"I don't believe it," Brandark said flatly. "I can't believe it!"

"I'm not surprised," Wencit told him. "How could you, given the curse the Fall left your people? But it's true nonetheless. Your people were always bigger, stronger, tougher than the other Races of Man, but there was no such thing as the Rage, and your lives were only a very little longer than those of humans."

"What happened?" Bahzell asked very quietly, and Wencit sighed.

"Yanahir found the cleft point for your people in something much more subtle than sarthnasikarmanthar , Bahzell. It wasn't something the hradahnahin did ; it was something they were , and it explained their strength and size and how rapidly they recovered from injuries. Unlike humans or dwarves—or elves and half-elves, for that matter—your ancestors were directly attuned to the magic field. They were linked to it, drawing upon it for their strength and vitality, and it gave them a sort of harmony which showed in a calm demeanor, an almost deliberate approach to any question or problem.

"But when the Dark Lords needed shock troops, all they saw was your people's strength and toughness. You made ideal soldiers—or would have, if you'd been willing to serve them. And if they'd been able to control you. So they developed the spells to let them do just that."

A memory of ancient anguish—and, perhaps, of shame—twisted the old wizard's face, and he looked away for a long moment while tension crackled in the tunnel.

"We tried to stop them," he said finally, his voice very soft. "The White Council tried, Bahzell. I swear it. But we were too late, and the Carnadosans... They took insane chances with the art. They reached down deep inside your ancestors and they twisted and they ripped and they—"

He broke off, then turned to look Bahzell and Brandark squarely in the eye.

"We shielded as many of the hradahnahin as we could, but we couldn't protect enough of them. And those we couldn't protect, or who fell into Carnadosan hands as the war turned against us, were changed. The Dark Lords inflicted the Rage upon them, and at the same time, they strengthened that link to the energy field so that their slave soldiers would be even harder to kill, would recover even more quickly from their wounds so they could be thrown at the Gryphon Guard again and again. That's why your lives are longer than they were... and the same changes are also the reason your people became so much less fertile than humans."

He stopped speaking, and despite the sound of hooves and wagon wheels echoing in the tunnel, an odd sort of silence enveloped his listeners. Bahzell and Brandark stared at one another, stunned by what they'd just heard, and then Bahzell felt another pair of eyes upon him. He turned and met Kaeritha's dark blue gaze, saw the understanding and sympathy in it, and felt her reach out to rest one hand lightly on his shoulder. He reached up and covered it with his own hand, then looked back at Wencit.

"Well, that's worth knowing," he said, vaguely surprised by how normal his own voice sounded. "And I'm thinking it's yet another reason for my folk to not be trusting any wizards—with one exception, maybe." He grinned crookedly at Wencit and deliberately changed the subject. Or, rather, returned to an earlier one. "But you were saying as how the elves were 'created' after the First Wizard Wars?"

"Hm?" Wencit twitched his shoulders. "Oh. Yes, I was." He rubbed an eyebrow, marshaling his thoughts and obviously grateful for Bahzell's question.

"The main difference between the elves and the races which came before them," he said after a moment, "is that they chose to become a separate race. You see, before Ottovar imposed the Strictures, there was a group of magic-users known as warlocks or witches. The main difference between them and what we call wizards today—or, more properly, wand wizards—was that a warlock didn't spend years in study and didn't evolve elaborate techniques for manipulating the energy about him. His approach to the art was much more... basic than that, because he saw it more clearly. In a sense, he was directly linked to the energy much as your ancestors were, Bahzell, but in a different way. It didn't sustain him; instead, he was able to manipulate and use it much as the stoneherds use sarthnasikarmanthar . The effects they could achieve were far less spectacular than a sarthnasik could produce, but they weren't limited to stone, and they'd been very useful as a sort of magical support troops for the wizard lords Ottovar had vanquished.

