodded. "And I always considered you a reasonably wise man." Conar's brow shot upward. "Since when?" "Roget is saying what all of us feel," Sentian chimed in. "And there's no need to be thanking us for all we've done through the years," Bent said. "It was our duty to you and to the lady." "And our honor," Thom added. "As well as our pleasure," Storm put in. "And our misfortune," Marsh said gloomily. Everyone laughed. Everyone except Conar. His heart filled with immense pride. These were all good men, loyal men, men who had fought long and hard beside him under what sometimes seemed like overwhelming odds to get to this point. They were men who had lost families, countries, names. They had been imprisoned and tortured, deprived of simple humanity, because they had remained

loyal to their beliefs and were his friends. These were honorable men. "And we areyour men," Shalu said, as if reading his thoughts. "As we are your sons," a small voice called. Conar turned toward the garden door and found Corbin. Beside him stood Regan, looking ill at ease and out of place. Just inside the door, Gezelle held Little Brelan. "Did you hear me, Papa?" Corbin asked. "Your sons will be waiting for you to return. Do what you have to do, but hurry home. We need to be a family again." Conar couldn't find his voice. He gazed out over the people who loved him and felt the hitch in his throat that should have signaled the onrush of tears. As it was, all it did was hurt him. "Damned right," Jah-Ma-El muttered. He walked to Conar and put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll all hurry back. We each have better things to do with the rest of our lives than chase after some of our absent McGregor offshoots!" Conar drew in a deep breath. "Then get your things ready. We leave first thing in the morning." **** Yuri faded into the shadows of the garden. He silently made his way to one of his fellow Outer Kingdom warriors and spoke in their native tongue. "Get his horse ready, Boris. He will want to leave within the hour." "But he just told them--" "He has no intention of letting them go with us, fool!" Yuri spat. "Do as you are told. Within the hour we ride!" **** Meggie rapped on Conar's door and heard his reluctant answer. When she entered, she saw him stuffing his valise with wadded up clothing. Her brows lifted. "By the time you get to where you're going, them shirts'll be as wrinkled as my old puss!" she grumbled, nudging him aside. She turned the valise upside down and shook the contents onto the bed. Neatly folding his clothing, she ignored his grunt of annoyance. "Just where is it you're going, anyway?" "To Diabolu--" "No, you ain't." She cast him a sidelong glance that found him staring at her with innocence. "You've got no more mind to go to that heathen place than I do. Where is it you'rereally going?" Conar sighed. "You won't tell my brothers?" "No." She rolled a pair of socks into a ball, then stuffed it into the valise. "Yuri's taking me to his homeland for a while." He cleared his throat. His face twisted with hurt. "I really have to get away, Meg." "I can understand that, lad." Her face softened. "They're all handling you too gentle-like, ain't they, baby?" What passed for a smile touched his mouth. "I'm not an invalid, yet." Meggie sniffed and went back to her packing. "And damned well not likely to be, if I know you!" He removed from her hands the pair of breeches she was about to fold and turned her to him, drawing her into his arms. He put his chin on the top of her head. "I love you, Meggie June Ruck." "I know you do, son," she said, putting her arms around his waist. She inhaled the rich, cinnamon smell of this beloved young man. His strong arms quivered with emotion, and she felt his heart thump madly in his chest. She thought perhaps he needed to cry, but somehow he just couldn't seem to do it. Her heart ached for him, and she squeezed him harder. "Your Meggie loves you just as much as you love her." "I'll send word when I reach the Outer Kingdom, Meggie," he promised, kissing the top of her snow-white hair. "Don't you be worrying about me, all right?"

She sniffed, pretending offense rather than emotion. Easing away from him, she put her crippled hands on his lean waist, letting her head fall back so she could look into his dear face. "And you telling me not to is supposed to make me not do it?" She shook her head. "Sometimes I think that Healer dropped you on your head when he birthed you." ---Conar laughed, not really meaning to, not even knowing he was going to, but her words, once more and unrelentingly, echoed those his father had often sighed in exasperation to him. He pulled her to him and lifted her from the ground, her little "put me down!" making his laughter boom forth again. "Oh, Meg!" he said, putting her on her feet. "You do me a world of good, lady." "Never you mind trying to butter me up," she snapped. "I expect a letter from youevery week. I won't be telling nobody where you are unless I miss hearing from you!" With his hands on her bowed shoulders, his eyes fused with hers, he smiled the first genuine smile he had let touch his lips in nearly four months. He held up his right hand. "On my love for you, I swear I'll write every week." His face turned serious. "Without fail." Meggie's eyes narrowed. "And if I don't hear from you?" He sobered. "Then you'll know something's happened to me and you can send in the cavalry." "And the infantry! And the warships! And the entire might of the damned Wind Force!" Meggie shook a finger at him. "Don't you be forgetting. You hear? I mean just what I say, lad. I'll have 'em all out looking for your ass!" "Watch your mouth," he rebuked, grinning.

