And just who are you trying to fool?

He pushed the thought aside with practiced ease. There were more important things to be dealt with right now.

Alec had been correct about a shift in the Ra'basi's stance. Moriel a Moriel took it upon herself to contest a point being put forth by Elos of Golinil about certain Skalan shipping practices. Whether it represented full support remained to be seen.

Satisfied that Seregil was back on his feet, Alec returned to his ramblings through the city the next day. At Klia's request, he commandeered Nyal and set out to ingratiate himself among the Ra'basi in the hope of gleaning both goodwill and useful information.

It proved an easy task. Alec soon found himself welcome at a makeshift tavern, known for its ready supply of strong beer and spiced eggs. Not only was it a popular meeting, place for people of various clans, but Artis, the brewer who ran the place during the day, was a servant of one of the Ra'basi khirnari's closest advisers. He'd set up shop on the street level of a deserted house, serving his customers through an open window that overlooked a walled garden. Archery, dice, and wrestling were the sports of choice to pass the time.

The beer proved passable, the eggs inedible, and the results of Alec's spying meager. After three days of loitering and drinking, he'd added nearly a dozen shatta to his collection, lost his second-best

dagger to a Datsian woman who outwrestled him, and learned only that the khirnari of Ra'basi had some sort of falling out with the Viresse a week before, though no one seemed to know the details.

Lounging there with Nyal and Kheeta after a shooting match, Alec decided that he'd probably learned everything there was to be learned among the Ra'basi. He was about to leave when he overheard Artis launch into a tirade against the Khatme. Evidently he'd had a run-in with a member of that clan the night before over a keg of beer he'd sold. Still smarting from his own failure among that strange clan, Alec sauntered over to hear more.

"Arrogant bunch of stargazers, that's what I say," Artis fumed as he served beer from his window perch. "Think they're closer to Aura than the rest of us."

"They don't take to outsiders much, I've found," Alec ventured. "Or ya'shel, for that matter."

"They've always been a strange, standoffish bunch," the brewer muttered.

"What do you know of the Khatme?" a Golinil woman scoffed.

"As much as you do," he drawled, passing out cups of murky new beer. "They keep to themselves and they serve themselves, for all their talk of Aura."

"I hear they make fine wizards," Alec put in.

"Wizards, seers, rhui'auros," the brewer allowed grudgingly. "But magic is a gift meant to serve and that's something the Khatme don't do willingly. Instead, they stay up in their eagles' nest of a fai'thast, dreaming their strange dreams and handing down proclamations."

"You know, in all the time I've been here, I haven't seen much magic used. Where I come from, folks imagine the 'faie throwing it around left and right."

Several of Alec's companions snickered.

"Look around, Skalan," Artis said. "Do you see any need for magic? Should we fly through the air instead of using our own feet? Or knock birds out of the sky instead of learning archery?"

"This beer of yours could use a bit of magicking," a boy laughed.

Artis gave him a hard look, then wove a brief sigil over their cups. The beer foamed slightly, giving off a strong, malty odor.

"Taste that, then," he challenged.

The contents of Alec's cup were certainly clearer than before. Impressed, he took a drink, but immediately spat it out.

"It tastes like swamp water!" he sputtered.

"Of course," Artis declared, laughing now. "Beer has its own magic. It doesn't need any help, as any brewer knows."

"And so knowing, takes it too much for granted," said a new voice.

A grey, wizened little rhui'auros stepped from the shadows of a cul-de-sac next to the building.

Kheeta and the others raised their let) hands and gave the man a respectful nod. In turn, he raised a tattooed hand in blessing.

"Welcome, Honored One," said Artis, coming out to offer him beer and food.

The others made room for the old man and he sat down, wolfing down the eggs and bread as if he hadn't eaten in days and dribbling his beer down the front of his already none-too-clean robes.

When he'd finished he looked up and pointed to Alec. "Our little brother asks about magic and you scoff, children of Aura?" Shaking his head, he picked up a bow lying near his feet and placed it in Alec's hands. "Tell me, what do you feel?"

Alec rubbed his palm over the smooth limbs. "Wood, sinew—" he began, then gasped as the rhui'auros touched a finger firmly to the center of his forehead.

A cool sensation swept the skin between his eyes, like the kiss of a mountain breeze. As it spread deeper, the bow seemed to subtly vibrate in his hands, reminding him of the time he'd touched a drysian's staff and felt the surge of power through the wood.

"I feel—I don't know. It's like holding a living thing."

"It is Shariel a Malai's magic you feel, her khi," the rhui'auros replied, pointing to the Ptalos woman who owned the bow. He motioned for Kheeta to give Alec the knife from his belt.

Gripping it, Alec felt similar sensations from the metal. "Yes, it's there, too."

"Our khi suffuses us the way oil soaks a wick," the rhui'auros explained. "Everything we touch takes on a bit of it, and from it comes all our gifts. Shariel a Malai, take up Alec i Amasa's bow."

She obeyed, eyes widening in surprise as the man touched her brow. "By the Light, the khi is strong as a storm wind in it!"

"You shoot well, do you not?" the rhui'auros asked, noting the collection of shatta on Alec's quiver.

"Yes, Honored One."

"Better than most?"

"Perhaps. It's just something I'm good at."

"Good enough to strike a dyrmagnos?"

"Yes, but—"

"He fought a dyrmagnos?" someone whispered.

"It was a good shot," Alec admitted, recalling the strange, dreamlike calm that had come over him when he took aim at his hated tormentor. His bow had trembled strangely in his hands as he'd let fly, but he'd always put those sensations, indeed even his success, down to the spells Nysander had woven around it.

"Little brother, when will you visit me?" the rhui'auros chided. "Your friend Thero comes to the Nha'mahat often now, yet for you I wait and wait."

"I'm sorry, Honored One. I–I didn't realize I was expected," Alec stammered, taken aback by this revelation about Thero. The wizard had never mentioned it. "I've been wanting to, but—"

"You must bring Seregil i Korit, as well. Tell him to come tonight."

"The Exile no longer bears that name," an Akhendi reminded him.

"Doesn't he?" the rhui'auros asked, turning to go. "How forgetful of me. Come tonight, Alec i Amasa. There is so much you must tell me."

Tell you? thought Alec, but before he could question the man further the rhui'auros blurred before his eyes, disappearing like a design of colored sand in a strong wind.

"Well, at least you can't complain of not seeing magic," said Artis. "Now what's this about you killing a dyrmagnos?"

Alec's first thought was to find Seregil and tell him about the rhui'auros's strange summons, but his drinking companions wouldn't let him go without hearing the tale of the battle against Irtuk Beshar and Mardus. Struck by a sudden inspiration, he played heavily on Seregil's role in the fight, reasoning that stories of the "Exile's" heroism could only do Seregil good in reclaiming his place among his people. As he recounted his own part that day, however, the rhui'auros's words kept coming back to him, making him wonder if there actually had been more than experience guiding his hand that day.