The White Palace Awakens

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. A Strange Place in Time Book II: The White Palace Awakens TOP SHELF An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers PO Box 2545 Round Rock, TX 78680 Copyright 2007 © by Alyx Shaw Cover illustration by Pluto Published with permission ISBN: 978-1-60370-456-4, 1-60370-456-6 www.torquerepress.com All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680. First Torquere Press Printing: August 2008 Printed in the USA

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Chapter One Arrowsmith awoke to the gentle sound of rain falling outside the barred window of his cell. His back ached viciously from having slept on the floor, and he sat up slowly, carefully. He was the only one in the room, and the quiet around him was a little frightening. He wondered if they were going to leave him there to starve to death, and if they had done anything to Harley. However, his wondering was interrupted when a guard came to let him out. "Well, good morning, Lord Seer," she said. "I trust you slept well?" Arrowsmith stared at her sourly. "So I say one dumb thing. Is this going to haunt me forever?" "Quite likely," she said. "But drunk and foolish is only good for one night in the dungeon. You can go now." "No, I can't. Where's Harley?" "Harley?" she asked as she drew a large iron key from her pocket. She unlocked the heavy wooden door. "Is that your Dwarf friend?" "Harley's my motorcycle; what have you done with him?" "Oh. Well, the machine was sent over to the Court of the City, where a judge will decide whether or not to have it destroyed." Arrowsmith froze. "Destroyed?" he said, his heartbeat becoming fast and irregular. "Harley? Destroyed?" He tried hard to control his breathing, but he felt as though he was going to choke. "You can't hurt that bike. Please don't hurt my bike." "That is not something I have any control over. The judge will decide whether it is a magical device or technical. If it is technical, it will be taken apart and melted down." "You can't do that!" he screamed. "You have no damn right to decide what people can and cannot own! You sure as hell got no damn right to melt down my fucking motorcycle. Let me the fuck out of here; where is this judge? I gotta save my baby." "Two floors down and right across the street. I don't recommend you do anything foolish; we have cells far darker and much less clean than this one." "Yeah, well, if that bastard kills my Harley, then I don't give a shit where you put me." She let him out, but as Arrowsmith ran out of the cell and down the narrow stone stairs, he noticed that she was right behind him. That was fine; he might need her to prevent him from killing a judge.

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Neither the building nor Harley were very hard to find. Harley sat regally in the street, red and gold paint gleaming wetly in the light spring rain. The sun was peeking nervously through the clouds, causing his paint to reflect the brilliant light. A small crowd of people had gathered around him and seemed to be discussing the bike. Arrowsmith charged into the midst of the crowd, stopping near Harley in a protective stance. "Nobody is taking my bike," he said to no one in particular. A small figure clad in a grey robe with silver trim moved forward, a woman with long dark hair. “Is this your creature?" she asked, smiling. "Yeah. And nobody, but nobody, is taking Harley apart and melting him, at least not while I can stand up." "Of course not," she said calmly. That was not the response Arrowsmith expected to hear, and he stood, dumbfounded. As he stared at her in confusion, the woman said, "We only destroy technical devices." Arrowsmith looked from the robed woman to Harley and back again. "Huh?" he said. She smiled, then reached into a little silver bag she had about her waist. She took out a small round medallion, made of silver. "This was a gift to my Temple many lifetimes ago, from the Wizard. It shows whether a device is magical or not. Let me demonstrate." She walked over to a cart that was standing nearby and placed the medallion on the cart. Nothing happened. "If a device is magical, it will glow when I touch the medallion to it. This cart is not magic, so it does not glow. However..." She now touched a ring she was wearing with the medallion, and a soft blue radiance emanated from it. Arrowsmith watched this with interest. "You see?" she said, and began walking toward Harley. "So you can imagine my surprise when this happened." The woman held her hand out over the motorcycle and slowly lowered the medallion down, until it just touched the horse skull mounted between the handlebars. Arrowsmith watched nervously, fearing that nothing would happen, and his bike would be taken away forever. He was completely unprepared for what happened next. Harley lit up like a nuclear strike. Arrowsmith sat down hard on the wet street, his legs simply refusing to hold him up. Before him, Harley shimmered in a soft blue light, no longer just a beloved machine. But who had the power to enchant a...?

