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He went on, telling of his battle in the arena, and Geoffrey listened, enthralled, as his brother told a fantastic tale of a pitched battle between gladiators and lords, of automated hideouts for aristocrats and a sojourn in a madhouse—a horrible place for a telepath; it had driven Magnus into catatonia—and of Magnus himself finally becoming DeCade.

Thrilled and shocked by turns and appalled at the dangers Magnus had faced, Geoffrey cursed himself for not having been there to protect his big brother—never stopping to think that he had been far too young.

"A MINSTREL! THERE'S a minstrel come to the common!"

"New songs! News!"

Suddenly all the young folk were running back to the village, leaving the grain to stand unharvested another day. Diru dropped his scythe and went to run with them, but Hirol elbowed him in the ribs and Arker kicked a foot between his ankles, saying, "Keep your place, lummox!"

Diru stumbled and fell; Hirol and Arker laughed and ran on. Lenar and her friends ran past, giggling. Dim heard one say, "He can't even keep on his feet!!"

Face crimson, Diru struggled up and lumbered after, limping now. He managed to ignore the shoots of pain that went up his shin every time his left foot hit the ground; it wasn't really much, certainly less than the embarrassment of having the girls watch him fall—tripping over his own feet again, they probably thought.

Diru was a little shorter than the other boys but a great deal more bulky. It was all muscle—well, mostly—but it didn't look that way. Too much muscle—he was slow; all the other boys could punch much faster, and did. He was moon-faced with a snub nose, small thin-lipped mouth and narrow eyes with sparse, dun-colored hair—certainly no prize to look at, as his mother kept reminding him. He knew she was right, because the village girls looked right past him and never seemed to see him unless he was being more clumsy than usual.

He hated them for it. Hated the boys, too, for making fun of him and beating him if he dared talk back. Some day he'd find a way to get even, some day …

But not now. The young folk fell silent as they dodged between huts into the village common, and Dim could hear the plucking of strings. Way behind the others and only a little ahead of the grown-ups, he lumbered into the common, slowed, and stopped, gasping for breath but already listening.

"When the wind blows cold o'er the stream at night, (All along, down along, out along lea!) The Monster King gathers his swords for the fight, Horsemen and pikemen and catmen with glee!

Then when the mist rises o'er the river at dawn, (All along, down along, out along lea!) His legions burst forth, every dire dreadful pawn, Boneless and ogres and redcaps they be!

"But they cannot come nigh of their own desire, (All along, down along, out along lea!) Unless some fool asks them, they're bound to their mire, Every fang-toothed and sword-clawed nightmare we see!"

The minstrel went on; describing the horrors that had burst from the mist over their nearby river the year before. He didn't mention how they'd been chased home—everyone knew the Gallowglasses had defeated them, with the king's army right behind to cut down the few monsters who had escaped. It was a tale that made Diru's blood sing, that called up wonderful pictures of heroic young folk like himself— but the minstrel didn't sing of that, he sang only of the deed that had allowed the monsters to burst out of their mist-bound realm, the foolishness of the villagers who had sought to appease the hideous creatures by inviting them to come, thinking they would be spared by showing friendship—but their leader hadn't; the giant cat Big Ears had killed him where he stood before the wizards could send it back where it had come from.

"So never invite, never think to appease," the minstrel sang, "For the Monster King's favored ones swing in the breeze!"

But Diru was suddenly fired with inspiration. That wasn't true, couldn't be true! Anyone these spiteful villagers feared had to be Diru's friend! And a way to gain revenge on them all… He shuddered and thrust the idea from him; even they didn't deserve to be torn apart by nightmares. He paid closer attention as the minstrel began to sing a happier song and hoped the horrid vision would fade.

ALLOUETTE ROSE FROM lotus position and went silently away. Instantly concerned but delayed by the depths of his trance, Gregory let his consciousness drift upward until, minutes later, he surfaced and raised his head, frowning. He rose and went after his wife, soft-footed.

He found her by a window in their solar. "What troubles you, love?"

Allouette kept her back turned to him, only waving him away—but even without reading her mind, Gregory could feel the apprehension radiating from her. He came up behind her, arms open to embrace, but had the good sense not to touch her. "Is it Magnus?"

Thirteen

"YOU MUST NOT READ MY MIND IF I DO NOT invite you!"

"I do not," Gregory said, "nor do I need telepathy to guess the cause of your concern. Love, be sure—Magnus forgives you as completely as any man may. As he comes to know you, even this current… awkwardness … between you will pass."

"You cannot mean he will learn to trust me!"

"I mean exactly that," Gregory said, "for you are as unlike the woman who hurt him as any could be, save for your beauty and your spirit."

Allouette strangled a sob.

"Yes, I know you did not consider yourself a beauty then—but you were, even without projecting any idealized image. Still and all, you did project it, and it is that image he associates with hurt, not your true self."

"Then why is he still so chill toward me?" Allouette spun about, and Gregory saw her cheeks were wet and her eyes red. "How can we possibly go on in our lives with my unspoken guilt hanging between us?"

"It will pass," Gregory assured her. "It is only there now because, in all ways, you are a stranger to him."

"A stranger and a horrid memory!" Allouette finally came into his arms and buried her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Gregory, how shall we fare with your family now? I had begun to believe your sister and brother had really begun to accept me, and their spouses, too! This throws it all agley!"

"If I know them," Gregory said drily, "Magnus's dislikes will have no effect. His pain might, but you are no longer a cause of that."

"But I am!" Allouette raised her head, staring into his eyes. "He and Alea so clearly care for one another, but he will not admit it even to himself—and why? Because of the hurt I gave him ten years ago!"

"It cannot be your hurt alone that chains him," Gregory protested. "Besides, what of Alea? Why will she not admit her attraction to him?"

"There are signs." Allouette's own fears became secondary as she spoke of someone else's. "Even without reading her mind, I can see that she was hurt, and deeply— more than once, or I miss my guess."

Gregory studied her, frowning. "But they have journeyed together for four years. Would the hurt throttle her for so long?"

"Oh, yes! So I have no doubt it still troubles your brother." Her eyes brimmed again. "Oh, Gregory, he will poison the others against me, even if he does not mean to do so!"

"Against us," Gregory said firmly, "and if for no other reason, he will learn to like you for my sake."

"But if he holds true to his promise to your father, he will become chief of you all and turn Cordelia and Geoffrey away from me!"

"You and Quicksilver have become the sisters Cordelia never had," Gregory said firmly. "She will not give you up at Magnus's order—nor will he give such orders, for he knows that would set us against him. He may have ruled us when we were children, or thought he did, but he certainly will not now that we are grown."