"Why do you think they're letting you come there, after all these years?" asked Alec.

"Self-interest, I suppose. The prospect of Plenimar controlling Mycena and perhaps striking a bargain with Zengat to the west has made at least some of them reexamine their alliegences."

"Has there been more news of the Zengat situation?" asked Seregil.

"Nothing certain, but there are enough rumors flying around to make the Iia'sidra nervous."

"It should. The world's a smaller place than it once was; it's time they realized that. So, what is it that Idrilain wants?»

"Ideally? Wizards, fresh troops, horses, and open trade. The northlands and Viresse are already all but lost to us and it's likely to get worse. At the very least, we need Gedre as an open port. The establishment of an armorers' colony at the outer Ashek iron mines would be even better."

Seregil ran a hand back through his hair. "By the Light, unless things have changed significantly from what I remember, we've got

a hard task ahead of us. The Viresse will oppose anything that threatens their monopoly on Skalan trade, and everyone else will be horrified at the thought of a Skalan colony on Aurenfaie soil."

Flexing her shoulders wearily, Klia returned to the paper-strewn table. "Diplomacy is a lot like horse trading, my friends. You have to set your price high so they can beat you down to what you really want and still believe they got the best of the bargain.

"But I've kept you long enough and Thero is anxious to see you. A room's been made ready for you upstairs. By the way, I took the liberty of asking your manservant in Wheel Street to send down some necessities. Beka said you two had been living rough up there in your hideaway." She took in their plain, mud-spattered clothing with a comic grimace. "I see now she rather understated the situation."

Sarikali. The Heart of the Jewel.

Alec repeated the magical name silently as he and Seregil climbed the stairs. He'd listened carefully to all Klia had said, but that one detail, and Seregil's shocked reaction, had captured his imagination.

They'd spoken of Sarikali only once that Alec could recall. "It's magical ground, Alec, the most sacred of all," Seregil had told him in the depths of a long winter night. "An empty city older than the 'faie themselves; the living heart of Aurenen. Legend says that the sun pierced the heart of the first dragon with a golden spear, and that the eleven drops of blood which fell from its breast as it flew over Aurenen created the 'faie. Some of the stories say that Aura took pity on the dying dragon and placed it in a deep sleep beneath the city until it heals and wakens again."

Alec had all but forgotten the tale, but now a hundred images sprang up before his mind's eye, like the first 'faie from the blood in the legend.

They found Thero at work at a small desk in the first bedchamber at the top of the stairs. Of all of them, the wizard had changed the most. The scruffy black beard was gone, and his curly hair was pulled back in a short queue. His thin face had filled out a bit, and he'd lost his bookish pallor. His customary reserve was still in place, but a hint of warmth in his pale green eyes made his gaunt features somewhat less imposing. He'd even shed his immaculate robes in favor of the simple traveling garb Nysander had always favored.

It suits him, Alec thought. He'd seen glimpses of this side of the man during the dark days of their captivity in Plenimar and was glad that Magyana had found a way to cultivate it. Perhaps the sense of compassion Nysander had always hoped would balance There's great potential was finally emerging.

Seregil was the first to clasp hands with him. The two stood a moment, regarding each other without speaking. The rivalry that divided them for so many years had died with Nysander; what would fill that void remained to be seen.

"You've prospered," Seregil said at last.

"Magyana's a remarkable mentor. And the war—" There shrugged expressively. "Well, it's been a harsh but efficient training ground." Turning to Alec, he smiled. "I ride like a soldier now, if you can imagine that. I've even lost my seasickness."

"That's a lucky thing, crossing the Osiat this time of year."

"Klia said you've brought more information regarding my return?" asked Seregil.

"Yes." There's smile faltered. "The Iia'sidra has laid down certain conditions."

"Oh?"

"As you know, the ban of exile has not been lifted," Thero replied with a briskness that undoubtedly masked discomfort. "You're being allowed a special dispensation at the queen's request."

"I understand that." Seregil sat down on the edge of the bed, hands clasped around one up-drawn knee. "What's it to be then? Branding me on the cheek, or just a placard around my neck reading, 'Traitor'?"

"No one's branding him!" Alec exclaimed, alarmed.

"I'm joking, tali. All right, Thero, lay out the terms."

The wizard clearly took no pleasure in his task. "Your name is still forfeit; you'll be known as Seregil of Rhiminee. You're forbidden to wear Aurenfaie clothing or any other clan marks, including the sen'gai."

"Fair enough," said Seregil, but Alec saw a muscle tighten in his jaw. The sen'gai, a traditional Aurenfaie head cloth, was an integral part of Aurenfaie identity. Its color, patterns, and how it was wrapped denoted both clan and status.

"You are banned from all temples, and from participating in any religious ceremony," Thero went on. "You will be accepted as a voice of council on behalf of Skala but have none of the common rights of a 'faie. Finally, you are not allowed outside Sarikali except to accompany the Skalan delegation. You will lodge with them, and

carry no weapons. Violate any of these and teth'sag will be declared against you."

"Is that all? No public flogging?"

Thero leaned forward with a look of genuine concern. "Come now, what did you expect?"

Seregil shook his head. "Nothing. I expect nothing. What does Idrilain think of all this?"

"I'm not certain. These details arrived after I'd left her in Mycena."

"Then you have seen her since she was wounded?" Seregil pressed.

Thero wove a spell in the air before continuing. The change was so subtle that at first Alec couldn't figure out what had happened. An instant later, he realized he could no longer hear sounds from outside the room.

"Between us as Watchers, I can tell you that we need to accomplish the queen's purpose as quickly as possible."

"Idrilain is dying, isn't she?" asked Seregil.

Thero nodded grimly. "It's only a matter of time. Tell me, what's your impression of Phoria?"

"You've seen more of her than I have this past year."

"She's opposed to our course of action."

"How could she be?" asked Alec. "If Klia's right, Skala isn't strong enough to defeat Plenimar."

"Phoria refuses to accept that. Prince Korathan and a number of generals support her view, refusing to admit that magic is as important a weapon as bows or swords. No doubt you've heard about the Plenimaran necromancers?" The wizard's mouth set in a hard line. "I've faced them in the field. The queen is quite correct, but Magyana's convinced that Phoria will abandon the plan as soon as her mother dies. That's why she sent Klia rather than Korathan. He's an honorable man, but loyal to his sister."

"Phoria's been in the middle of things from the start," mused Seregil. "How could she not understand what she's up against?"

"At first the necromancers didn't seem much of a threat. Their numbers have grown, along with their power."

"Just imagine if they had the Helm," Alec said.

A chill seemed to pass over the room as the three men recalled the glimpse they'd had of the power embodied by the Helm of Seriamaius.

"Nysander didn't die in vain," Thero said softly. "But even without the Helm, the necromancers are strong and without mercy. Phoria and her supporters simply haven't seen enough of them to believe yet. I fear it may take a tragedy to sway her."