The window went dark again, and a clap of thunder shook the building, driving in a fresh gust of wind. The figure had been no fleeting vision, however. A young rhui'auros stood there, resting one hand lightly against the stone frame as she stared across the chamber at him. Her lips moved and he heard a voice whisper in his mind, Come to us afterward, my brother. It is time.

Before Thero could even nod, she had faded away in a blur of color.

Thankfully, the council adjourned early that day. Thero doubted he could have told anyone what had been said. Following Klia and the others out into the storm, he found the woman waiting for him by his horse. She was very young, with grey-green eyes that seemed overly large beneath her ridiculous hat. Her soaked robe clung to her thin frame like a wrinkled second skin, and the wind had whipped her wet hair into lank strands against her cheeks. She should have been shivering, but she wasn't.

Klia gave her a surprised glance.

"With your permission, my lady, I would like to visit the rhui'auros," he explained.

"In this weather?" Klia asked, then shrugged. "Take care. I'll need you first thing tomorrow."

Thero's strange companion did not speak as they set out, nor would she accept his cloak or an offer to ride. He was soon glad to have a guide. In this weather, one broad, deserted street looked no different from another.

Reaching the Nha'mahat at last, the girl motioned for him to dismount, then led him by the hand along a well-worn path to the cave beneath the tower. Clouds of vapor issued from the low opening, crawling low across the ground to disappear in wisps on the wind. Mineral secretions coated the rock here, white and yellows shot through with wavering bands of black. Untold pairs of feet had worn a smooth path inside.

A sudden rush of wonder brought a lump to Thero's throat as he followed it into the large natural chamber beyond. If Nysander had been correct, this was the very womb of mysteries, the source of the magic that had come to his own people through the blood of Aurenen.

The place was humid and primitive, its rough walls unaltered except for a few scattered lamps and a broad staircase that curved like a ram's horn at the center of the room, its even stonework out of place in such a setting. Light shone down from some upper room, and Thero smelled the sweet reek of incense as they passed. Down here there was nothing of ritual or decoration. Steam curled up from a network of fissures and small pools in the floor. Rhui'auros and 'faie moved among the shadows, quiet as ghosts.

The girl gave him no time to get his bearings but continued down one of several passageways that branched off from the main chamber. There were no lamps here and she did not strike a light. The darkness posed no problem for Thero, either; when his eyes failed other senses took over, showing him his surroundings in muted shapes of black and grey. Was this a test, he wondered, or did she simply assume that, sharing a similar magic, Tir wizards could see in the dark?

Sweltering air closed in around them as they went on, and Thero was aware of the downward slant of the tunnel floor beneath his feet. Small, hive-shaped structures stood here and there along the way, large enough to hold a person or two. Brushing his fingers across one as he passed, he felt thick, sodden wool. Leather flaps covered a small door and an opening at its top.

"Dhima, for meditation," she told him, speaking at last. "You may use them whenever you like."

Evidently this was not the point of the current expedition. The passage took a sharp jog to the right and the air grew cooler, the way more steep and narrow. There were no dhima here.

In places they had to duck their heads as the overhanging stone dipped low. In others, they grasped thick ropes strung through metal eyelets driven into the stone, lowering themselves over short drops. He lost track of time in the darkness, but the feeling of magical energy grew stronger with every step.

At last they reached level ground again, and Thero heard a sound like wind in branches. After a few yards the tunnel curved again, and suddenly he was blinking in the relative brightness of clear moonlight. Looking around in surprise, he saw that they were standing at the edge of a forest clearing under a clear night sky. The

ground sloped gently to the edge of a glassy black pool. The crescent moon's reflection floated motionless on its still surface, undisturbed by any ripple.

The light grew brighter as he stood there. Looking around, he could find no sign of his guide, but the pool was now surrounded by a great throng. Those he could make out wore the robes and hats of the rhui'auros. He knew by the lifting of the hair on his arms that at least some of them were spirits, though one looked as solid as another, even the ones with the curling black hair and dark skin of Bash'wai. Beyond them, in the thick, night-black forest, something moved—many creatures, and large ones.

"Welcome, Thero son of Nysander, wizard of the Third Oreska," a deep voice rumbled from the darkness. "Do you know where you are?"

Caught off guard by the misnomer, it took Thero a moment to grasp the question. As soon as he did, however, he knew the answer.

"The Vhadasoori pool, Honored One," he replied in an awed whisper. How he knew it was a mystery—there was no sign of the statues, much less the city itself, but the magic that radiated from the black water was unmistakable.

"You see with the eyes of a rhui'auros, Nysander's son."

The girl who had been his guide stepped from the crowd and offered him a cup fashioned from a hollow tusk. It was as long as his forearm and wrapped in an intricate binding of leather thongs that formed handles on either side. Grasping these, Thero closed his eyes and drank deeply. Beneath his fingers, the cup vibrated with the touch of a thousand hands.

When he looked up again, he and the girl were alone in the clearing. Her face no longer looked so young, and her eyes were flat disks of gold.

"We are the First Oreska," she told him. "We are your forebears, your history, Wizard. In you we see our future, as you perceive your past in us. The dance goes on, and your kind will be made whole."

"I don't understand," he said.

"It is the will of Aura, Thero son of Nysander son of Arkoniel son of Iya daughter of Agazhar, of the line of Aura."

Gentle, unseen hands loosened the fastenings of Thero's garments and they fell away, shoes and all. A will other than his own guided him to the water's edge, and on, until he was up to his neck in the pool. The water was winter cold, so cold it robbed the breath from his lungs and burned his skin like fire. Turning back toward

shore, he was surprised to see himself still standing there beside the woman. Then he was dragged under.

The water closed over him, filling his eyes and nose and mouth, and then his lungs, yet he felt no discomfort, no panic. Lost in the formless dark, he floated, waiting. And remembering. The night they'd slept by the dragon pool in Akhendi he'd dreamed of this place and of drowning. The dream itself had raveled to mere fragments since then, yet it resonated with the same surety he'd felt when he'd named this place as the Vhadasoori.

"What is the purpose of magic, Thero son of Nysander?" the deep voice asked.

"To serve, to know—" Thero was unsure whether he spoke aloud or only thought the words; it made no difference, for the other heard him.

"No, little brother, you are wrong. What is the purpose of magic, son of Nysander?"

"To create?"

"No, little brother. What is the purpose of magic, son of Nysander?"

The darkness pushed in on him. He felt the pressure of it in his lungs, smothering him. The first cold stab of fear hit him then, but he forced himself to remain still. "I don't know," he replied, humbled.