Tanis, entering from the blazing light of the Tower, blinked at the sudden near-darkness. He could see the candle flame flickering, but the figure of Porthios was only a dim shape in the darkness. The medallion that Flint had made mirrored the candle's glow.

He had to draw Porthios nearer. What had Gilthanas said the words were? He dredged his memory.

"I am your childhood," he recited, trying to lighten his voice to sound more like Gilthanas. "Leave me behind. The mists are past-" That didn't sound right, but he was doing the best he could-"Go to your future."

"Gilthanas!" came Porthios's horrified whisper. "Say the right words-and in the old tongue!"

Tanis hesitated.

"Don't you remember them?" Porthios hissed. "Listen." The Speaker's son repeated the correct words in the ancient tongue. "Say them."

Still Tanis hesitated. Porthios stepped closer, as Tanis had wished.

For a heartbeat, Tanis considered merely using his superior strength to overpower his cousin. He had punched Porthios in the face once before, long ago in the courtyard of the palace. That had started the only physical altercation the two cousins had ever had. And it had earned him Porthios's enmity for years afterward.

"Porthios," he said in his own voice. "Listen to me. Don't go out that door."

"Tanthalas!" Porthios's face showed shock. "Where is Gilthanas? What have you-?"

"Listen!" Tanis hissed. "If you gained anything at all in your vigil in the Grove, listen to me now."

His cousin stepped back, seemed to force a calm mien to descend over his features. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "What, Tanis?" he asked in his normal tones.

"There is a conspiracy to kill you and the Speaker."

"The Speaker? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. I am here to stop the killer."

"You?" Porthios laughed shortly, but his face was surprisingly kind. "Tanis, you're only a child…"

Tanis spoke hastily, aware that the onlookers would be getting uneasy outside the door. The worst thing that could happen now would be for someone to open that door and look inside. "Porthios, the same one who killed Xenoth and Eld Ailea is after you and the Speaker, and Laurana. I know this."

"How do you know it?"

Tanis considered. He was running out of time for persuasion. He could resolve this situation by physical force, but his elven blood shuddered at the prospect of knocking out a youth during his own Kentommen, for whatever reason.

But he could lie.

"Porthios," Tanis said, "Gilthanas is dead."

There was a pause; Porthios's features never changed.

"The murderer slew him, too. Porthios, if you and Laurana and the Speaker are killed, it will throw the kingdom into chaos."

Porthios seemed to be struggling to digest all he'd heard. Tanis's heart ached for him, for the half-elf's part in causing that pain. "I have a plan, Porthios."

The answer came calmly. "What is it?"

"Listen," Tanis said. "I am expendable…"

Flint peered into the gap in the side of the oak tree that had saved his life months earlier. The tree had opened again in the interim, to the dwarf's relief. He entered the hollow-ness, Fleetfoot hard on his heels. Flint paid her no attention.

"How did I get through before? What did I do?" he muttered, ankle-deep in dry forest litter, holding a burning brand over his head. "The rune." He looked down. "The floor of the tree caught fire. Maybe that's it." He considered. "Well, if I'm wrong, I'll merely burn to death."

"Ah, well," he said, and touched torch to debris.

Flames roared.

Miral raced along the second balcony, his goal the spiral stairs to the main level. Gilthanas had spent far too much time in the corridor. Something was not going according to the mage's plan. He raged with the injustice.

As he reached the door to the stairwell, he heard expressions of horror ripple through the onlookers, and he turned back.

"Porthios enters armed!"

"What?"

"The Kentommen youth is never armed!"

"What does this portend?"

Solostaran was pallid as he gazed at the figure he believed was his son and heir, but his self-possession never faltered. "Porthios," he ordered. "Tell me what this means."

"There is a murderer in the Tower," Tanis cried, sweeping the hood back from his face.

More expressions of shock burst from the nobles as the crowd involuntarily parted and Tanis bounded through, his sword at the ready. With one leap, he was upon the rostrum, standing before Solostaran.

"Tanthalas!" Miral exclaimed from above. "But you're dead!"

The youth whirled to face the mage. Tanis's gaze caught Miral's, and the mage saw pain flare within the youth. "How do you know, mage?" he demanded.

"Guards!" Tyresian thundered.

Tanis held up his sword, Elansa's amulet glittering like a small sun. "The mage has twice killed, and he seeks to slay still more today." He pointed the sword at Miral.

Miral fought back a laugh at the chaos below him. What better time to unleash his final spell? He began to chant.

"By the gods," Tyresian barked. "The half-elf has lost his mind. And so has the mage. Guards!"

"Tanis, where is Porthios?" came Laurana's shrill cry. "And Gilthanas?"

Tanis had no time to reply. He was dashing through the nobles to the stairwell. Black-garbed ceremonial guards poured into the Tower but didn't immediately realize that the half-elf was the one Tyresian wanted them to capture. Tanis slipped through, threw open the door to the stairway, and took the steps three at a time.

As though the words pounded in his brain, Tanis could hear Miral continue his chanting. Above, the top of the Tower creaked.

Suddenly, Eld Ailea appeared before him on the stairs.

Tanis spun to a halt against the wall of the first landing. "Ailea!" he cried. "You're not dead." She looked down at him and smiled.

Then suddenly, she was not Ailea, but Xenoth, laughing loudly and pointing derisively at the half-elf. Tanis held his sword before him and struggled to overcome the panic within him.

Xenoth turned into a middle-aged elf man with a slender face and eyes of purest blue. His arm supported a pallid woman with long, curly hair the color of wheat and eyes as brown as the earth. She looked at Tanis, raised one weak hand, and whispered, "Tanthalas, my son."

Tanis stood motionless, feeling his heart thunder. The agony of the moment tore into him. Then he wrenched away, shouted, "This is magic!" and the two figures vanished into shimmering air.

He pushed through the spot where they had stood; cold fingers of air brushed against his arm as he pounded past.

"Miral!" he cried, bursting onto the second balcony.

Three chunks of tile burst from the mosaic and plummeted into the teeming mass of elves. A thin crack rent the top of the Tower.

At that moment, with a crash of thunder, Flint and Fleet-foot appeared on the rostrum.

"Arelas!" the dwarf called. His voice reverberated. "Arelas Kanan!" He pointed his hammer at the mage.

Miral's chant slowed and stopped. Hands above his head, sweat starting from his palms, he held the spell and looked down at Flint. Suddenly, there was no noise in the Tower but tiny "pings" as bits of tile showered down from the double mosaic. The smell of rock and plaster was in the air.

"Arelas?" Solostaran said tentatively. "My brother?"

"Your brother never died, Speaker," Flint said. "Not Arelas. He came to you as Miral."

The mule brayed, breaking Flint's spell, and Miral resumed his chant. A groan sounding like agony came from the division between the mosaic of day and the mosaic of night, at the top of the Tower.