"I doubt it," Seregil replied. "He wasn't royal kin."

"That's just as well," she mused, pragmatic despite her concern. "The negotiations are tenuous enough as things stand."

"We're off to see the place where he was found. Care to come along?"

"Perhaps I should."

The sun had cleared the tallest of Sarikali's towers by the time they reached the sacred pool. To Seregil's dismay, a small crowd of gawkers had gathered outside the ring of stones. Inside, old Brythir i Nien stood next to the Cup with Lhaar a Iriel and Ulan i Sathil. Of these, the Viresse looked the most visibly shaken.

Here to test the wind, now that your principal advocate is gone? thought Seregil.

"Stay here a moment, please," he told Adzriel and Thero. "There have already been enough people trampling around."

Using the pedestal and Ulan's house as reference points, he went slowly over the area Torsin had most likely crossed, starting near the stone statues and working in.

There'd been a heavy dew the night before, and the grass was still moist. Here and there Seregil found the marks of what appeared to be Skalan shoes, overlaid with dew. The heels made a deeper impression than the flat boots favored by the 'faie. The uneven spacing and occasional small gouge or dent in the turf spoke of a man already unsteady on his feet.

He might have found more distinct signs near the water's edge if his well-meaning predecessors had not in their zeal trampled over the area. Even Micum would have been hard-pressed to make sense of this mess, he fumed silently.

His persistence was repaid in part, however. At the water's edge he found four long marks scored by grasping fingers. A flattened patch of ground showed where the body had lain, a nexus for various sets of footprints. Here were a few uneven steps—Torsin's last. Parallel marks of Aurenfaie boots were most likely those of the Bry'khans who'd borne him away. At some point, someone had knelt by the body. These tracks had been crossed by the Bry'khans. All of them crossed Torsin's prints.

Straightening, he waved Thero and his sister over.

"We grieve for your loss," Brythir told him, his wizened face somber. "No one has touched the Cup since I arrived."

"You imagined it poisoned, I suppose,".Lhaar said acidly. "You have lived too long among the Tir. No Aurenfaie would poison the Cup of Aura."

"I spoke in haste, Khirnari," Seregil replied, bowing. "When I heard that the Cup had been found by the body, I wished to chance no mishap. Having looked the ground over, however, I'm reasonably certain that Torsin met his end alone, and that he was dying before he reached the water."

"May I examine the Cup, Khirnari?" asked Thero. "It might be possible to learn something of his state of mind if he touched it before he died."

"Aurenfaie law forbids the touching of minds," the Khatme replied tersely.

Brythir placed a hand on her arm. "A guest has died while under our protection, Lhaar a Iriel. It is only right for his people to pursue their own manner of inquiry to satisfy themselves as to the nature of that death. Besides, the mind of Torsin has gone with his departed khi. Thero i Procepios seeks only memories in stone. You may proceed, young wizard. What can you learn from this mute object?"

Thero examined the alabaster bowl closely, even going so far as to dip up a little water and taste it.

"You let him dishonor us with his suspicions," the Khatme muttered.

"The truth dishonors no one," said Ulan i Sathil.

Undeterred, Thero pressed the cup to his brow and mouthed a silent incantation. After several minutes he replaced it on its rough pedestal and shook his head. "This vessel has known only reverence until Torsin came here. He alone touched it with a discordant mind, and that was due to the extremity of his illness."

"You can feel his illness?" asked Adzriel.

Thero pressed a hand to his chest. "I felt some of what Torsin felt as he held it—a burning pain here, under the breastbone."

"What of his last thoughts?" challenged the Khatme.

"I do not possess such magic as that would take," Thero replied.

"Thank you for your patience, Khirnari, said Seregil. "There's nothing to be done now but await Klia's return."

Brythir shook his head sadly. "What a pity to spoil her fine day with such news."

30 THE HUNT

Alec's initial qualms had lessened somewhat by the time they forded the fog-shrouded river and headed up into the hills. The younger Haman were in high spirits and the mood soon spread among the Skalan riders. Alec was as glad as any of them to escape the dark walls of Sarikali for the day—especially on a day that promised as fair as this. The rising sun sent streaks of gold across a sky as flawlessly blue as Cirna turquoise.

Even this close to the city, game tracks were thick on the soft mould: stag, black deer, boar, and flocks of some large bird. There were also signs of other hunters— wolves, bears, and foxes.

Their guides didn't slow to hunt here but pressed on into the forest ahead, where fir and oak towered up to block the rising sun.

The Aurenfaie had no dogs for coursing. Instead, they dismounted when game was sighted, letting a few chosen hunters stalk it on foot while the rest waited. This was the sort of hunting Alec knew best, and he quickly earned his host's praise when he brought down a fat doe with a single shaft. Strangely, Klia did not fare as well.

"I hope you're not depending on me to round out tonight's feast," she remarked ruefully after letting fly too soon on a clear shot.

In spite of this, many of the younger Haman who'd been standoffish began to warm to her, if not to her entourage. Emiel grew particularly attentive, even lending Klia his own bow when hers failed her on another shot.

"Looks like she decided to play coy after all," Beka muttered, waiting for Klia and Emiel to return from a stag chase. "I've seen her shoot better than this in a driving rain at dusk!"

The day turned warm as the morning mist burned off. Beneath the trees the air grew heavy. The birds fell silent, and swarms of tiny flies plagued riders and mounts alike, buzzing about their heads and raising itching welts on any patch of exposed skin. Ears and noses seemed a favorite target.

They reached a large grassy glade on the crest of a hill just before midday, and Nazien called a halt. Poplars edged the clearing, their coin-shaped leaves rustling in the breeze. A wide stream cut along one edge of it, and a cool breeze drove off both heat and flies. Stacks of wood, old fire circles, and the evidence of several other trails leading off through the trees marked this as a popular destination.

"The game will sleep until the noonday heat passes," Nazien was saying to Klia. "We may as well do the same."

Fruit, bread, and wine were produced from various saddlebags. Several of Beka's riders helped clean and spit kutka for roasting. Alec stayed a little apart, keeping a surreptitious eye on Emiel and the khirnari as they sat with Klia in the shade.

After the meal, most of the hunters lay down to sleep. Settled comfortably with his back to a tree, Alec was just drifting into a doze when he sensed someone standing over him. A woman was regarding him with a guarded smile. Orilli a something, he thought, trying to summon the rest of her name. Behind her, several of her companions stood watching.

"You shoot uncommonly well for a Tir," she said.

"Thank you," he replied, then added pointedly, "The rhui'auros say it's my gift from Aura, by my mother's blood."

She nodded politely. "My apologies, ya'shel. My friends and I were wondering if you would care to match that odd black bow against ours."

"I'd like that." Perhaps Klia had been right about the diplomatic value of this excursion after all.