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Blackbird. Friendly hands helped him up and supported him when his knees wouldn't hold. The woman moved the medallion away, and the blue light vanished. Arrowsmith was incapable of acting. "I take it that you were unaware of the machine's enchantment?" Arrowsmith nodded. Finally, his knees became solid once more, and he reached out to touch Harley. The grey-clad woman studied him carefully. "Well, we have no reason to detain you," she said "You may go. However, should you need my assistance, you may find me at the Temple of the Moon Goddess. My name is Seraph." "Sure," he said quietly. "Thanks. Uh, can you tell me where the Red Rooster Tavern is? I'm supposed to meet a friend there." Seraph gave him directions, and Arrowsmith climbed onto Harley's back. The big motorcycle didn't feel any different, but Arrowsmith found himself strangely reluctant to just kick Harley into life, like he always did. He thought he would try something different. Arrowsmith settled himself onto the leather seat. "Come on, Harley," he said, and without so much as a touch, the engine snarled into life. The little crowd of people parted, and he drove slowly along the wide, clean street. "Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed quietly to the motorcycle. Harley didn't respond. "Man, some friend you are, leaving me in that tower to worry myself crazy about what they were doing to you." The engine revved a little, and the bike jumped slightly. "Hey, don't give me that shit. You want to be a jerk about this, and I'll put rice in your gas tank. Then we'll see who has the last laugh." The engine shivered, as though chuckling, confident that Arrowsmith would do no such thing. The two cruised gently down the road until they reached the Red Rooster. It was not a difficult building to find. It was three stories high, painted scarlet and white, and there was a wide assortment of horses and carriages before it. High above the street hung the tavern's sign, showing a red fighting cock. It was wearing metal spurs on its legs, and a leather collar about its neck with a tiny bell hanging from it. The bird's eyes gleamed menacingly at all challengers. Written below it were the words ‘Red Rooster Inn.' He was still looking at the sign when Hemas came running out to greet him. "Am I glad to see you!" he roared in typical Dwarf manner. Never say at a whisper what you could say at a bellow.

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"Hi, Hemas," said Arrowsmith. "Glad to see you didn't run off with all my gold." "Why would I do that?" Hemas yelled. “Get your monster parked and come inside. Surprised they let you out, after the bone-headed things you said. I suppose tossing Infamous Keeper about in bed must be good for a few advantages." Infamous' name held a good deal more emotional weight for him now, Arrowsmith suddenly realized. They had been lovers for centuries, for whole lifetimes, and six previous incarnations howled with outrage over the disrespectful way Hemas spoke of their beloved. Arrowsmith rose to his full height and loomed over the Dwarf. "I love Infamous," he said quietly. There must have been something about the way his eyes gleamed at that moment, because Hemas backed up a pace. "Well, I didn't mean no harm, son. Just, must be nice to have lovers in high places." Arrowsmith shrugged. "I don't concern myself with what he is. He's just Infamous to me. Help me get this bike put away before we draw a crowd." They put Harley in the stable, nestling him in a stall between two horses who didn't look particularly glad to have made his acquaintance. They stared over the walls of their own stalls at the motorcycle as Arrowsmith and Hemas put a blanket over him. Thoroughly affronted now, the horses drew their heads back and snorted to each other about the neighborhood. Harley sat quietly under the blanket and said nothing. Arrowsmith walked out of the stable, aware that Hemas was watching him carefully. Certainly, Arrowsmith did not feel terribly well. Maybe one night in the dungeon had been a bit too much for him, after the trip from Two-Fifty-Mile-House. His skin was an unhealthy dead white, and his eyes were red-rimmed. He felt a little confused and distracted, and he stumbled once going up the stairs. "Hey now, maybe you'd best just go up to your room," said Hemas after the second time Arrowsmith stumbled. "You don't look so good, and I don't like the idea of you landing on my head." Arrowsmith blinked. "I have a room?" "Of course you do!" Hemas bellowed, making Arrowsmith flinch. "Every Marakim-spawned thief that ever robbed a house knows you're here! The weasels are everywhere, can't hardly kick a squirrel without hitting one of them! Probably put you in their own Master's bedroom, knowing them. But then you'd just be there anyway, if Infamous was here! HAR! HAR! HAR!" By now, they were at the front entrance of the Red Rooster. Not more than twenty feet away, the hall opened into the common room, which was quite full. Every single person was looking toward the noisy Dwarf and his oversized and oddly-dressed companion. It wasn't as though they