"Unfortunately, it was much more difficult to police warlocks than wand wizards, which posed a problem for Ottovar and Gwynytha's Strictures. It wasn't impossible, but it wouldn't have been easy, and, frankly, the use of their abilities came too easily to them. It was highly unlikely that they could have renounced their use even if they'd wanted to, but Ottovar and Gwynytha hadn't spent centuries fighting to impose some sort of restraint on the unbridled use of the art just to see that restraint destroyed within a generation or two. So they made a bargain with the warlocks. They created a spell—according to Yanahir, it was Gwynytha's work, and it must have been an incredible feat—which changed the warlocks' talent into something very like your own people's link to the magic field. The warlocks gave up sorcery... and in return, they received immortality." He smiled—a wry, bitter twist of the lips. "I don't think it was a bargain I would have made. Immortality would give me too long to remember what I'd given up to get it."

"But you're already—" Vaijon blurted, then clamped his jaw shut. Wencit looked at him, then smiled more naturally.

"Immortal, Vaijon?" He laughed. "Oh, no. Wild wizards live a long, long time, but we're not immortal. And the elves truly are, you know. They can be killed, and they do die, but unless they're murdered or die in battle or of a disease or in an accident they truly can live forever. Not that they do. In time, even immortality can become a curse, and eventually most of them choose to die.

"But—" he shook himself "—that's how the elves became the fourth Race of Man. I don't suppose—" his smile became a grin "—that I have to explain where the half -elves came from, do I?"

"No, I'm thinking we've all a fair enough grasp of how that's after working," Bahzell assured him dryly.

"Good. As for the halflings, they're obviously a true fifth race, but I have to admit that I'm not entirely certain what constitutes their 'cleft point.' I'm inclined to think it was simply the amount of raw wizardry their ancestors were exposed to. People too close to unshielded workings of the art can be... changed, and the Carnadosans often ignored their responsibility to shield others from the emanations of their spells. My best guess is that the halflings are descended from the servants and slaves of dark wizards who were sloppy about shielding... and I'd also guess that's where the magi come from, as well."

"Um." Brandark nodded slowly, eyes half closed as he considered all he'd just learned. "That's quite a lump of information, Wencit," he said finally, "not all of it exactly pleasant. But it does explain a few things I've wondered about in the past."

"But not the Purple Lords," Kaeritha put in. The others looked at her, and she shrugged. "Half-elves breed true, and they've existed almost as long as the elves themselves. Why aren't they considered the fifth race instead of the halflings? And why don't any other crossings between the races breed true?"

"Actually, half-elves only 'breed true' with elves or other half-elves," Wencit told her. "I sometimes think that's one reason the Purple Lords are so arrogant. Their ancestors deliberately chose to breed a new Race of Man, but none of the others have ever acknowledged them as such. They certainly think they should have been known as the 'fifth Race of Man,' but if they truly constitute a race at all, it's an artificial one. If they were to interbreed with humans or dwarves, they'd quickly disappear once more."

"They would?" Kaeritha sounded surprised, and he nodded.

"Certainly. Any of the Races of Man can interbreed with any of the others, Kerry. It happens more in Norfressa than it did in Kontovar—the Empire of the Axe is proof of that—but it happened even there upon occasion. Of course, there could be problems. For example, crosses between dwarves and elves tend to be very short-lived, and the offspring of human and hradani parents are sterile. For that matter, so are the children of elvish and hradani or elvish and dwarvish parents."

"Sterile, is it?" Bahzell rumbled.

"I'm afraid so," Wencit confirmed. "And where the human-hradani crossing is concerned, it may be just as well for the rest of the Races of Man!" Bahzell glanced at him quizzically, and Wencit laughed. "If they weren't sterile, Bahzell, they'd probably end up ruling the world."

"What?" Brandark pricked up his ears. "And why would that happen?"

"Just for starters, they live even longer than half-elves," Wencit said dryly, "and they normally inherit the best of both their parent stocks."

" 'The best'?" Kaeritha repeated.

"Well, I think so," Wencit said. "They get the strength and toughness of their hradani parent, along with the hradani link to the magic field, but some of them also get the one thing which sets humans apart from all the other Races of Man."

"Which is?" Brandark asked.

"Wizardry, Brandark," Wencit said softly. "Ever since the days of Ottovar the Great, there hasn't been a single dwarvish, elvish, or hradani wizard. Every single one of us has been human... or at least half-human." He smiled again, sadly. "So you see, we're the ones to blame for the Fall, aren't we?"