The guard with the lantern was middle-aged and thick-waisted, but gave an impression of tough competence. "Brog'r love me!" he swore. "It is! It's you! And you've not changed a whit! Not in all them years!" He turned, shouting more loudly than needed. "It's him! The marshal! He's come back!" Then he turned to Macurdy again. "Come in! Come in! I seen you when I was with Wollerda in the revolution. And later, in the Marches, I seen you different times, including at Ternass. So they rousted me out of my bunk, to be sure you weren't no impostor."

Gesticulating as he talked, the man led them through a ten-foot-long, tunnel-like passage through the wall. Vulkan followed closely, still unperceived.

When they'd emerged, the officer of the watch was waiting to check Macurdy personally, though he'd never seen him before. Cautiously semi-satisfied, he sent a mounted courier galloping ahead to announce the visitor, and with four mounted guardsmen, escorted Macurdy personally to the royal residence.

The king's houseguards had been alerted, and half a dozen waited respectfully at the entry. There Macurdy dismounted. Almost at once, Wollerda came out.

It took Macurdy a moment to recognize him-the king had passed his sixtieth birthday and grown somewhat heavier-but Wollerda recognized his visitor instantly. "Macurdy!" he said. They hugged, then Wollerda stepped back to arms' length. "You haven't changed a bit that I can see. God but it's good to have you here!" He hugged him again. "Well! Come in! Come in!"

So far Macurdy had merely grinned broadly. Now he spoke. "Just a minute. I've got a friend to introduce. He's wearing a concealment spell, otherwise folks might have got all upset." Macurdy stepped to one side. "Pavo, meet Vulkan."

With that, Pavo Wollerda, warrior-scholar, ex-revolutionary leader, king of Tekalos, found himself facing something he'd heard of all his life. A bugbear he'd learned to fear as a child, had only half believed in since, and had never thought to see. The small fierce eyes were almost on a level with his own, gleaming red in the torchlight. The heavy yellow tusks were something out of nightmare. Reflexively the king stepped back, while his guardsmen's hands went to their swords.

"Vulkan and I are traveling together," Macurdy went on. "He's my friend and advisor. And smart as the stories say, but not near as ferocious. Not normally. Matter of fact, he's safer to be around than lots of dogs, unless someone gets crosswise of him, I suppose."

Wollerda stared, then thoughts entered his mind in the form of a pseudo voice, deep and resonant. ‹My function is not violence.›

The guards' nerves had eased a bit-their knees and backs had straightened-but their hands remained near their sword hilts. The king turned in awe to his old comrade-in-arms. "Macurdy, I've known for years you were a man of power. But to have a traveling companion like that? No man in Yuulith is your match!"

Grinning, Macurdy shook his head. "I'm not much more of a magician now than when I left. Which isn't all that much. I'm older and more experienced, and smarter I hope. But whether I'm smart enough, time will tell.

"Ask us in and we'll tell you what we know. But I expect we'll learn more from you than you will from us."

Wollerda nodded toward Vulkan. "He goes in with us?"

"Unless you'd rather talk out here. I expect Liiset will want to meet him, too."

They went in then, the king leading, several guardsmen bringing up the rear. Briefly Wollerda wondered if Vulkan was housebroken. But intelligent as the giant boar seemed to be, and a wizard to boot, that seemed unlikely to be a problem.

The royal apartment was on the second floor. When they went in, Queen Liiset met them with no sign of shock, or even surprise, at Vulkan's presence. Macurdy decided she'd been watching out a window.

"Curtis!" she said smiling and took his hand for a moment. She was the first person to call him that since he'd left Farside. "Introduce me to your companion," she added, turning her gaze to Vulkan.

Vulkan introduced himself. ‹I am Vulkan. I have learned much about the Sisterhood in recent centuries, but you are the first of them whom I have addressed personally.›

When Wollerda learned that his visitors hadn't eaten, he ordered a meal sent for Macurdy. Vulkan said he'd wait till later, and that a lamb would be about right.

After eating, Macurdy described briefly his past seventeen years on Farside. He'd intended to mention the voitar in Bavaria, then didn't. He did mention Vulkan's premonition about a threat from across the Ocean Sea, but didn't elaborate. The time for that, it seemed to him, was if and when the threat materialized. Or perhaps if pushed to it by questions.

"What I'd like to hear about," he went on, "is how things are going in Tekalos, and with the Sisterhood."

Wollerda had been everything King Gurtho had not. He'd striven for justice, and taken care not to offend his subjects needlessly. There hadn't been a tax uprising since his coronation, partly because taxes were now set by fixed rates. And partly because, over time, a count, three reeves and five bailiffs had been found guilty of flagrant abuse of office, mostly for tax offenses. After a tour of the kingdom in chains, they'd made the acquaintance of the royal executioner, and the heads had decorated poles outside their official residences. This not only gratified the population at large. It was also an ever-present reminder to those who succeeded them in office, and a warning to officials elsewhere. For their heads were left on the poles till long after they were bleached skulls.

"Those are the only brutalities I've committed in office," Wollerda finished, "but I have no doubt Brog'r forgives me."

Early on he'd established militia training for all youth, somewhat after the Ozian system, and reduced the standing army. County forces too had been reduced, and put on a reserve basis to reduce taxes. Their annual field training now was done on a military reservation, to avoid trampling farmers' fields-a long-standing source of damage and resentment. Aside from the king, only counts retained military forces at all. Reeves and bailiffs replaced theirs with police, which were fewer in number, and regulated by law rather than whim.

Shamans had been legalized. "Most of them," Wollerda added, "aren't very effective. But the poorer of them soon find business sparse, and profit slight from the puny fees they can get. But even the completely bogus sometimes effect cures by belief."

Macurdy turned to Liiset, who looked as young and beautiful as ever. She was a member of Varia's clone, and the resemblance was uncanny, even with their differences in aura. "And what's the state of the Sisterhood?" he asked.

Her eyes met his mildly. "Let me call Omara," she replied. "I get reports by courier, and make occasional trips to the Cloister, but she is Sarkia's executive officer."

"Omara is here?" Even as he spoke, Macurdy realized his response was giving away his feelings for the healer. But his aura would too, and Liiset wouldn't miss it.

"For a week," she answered. "She arrived this Three-Day, to initiate our children in the next stage of magicks and healing. She's considerably more advanced than I. And more fully informed of Sisterhood affairs. She'll be pleased to see you."

In minutes, Omara arrived from her quarters, smelling of fragrant soap. "My apologies," Liiset said, "if we interrupted you in your bath."

"I was done with it," Omara answered, with the calm that Macurdy remembered. "I was preparing to meditate." She turned, her gaze absorbing him. "Hello, Macurdy," she said, "it is very nice to see you again." He wondered how much she read in him. With her powerful talent and broad experience, surely she saw more deeply than Liiset or himself when she looked at an aura.