"Sacred stone from Sarikali, a talisman to protect whoever lives within. Hasn't anyone ever told you that you are pretty?"

Facing him this time, Beka pursed her lips into a stern line. "Only my mother. It's not the sort of thing that matters much to me."

"Forgive me, I meant no offense." Nyal's eyes widened in dismay and the way the slanting light struck the irises made Beka think of pale leaves lying at the bottom of a clear forest pool. "I know your language, but not your ways. Perhaps we can learn from each other?"

"Perhaps," Beka told him, and to her credit, her voice did not betray the undisciplined pounding of her heart.

The Gedre horsemen formed an honor guard for Klia and the Aurenfaie dignitaries as they rode out from the town and up into hills scattered with farms, vineyards, and deep-shaded groves. Drifts of fragrant purple and red flowers grew thickly in the coarse, pale grass along the roadside.

Alec and Seregil rode with Thero and the other aides just behind Lord Torsin. It felt good to have Windrunner under him again after so many days at sea. The glossy Aurenfaie gelding tossed his head, scenting the wind as if he recognized his homeland. Seregil's black mare, Cynril, was doing the same. Both horses drew admiring glances, and Alec, who seldom gave thought to such things, was suddenly glad of the impression they made.

"Who's the Ra'basi, I wonder?" he murmured, nodding toward a man riding beside Beka at the head of the column. What Alec could see of the fellow's face from this angle made him curious to see the rest.

"He's a long way from home," said Seregil, who'd also taken note of the stranger. "Beka seems rather taken with him, don't you think?"

"Not really," Alec replied. The Ra'basi was obviously trying to

make conversation, but her responses came mostly in the form of terse nods.

Seregil chuckled softly. "Wait and see."

In the distance ahead, snow-covered peaks gleamed against the flawless blue of the spring sky. The sight brought Alec an unexpected pang of homesickness; "The Asheks look a lot like the Iron-heart Range around Kerry. I wonder if the Hazadrielfaie felt the same when they first saw Ravensfell Pass?"

Seregil pushed a windblown lock of hair out of his eyes. "Probably."

"Why did those Hazad folks leave Aurenen?" asked Sergeant Rhylin, riding on his left. "Even if this is the dry edge of the place, it's better country than anyplace I've seen north of Wyvern Dug."

"I don't know much about it," Seregil replied. "It happened over two thousand years ago. That's a long time, even for the 'faie."

The Ra'basi stranger appeared out of the press and fell in beside them.

"Forgive me for intruding, but I could not help overhearing," he said in Skalan. "You are interested in the Hazadrielfaie, Seregil i Korit?" He paused, looking abashed. "Seregil of Rhiminee, I meant to say."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Ra'basi," Seregil replied with a sudden coldness that sent a warning shock through Alec. "You know the name taken from me, but I don't know the one you carry."

"Nyal i Nhekai Beritis Nagil Ra'basi, interpreter for Princess Klia's cavalry. Forgive my clumsiness, please. Captain Beka a Kari speaks so highly of you that I wished to meet you."

Seregil bowed slightly in the saddle, but Alec could tell he still had his guard up. "You must have traveled. I hear the accents of many ports as you speak."

"I hear the same in yours," Nyal replied with an engaging smile. "Aura gifted me with an ear for languages and restless feet. Thus, I've spent most of my life as a guide and interpreter. I am most honored that the Iia'sidra considered me worthy of this commission."

Alec watched the handsome newcomer with interest. From what he'd heard, the Ra'basi clan had everything to gain if the borders were reopened, yet they were also closely tied to their northern neighbors, Viresse and Golanil, who opposed any altering of the Edict of Separation. So far, their khirnari, Moriel a Moriel, did not openly support either side.

It was a moment before Alec realized the man was also studying him.

"But you're not a Skalan, are you?" he said. "You have neither

the look nor the accent—ah, yes, I see it now! You are the Hazadrielfaie! What clan are you descended of?"

"I never knew my people, or that I was one of them until quite recently," Alec told him, wondering how often he'd have to give this explanation. "It seems to mean a great deal here, though. Do you know anything of them?"

"Indeed I do," Nyal replied. "My grandmother has told me their story many times. She's a Haman, and they lost many people to the Migration."

Seregil raised an eyebrow. "You're related to the Haman?"

Nyal grinned. "I'm from a wandering family. We're related to half the clans in Aurenen one way or another. It's said to make us more—what's the word—forbearing? Truly, Seregil, even with a Haman grandmother, I bear you no ill will."

"Or I you," Seregil replied rather less than convincingly. "If you'll excuse me?"

Without waiting for reply, he wheeled his horse and rode toward the rear of the column.

"It's a bit overwhelming for him, being here," Alec apologized. "I would like to hear what you know of the Hazad. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Tomorrow, then, to pass the time during our long ride." With a juanty salute, Nyal rejoined the line of Skalan riders.

Alec rode back to rejoin Seregil. "What was that all about?" he demanded under his breath.

"He'll bear watching," Seregil muttered.

"Why, because he's part Haman?"

"No, because he overheard what we were talking about from twenty feet away, over the noise of the horses."

Looking back over his shoulder, Alec saw the interpreter chatting with Beka and her sergeants. "He did, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did." He lowered his voice and said softly in Skalan, "Our long holiday is truly over now. It's time to start thinking like…" Lifting his left hand, Seregil briefly crossed his thumb over his ring finger.

A chill ran up Alec's backbone; it was the hand sign for "Watchers." This was the first time since Nysander's death that Seregil had used it.

The clan house Riagil had spoken of turned out to be more like a walled village. White, vine-raddled walls enclosed a sprawling

maze of courtyards, gardens, and houses decorated with painted designs of sea creatures. Flowering trees and plants filled the air with heavy fragrances, underscored by the smell of fresh water close at hand.

"It's beautiful!" Alec exclaimed softly, though that hardly came close to expressing the effect the place had on him. In all his travels, he'd never seen anything so immediately pleasing to the eye.

"A khirnari's home is the central hearth of the fai'thast," Seregil told him, clearly delighted with his reaction. "You should see Bokthersa."

By the Four, I hope we both do someday, Alec thought.

Leaving the escort riders in a large courtyard inside the main gate, Riagil led his guests to a spacious, many-domed house at the center of the compound.

Dismounting, he bowed to Klia. "Welcome to my home, honored lady. Every preparation has been made for your comfort and that of your people."

"You have our deepest thanks," Klia replied.

Riagil and his wife, Yhali, led the Skalan nobles through cool, tiled corridors to a series of rooms overlooking an inner courtyard.

"Look there!" Alec laughed, spying a pair of small brown owls roosting in one of the trees. "They say owls are the messengers of Illior—Aura, that is. Is it the same here?"

"Not messengers, but a favored creature all the same, and a bird of good omen," Riagil replied. "Perhaps because they are the only predatory bird that does not feed on the young of the dragons, Aura's true messengers."

Alec and Seregil were given a small, whitewashed room to themselves at the end of the row of guest chambers. The rough-textured walls were inset with numerous well-blackened lamp niches. The furnishings were elegantly simple, made of pale woods with little ornamentation. The bed, a broad platform surrounded by layers of an airy cloth Seregil called gauze, was a particularly welcome sight after their cramped public quarters at sea. Looking around, Alec felt urges held firmly at bay during the sea crossing making themselves known and regretted they were only spending one night here.