"I have not been myself, Chayan SilverBranch. These have been terrible days. Terrible, terrible days since Relkath told me where to find my son with Zandilar's Dancer."

Alassra was inclined to agree, but surprised that he saw events the same way. "Your son is missing, taken, we think, by Red Wizards from Thay." She watched for Rizcarn's reaction.

"A terrible thing. Yes. Such a man waited for me, a Red Wizard from Thay. I killed him, but that wasn't enough. He became part of me. I turned to Relkath, but there was nothing Relkath could do, so I did what I was meant to do while Relkath found a way to free me."

"Now, as we drew close to the Sunglade, Relkath overcame the Red Wizard's influence?" It was not an explanation the Simbul had considered.

"I am myself again. I am here at the Sunglade with the Cha'Tel'Quessir. I have done Relkath's work and he has rewarded me. There is no doubt in my mind, Chayan SilverBranch. How can there be doubt in yours? You serve Zandilar; I see her presence within you. Through you, she healed my son-" Rizcarn took Alassra's arm and pulled her closer so he could whisper in her ear. "Relkath forgives you for last night, during the storm. He was only trying to free me. You should not have fought him."

Alassra smiled. "I didn't know," she said and nodded awkwardly when he released her arm. Rizcarn was, as Halaern said, "Once dead and crazy as a magpie in spring." He was, however, as much himself as he was ever likely to be and-for whatever reason, with whatever help-free of Thayan influence.

He took her arm again, suddenly and tightly. "Lanig… Lanig! Relkath, forgive me! I killed my friend Lanig because he guessed I was not myself."

The Simbul pried herself loose. "That is between you and Relkath."

"Yes. Yes, you're right. I will listen to the trees. There is still time. The moon won't rise until the sky is dark. Zandilar won't come until midnight. There's time. I will tell the others what they must do."

Rizcarn moved out of her shadow. He took a few steps toward Halaern and the others, then stopped, staring at the forester as if he hadn't expected to see him.

"Trovar YuirWood, old friend, why are you here?" Rizcarn's tone belied his greeting.

Halaern separated from the other Cha'Tel'Quessir. "I go where I'm needed. I was needed here."

"This is not your path, Trovar YuirWood. You chose a different one a long time ago. Giving that crown to your cousin changes nothing in your heart, Trovar YuirWood. You don't belong here."

To Alassra's surprise, her friend simply nodded and started walking away. She called him back, the verdigrised circlet in her outstretched hand. He replaced it on his brow.

I would rather you stayed. There's no telling what he'll do without the Red Wizard keeping him sane! Alassra meant the words in jest, though there was truth in them.

He serves Relkath, my lady. I serve you. The breach cannot be spanned. I won't be far.

The Simbul watched him go, wondering if every Cha'Tel'Quessir had to work out his or her personal relationship with the Yuirwood gods, just like every human and every elf. When Rizcarn muttered, "Good riddance!" at the forester's shadow she lost her infamous temper.

"We needed him!" she shouted, then-remembering that Rizcarn thought she served Zandilar-she added. "I needed him. Who will dance with me? Who will ride my damned horse?"

Rizcarn was unperturbed. "Wait. Be patient. Relkath will provide."

Alassra Shentrantra did not wait well. She had never mastered patience. She went into the forest to seal herself in silence and prepare the spells she thought she might need later in the evening. That didn't take much time; she was always prepared for trouble. Her eight Cha'Tel'Quessir companions, whatever their other virtues-and she was certain they must have some-were as interesting as the sky on a cloudless day. Halaern was out in the laurel. Bro was imprisoned, enduring torment only a zulkir would imagine. And Rizcarn was sitting in the middle of the inner stone circle, once again aglow with a silver-green aura. By Alassra's best guess, the moon was still several handspans below the eastern horizon. She'd begun to wonder how long it would take one of Mystra's immortal Chosen to die of sheer boredom.

She counted the stars as they appeared in the twilight sky. There were three hundred and twenty-two when Rizcarn hoisted himself to his feet.

"The 'Glade," he announced, "is ready. We are ready to dance for Zandilar."

Truth to tell, Alassra Shentrantra wasn't much of a dancer, either. Court dances with their pattern steps were worse than boring and the ecstatic dancing Rizcarn described asked too much of a wizard who enjoyed spontaneity only when she was in complete control of it. When Rizcarn proposed that she dance alone at the center of the circles while he led the Cha'Tel'Quessir in a vine dance among the inner stones she came within a heartbeat of heading straight back to Velprintalar.

"I thought Zandilar was going to do all the dancing," she protested.

"Zandilar will! Zandilar will awaken from the ground. She will become one with you, Chayan. You and she will dance together."

"Someone else should have the honor. I've been away from the Yuirwood for so long that I've forgotten how to dance."

She looked toward the women among the Cha'Tel'Quessir: three of them, each young enough to seduce a man with their dancing. They all refused to meet Alassra's eyes.

"You are the one to dance Zandilar's part," Rizcarn persisted. "You serve her; she's chosen you. It doesn't matter where you've been. The dance is part of you; your body remembers it from childhood. Come." He beckoned her toward the circles. "Take your place."

Grimly-she'd rather face a score of Red Wizards, ten-score of Red Wizards-Alassra unbuckled her sword belt. "Will there be music?" she asked as she walked past Rizcarn. "Or do I have to remember that, too?"

Rizcarn produced a set of silver pipes. "I will make the melody, the forest and the 'Glade will make the rest."

There were ten stones in the inner circle; one for each of them. Alassra read Relkath's name on one, Magnar and Elikarashae on two more, Zandilar's on a fourth, above the old Espruar rune for dancing. If she had a place, then Zandilar's stone was it and she started for it.

The Simbul wasn't Zandilar. She wasn't a dancer. There were six other stones in the circle whose inscriptions had been eroded. She picked one of those stones, the northernmost stone.

"That's the wrong stone!" Rizcarn shouted.

On impulse, Alassra knelt before the stone. She traced what remained of its inscription. There were no legible marks. It was as if its god's name had been chiseled out before time had begun its work.

"Zandilar's stone, in the west, where the moon's light will surround you."

"This is my stone," the Simbul informed him, using a tone that made gods think twice before arguing with her.

Rizcarn-or his god-got the message. "We will begin together. Chayan, you will move to the center when it is the right time." He anticipated her next question. "You will know when it is the right time. There will be no doubt."

It was plain awkward at first. Alassra was conscious of every knee, ankle, elbow, and wrist. Her back was rigid and her hips simply would not sway to the twisting, twirling music that came from Rizcarn's silver pipes. No Red Wizard or Zhentarim mage had devised a crueler torture. As moonlight peeked through the trees, awkwardness became anger-the childish, self-destructive anger that had worried her Rashemaar guardians centuries ago. Alassra struck the man behind her hard enough to knock him to the ground; she only wished it had been Rizcarn and that the whole farce would come to a halt.