When the prince did, Hanish had to turn his attention to that greater horde of humanity marching toward him through Talay. Barad escaped the mines during the chaos but was too far away to join Aliver before he died. He never saw his prince, but he did know the moment his voice was silenced.

"That was a tragic day, friends," Barad said, exhaling as he did so. He let the pain tug at his features. He knew this was an orator's trick, but in this case it was an honest action. It did pain him to recall the moment those whispers died in his ears. He had never felt a greater loss since. Ofttimes he was still reminded of it, enough so that he sometimes froze in place with his head cocked, listening.

He moved on with his speech, talking through the aftermath of the war. Communication was irregular for the common people then, and Barad was a-wandering, staying far from the mines, finding some joy in the freedom to travel but unsure of his purpose anymore. Like everyone else, he took a while to know what to make of this new queen. Such a beauty, people said. So clever to outwit Hanish Mein, to use the Numrek against the Mein, and to somehow convince the league to withdraw their support of him. She was, in the first half year of her reign, adored by the entire populace. Aliver became an instant legend; she became his heir, a living, female embodiment of the ideals of her martyred brother. He had not lived, but she had, which meant there was yet hope.

"But that wasn't so, was it?"

A chorus of voices agreed.

"The queen ain't her brother," one man said, "not in any way except in sharing a name, and that's nothing."

A woman added, "She is a viper, that one. Sold us body and soul, the worst of her kind."

Barad let these comments sit, and waited through a few more. These people were finding their confidence enough to add their voices, to grunt affirmation and nod their heads. This was usually the way it went. It never took them long to learn to trust him. Why should it? Everything he said was true. He let them speak among themselves for a few minutes. When they stopped, Barad said, "Now that tale is no tale, is it? It is not make-believe, not a storyteller's fancy. Every word of it is the truth, and I believe you all know that."

Chest claps and shouts indicated that they did.

"And it's no different for you either. The details, yes, but the substance is the same. You coastal folk, you were proud once. You worked the ocean despite its danger. You know this better than I. But with Corinn as queen you've been changed from fishermen of the Gray Slopes to farmers of grain in a single generation. That, truly, is sorcery. Do not mistake me. We must plant and tend and harvest grain as well. It is not that I say the work is beneath you. It's just that each people are born knowing how they are, knowing what they do best, knowing the work of their mothers and fathers, knowing the work that will be their sons' and daughters'. That was what it was like here in Nesreh for generations. But it is not that way anymore. Instead, you pack grain in warehouses and ship it to Islands of the Lost, to that place where they breed our children into slaves to exchange for great wealth in the league's pockets, in the Akaran coffers. In exchange for the drug that they believe makes us ignorant of our own enslavement. Am I correct?"

A few in the audience affirmed that he was, but they were not all sure. How could they know what went on out there?

"I understand that it is hard to be certain of all this. So much is withheld from me as well as from you. But I think we can all agree that Queen Corinn may one day be considered a greater evil than Hanish Mein. Many think her so already. But now I see fear on some of your faces. How can I say such a thing? you wonder. It is a crime, and your hearing it makes you a part of my crime. I say that is not true. If you do not agree, you have done no crime. If you do agree, you have done nothing but acknowledge the truth. And there is no crime in that either."

Barad had stepped from the raised platform on which he had been standing and now moved through the crowd. He was slow, gentle as he pushed between them, a head taller than anyone there. He liked to see their faces at this point and liked them to see his. He dropped his voice slightly as well. The warehouse went silent, heads craning to follow him as he moved.

"I want you to work with me to make the world as Aliver Akaran dreamed it for us. This is treason, I know, but I invite each and every one of you to be traitors with me. How can I trust you? I will be honest with you-I ask that question myself each day. This goal I have-we have, if you are with me-is fraught with peril. Any one of you could be the spy who betrays our cause. One of you… it would only take one of you. So how can I trust you?"

He stopped before a middle-aged woman. He took her hand between his massive palms. He could smell the toil on her, the sweat and grime from her labors before coming to this meeting, the almost sour scent of grain dust woven in every thread of her simple garments. He spoke as if to her alone.

"I trust you because I must. Only together can we do this. Only together. If I don't have you with me, I have nothing. I may as well drag myself to Kidnaban and offer my back so that it can be broken once and for all. But if there is no hope for me, there is none for you either. I pray to the Giver that is not the future before us." Still looking at the woman, he said the part of this that was the hardest for him. The only part that felt both true and feigned at the same time. He believed it, yes, but he was never sure whether his belief was founded on its truth, or whether the truth had grown out of his belief. "But I know that is not the future before us. The Giver has chosen us for greater things. We are the Chosen Ones. Aliver whispers that to me nightly. Still, he whispers it. We are the Giver's people, he says. We have only to awaken to it and act."

"What would you have us do, then?" Elaz asked, casting his question from where he stood on the platform.

Barad released the woman's hand and turned back. "Speak the truth each and every day. Speak it to your wives, your husbands. Speak it to your children. Speak it to each other so that you hear it again and again and know it by heart. And to those you doubt, speak only parts of it, test them. If the entire tree is too much for them to gaze on at once, plant seeds of truth in them first. Till the soil of your neighbors with love and with hope for them as well as yourselves. And then be patient. Seeds do not grow until the soil is ready and rains come and the sun promises them life."

"And when will that time come?"

Turning back again, Barad realized it was the middle-aged woman who had asked the question. He smiled, a wide, toothy grin with which he always answered that question. Indeed, he had answered it hundreds of times at meetings like this. He had answered it in the hovels in Candovia and mountain villages in Senival, in Aushenia and among the black-skinned people of Talay. He had even traded messages with the dejected remnants of Hanish Mein's people. Everywhere he found ears hungry to hear him and minds eager to be awakened, hearts ready to be stirred to action. At these moments, he could believe that Aliver had spoken to him for a reason. He could still help see the prince's dreams come true. At these moments, he forgot the pains of his body and again felt as strong as ever.

He answered as he always did, with what he hoped to be the truth. "Soon," he said. "There will come a day when I will shout for all of the Known World to rise up. We are all the Kindred. I will shout, but the sound you hear will be that of your own voice, and it will sweep away the old world and we will make it anew. The queen has no idea what's coming. But we do. Soon, my friends. Soon."