Chapter 26 It wasn't difficult for Yuri and his men to leave the keep unnoticed. After all, they'd been getting in and out of Boreas Keep undetected for nearly six years. Getting Conar McGregor out of the keep was like taking candy from an infant. A beached rowboat waited on the other side of the oval-shaped group of rocks that hid the Grotto's entrance from prying eyes. It took the six men only an hour, each rowing ten minutes at a time, to reach the next town to the south, and fifteen minutes longer to purchase horses for their ride to Ciona. One hour after that, they were hellbent for leather to the oceanside town from which they would depart for the Outer Kingdom. **** Legion A'Lex threw his goblet as hard as he could across the room. It struck the edge of the sideboard and took a nice-sized chunk out of the mahogany. "Hewhat?" Legion roared, his face hot with fury. Roget cast an uneasy glance at Shalu. "There was a ship waiting in the harbor at Ciona." Legion roared one expletive after another, sending fruit, silverware, dishes, and candelabrum toward the sideboard's defenseless bulk. "I'll kill him! I'll strangle the little son-of-a-bitch!" Shalu rolled his eyes to the heavens. "The question is...what do we do now?" The Necroman didn't flinch when Legion threw him an enraged glare. "To my recollection, there is no one within a thousand miles who can negotiate the waters into the Outer Kingdom." Holm shook his head. "And even if someone had the sea charts to that godforsaken place, I don't know of one

man--and that includes me--who would be allowed access to any of those harbors." "Then what the hell do we do?" Legion roared. "Sit here with our thumbs up our asses while he gallivants to gods-only-know where? How the hell do we know those sons-of-bitches won't slit his gullet and toss him overboard?" Chase smiled. "I don't think they will, Legion." Legion squinted at the man. "But you don't know for sure!" "Aye, but I do, and so do you. Those men would rather die than let something happen to Coni. They'll guard him with their last breaths." He cocked his head. "Why are you so worried? Conar will be back when he comes to grips with everything. It may take a while, but hewill be back." "When he's damned good and ready," Cayn said, "and not a minute before that." Legion opened his mouth to bellow his denial of the time frame, but snapped it shut with an audible click. His eyes bulged with rage, and he trembled, more from outrage than any fear for his brother's safety. He jerked his eyes to Jah-Ma-El. "Well?" Jah-Ma-El sighed. "We'll just have to bide our time until he's ready to return to us." He shrugged. "Until then, we wait!"

Epilogue Some said loneliness was the easiest of emotions to overcome. By definition, the simple act of being in the company of another person abolished loneliness. But those who knew the heartbreak of pure loneliness would have likely said that being lonely, and being alone, were too entirely different states of being. One could be lonely in a crowd, for loneliness was in the soul and how many people one had around them did not affect it. He was alone. In his mind. In his soul. In what part of his heart still beat with life. Around him were many people, all intent on helping him to survive the pain of his loss. But even so, he might just as well have been cast adrift on a barren sea for all the comfort he took from their company. His loneliness lay deep in his being and would be a long time in leaving him. If it ever did. "You'll get over it, lad," Meggie had told him. He knew he would, to some extent. His life would go on; Liza would have insisted on it. He would function; he had his children to think of. He would strive to put one foot ahead of the other, one day behind the next, for he had people who loved him.

But he knew it wasn't going to be easy. When had anything in his life ever been easy? "When you enter the Abyss," he had been told, "the Abyss enters into you." And it had. His soul was tainted with the evil that had fallen over the edge of the Abyss, into the Maelstrom. To him, his life had ended on that ledge. His heart had died. "You'll get over it, lad." He knew he would if for no other reason than to avenge the taking of his most prized possession. "You can't go into battle with your mind divided," someone else had once told him. "That's the quickest way to lose." So, he pushed aside his loneliness, shelved it in a corner of his consciousness where he could take it out and look at it from time to time, reminding him of just how much he had lost. He didn't dwell on it, though. He'd get on with his life. He'd start over. After all, wasn't that what she had wanted him to do? But he didn't have to like it.

Charlotte Boyett-Compo Charlotte Boyett-Compo is the author of more than two dozen novels, the first ten of which are theWindLegends Saga. For nearly three full years, Charlee has remained—first with Dark Star Publications, and now with Amber Quill Press—the company's most popular and best-selling author. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, the HTML Writer's Guild, and Beta Sigma Phi Sorority. Married thirty-two years to her high school sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons, Pete and Mike, and the proud grandmother of Preston Alexander and Victoria Ashlee. A native of Sarasota, Florida, she grew up in Colquitt and Albany, Georgia, and now lives in the Midwest. Most any fan of electronic books—or fans of dark fantasy and suspense—has at least heard her name mentioned, if not purchased at least one of her many offerings. This prolific author has not only managed to gain multiple nominations and awards for her work, but better still, has built a fan base whose members border on the "fanatical." Currently, Charlee is at work on at least several books in her various series and trilogies.

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