He may be a bit more open, but Tarrin was still feral, and he understood that. He doubted he would be anything but feral for the rest of his life. He had simply been betrayed one time too many. But what he was hoping was that he could dull that intense distrust of everything not known to the point where he could operate in a human society without killing someone. That was his only realistic goal.

The mage was there that morning, sitting in a chair usually reserved for Keritanima, wearing a silly black robe with patches portraying mystical symbols sewn randomly to the fabric. And that hat. It was a truly ridiculous conical hat, with a wide brim, that tapered to a sharp point some two spans over the mage's head. It was Phandebrass' stage costume, and he was wearing it because he'd spilled ale on all his other robes. A mug of ale was casually held in his left hand, threatening to soil the last garment the mage had left with each movement of his hand. Turnkey and Chopstick-or was it Chopstick and Turnkey?-sat on his shoulders, glaring at the Were-cat as the mage finished off what was left in the tankard. The two little drakes, with their reddish scales, looked almost exactly the same. Their scents were different, but Tarrin had yet to figure out which drake was which. Phandebrass rarely called them by their names, nor were they often separated from each other. The mage was relaying a tale of the gods, of the twin gods of death, Dakkii and Dakkuu. The origins and histories of the Elder Gods were very blurred and uncertain, but what was generally known of the twin gods was their roles. Everyone referred to death as she because nobody wanted to see the male Death come to claim them. Only those who had lived a live of selfishness or evil, whose afterlife would be a punishment, were claimed by Dakkuu, the male Death. Those who had lived a good life, and were being carried on to an afterlife of reward, were claimed by Dakkii, the female Death. When Death Herself came to claim someone, it was a fear only of what was lost. When Death Himself came for a person, it was a fear of what was to come.

The story he told was the story of the twin gods' eternal hatred for each other. So the story went, they had been borne at the same instant, and had originally been meant to be only a single entity. But fate had split them into two, and each secretly felt that they were what was originally intended the god of Death to be. Dakkii saw the god of death as a nurturer, to gently carry the souls of the deserving on to their patron gods, who would mete out justice. Dakkuu saw Death as an avenger, someone to keep the souls of the damned and torture them for their failures and evil natures. They had nearly went to war with each other, until Ayise, Allmother, the creator of the gods, stepped in and separated them. To each she granted that position in which they believed. Dakkii became the god of Death for the vast majority of the world, someone to ferry the souls on to their final destination, doing it with compassion and love. Dakkuu became the punisher, who kept the souls that the other gods told him were beyond hope of redemption, to make them suffer for the hatred and evil he had in his own heart. Because of the horrible finality of this punishment, the very name of Dakkuu became taboo to the world, and nobody ever spoke of death as male. To be claimed by Dakkuu was a fate worse than a million agonizing deaths, because it meant that an eternity of torment awaited the hapless fool.

"Of course, Dakkuu rails against this custom," Phandebrass concluded. "Dakkuu wanted to be a punisher, and he became one. But the fact that when everyone thinks of death, they think of his sister, causes him even more anger and frustration. Ask a common man about death, and he'll tell you it's a she. Ask him about what happens to the damned, and he'll tell you that it comes for them. That's what Dakkuu has become to the world. An it. A nameless spectre everyone fears, but nobody completely understands."

"Isn't it a bad thing to speak his name then?" Tarrin asked. Tarrin was impressed. He didn't know that. He knew there were ten Elder Gods, but even he could only name nine. The tenth was a mystery, a mystery that the mage had just solved. He knew about the nameless reaper of the damned, but had never been able to put a name to it-no, he.

"Oh dear me, no," Phandebrass chuckled. "If anything, he probably appreciates the fact that some mortals remember him, and remember, Dakkuu is a punisher of the deserving. If you're not deserving eternal torture, then you have nothing to fear from him. I'm not saying he's going to appear before us and shake my hand, but I also don't doubt that he knows we're talking about him. To mortals, Gods are capricious beings, my boy. They seem to adore attention. Why they adore attention is something that sages still argue about. Us lowly mortals will probably never fully understand the minds and motivations of the gods."

"Probably not. If we could, we'd be gods too."

"Excellent observation. I must write that down. I say, where is my pen?"

"In your hand," Tarrin pointed out delicately.

"Ah. So it is."

"I've been wondering, why are you in the carnival, Phandebrass? You seem too, experienced, to be in a travelling circus."

"True, my boy, but to be honest, I love telling stories, and it always makes me smile to see people marvel at my magic. They see my magic, and some of them become interested, and want to learn about it. It helps spread the learning of magic through the world, and if my efforts help bring only one child to the path of the Arcana, then it makes me happy. And this circus visits some of the largest cities in the western world, where they have very comprehensive libraries. I say, the fact that I'm allowed into the Imperial Library in Dala Yar Arak when we perform there makes my employment with Renoit more than worth what I lose in quiet study time. That library has the most complete collection of magical works in the world. Mages drool over the idea of being allowed unrestricted access to it."

"So it's mutually beneficial."

"I say, my boy, that's the best kind of agreement," he said. "I do alot of experimenting on the ship. I have my own lab, you know. I just have to break my studies from time to time to go perform, which I don't mind doing at all. Father always said I had a flare for the dramatic."

The door opened, and Azakar stepped in. "How are you feeling?" he asked Tarrin without greeting him.

"I feel alright, Zak. Dolanna says I'll be off bed restriction by tomorrow, but I think she's being protective about it."

"You need to listen to her. She's trying to keep you healthy."

"Are you going to start trying to be my mother again, Zak?" the Were-cat asked in a dangerous tone.

"Yes," he said flatly. "You need to start taking better care of yourself, Tarrin. If you're not going to do that, well, then I guess we'll have to do it for you." He wiped sweat from his brow absently. "Anyway, I'm done for today, and I was wondering if you wanted to play stones or cards or something."

"Sure. I think Phandebrass knows how to play King's Crown, and it's always more fun with three people."

"King's Crown? I say, do you know the tale behind the game?"

"We can hear it some other time, Phandebrass," Azakar told him immediately. "I can't concentrate if you're distracting me with your stories."

Phandebrass glanced at Tarrin, then he winked. "Well then, I'll just save it for later, then. I say, you have a deck?"

"I do, but only if you promise the dragons won't eat the cards this time," the huge Mahuut said steadily.

"I scolded them for that, my boy," he replied with a straight face. "I say, do you know that the suit of crowns started out as the suit of gold? There were four suits, all named after precious metals. The suit of gold, the suit of silver, the suit of copper, and the suit of platinum. But time and the need for pictographic cards, which are easier to make, brought about the changes. Now we have the suit of crowns, the suit of clubs, the suit of diamonds, and the suit of swords."