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could have just blended in with the crowd, but Arrowsmith certainly didn't need Hemas blasting who he was all over the inn. The patrons didn't look like the sort of crowd who found humor in situations like this. They were all very well dressed, and mostly male. Misty had said it was a brothel, but if it was, it certainly didn't fit the stereotype. The inn was decorated in a rich but tasteful manner, and the whole place just screamed of old money. It would have suited Infamous down to the ground. It made Arrowsmith wonder if he wouldn't be more comfortable somewhere else. A very refined-looking older woman stepped forward and glared at the both of them. Folding her hands before her, she stood ramrod straight in a way that made Arrowsmith think of somebody's grandmother. Not his grandmother; she was an ex-Hell's Angel. But certainly somebody's grandmother. "And who might you be?" she said coolly, effectively cowing the man who stood exactly two feet taller than she. "John Arrowsmith," he said, waiting for her to whack him with her shoe and tell him to stop slouching. "Hemas Ironfist!" roared Hemas in a jovial manner. "Nice place you got here! How's the beer?" The woman rolled her eyes and sighed, then turned back to Arrowsmith. He was dusty and slouched, but at least he didn't bellow. "Master Arrowsmith, we have been waiting for you." She glared down at Hemas. "Will your companion be staying with you?" Arrowsmith nodded. "Uh, yes, he will." He shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry about my appearance, I've been traveling." The woman seemed to warm up a little when he said that. "No need to apologize." she said. "Come this way, my son will take you to your room. Shall I have a bath sent up?" Arrowsmith nodded. "Thanks, that would be good. And maybe you can tell me where I could get some different clothes?" "I'll send someone to help you with that after you've bathed, although, if you don't mind me saying so, it will be no easy thing to find clothes for a man of your size. May I be so bold as to inquire whether there are any Elves in your family?" "Elves are the big blond things," Seth said dryly from somewhere. Arrowsmith made a mental note to have a chat with him as soon as they were alone, the topic of which would be how a dead incarnation that no one else could see should keep their yap shut in public places so the live incarnation didn’t look like he was talking to himself by answering. "No," said Arrowsmith. "I'm human; I'm just from very far away. People are larger there." The woman nodded, then turned to look at the youth who had come up to stand up beside her.

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"Dershas, take Master Arrowsmith and his...friend up to the large room on the top floor. And make certain to have a bathing tub and some hot water sent up, as well." The youth bowed, then turned to Arrowsmith, trying very hard not to stare at him. "This way, if you please," he said, and the three went up the wide, sweeping stairway at the far end of the large common room. Arrowsmith trailed a hand along the golden railing of the stairway, feeling the soft crush of the thick carpet beneath his feet. Infamous had been up these stairs, he knew. If he just relaxed and let his senses wander, he could sense many different things. The inn was nearly three hundred years old, and Infamous had been a patron of this place for almost the whole time. The Moonhound had been in here a few times, too, and, oddly enough, Monshikka. He didn't sense anyone else he knew until he reached the second floor. Here, he was almost overpowered by images of Misty. Infamous was a regular, but it seemed that this place was Misty's other home. They reached the room. The youth walked up to the large, darkly-polished wooden doors and unlocked them with a key, pushing them wide open. Arrowsmith stepped into the chamber, then stopped short as he saw a figure standing across the room from him, before the grand stained glass window. It was Infamous, and Arrowsmith very nearly ran across the room to greet him, but something stopped him. It was Infamous, all right, but there was something different about him. The hair was soft and straight, not corded, and he was very young, perhaps only eighteen or nineteen. It was Infamous as Arrowsmith had first seen him in his last incarnation. It was Seth Crowley's Infamous. Several warring emotions washed through Arrowsmith: joy, love, and a terrible, wrenching grief. In a few short years, the beautiful man would be dead, and while Arrowsmith knew he would see Infamous again, the knowledge was never any comfort. The shade vanished, and Arrowsmith sat down heavily on a richly upholstered chair, overwhelmed by all that had happened in the last few days. Around him, the room went dark; he could hear neither of the two people with him. There was a great deal to get used to, and while he had been through all of this before, it was still hard. Out of all his companions, Recalling had always been hardest on him. Partly because he wasn't Dargothian, and adjusting to the culture was a strain. Mostly, though, it was because he did not simply remember the past; he could see and speak with it as well. Already, he missed his privacy a great deal. Being alone in a room was not something he would be able to enjoy until his next life. "I have to lie down," he whispered into the blackness. He felt Hemas pull him to his feet and guide him to a bed. He collapsed onto it gratefully, and did not move again for hours. *** There were several people all around him, and though Arrowsmith was most definitely asleep, one of his prior lives was aware of the presence of strangers. Arrowsmith could almost see the men gathered about his bed, but he remained asleep. There was no reason to wake up as long as they didn't get too close. He heard whispered voices, and his subconscious watched closely as one of them began to draw just a little too near...

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Arrowsmith threw himself off of the bed fist-first. His knuckles met the healer's face with a sickening crunch. The healer went flying backward, hitting the wall and falling to the floor with a thump. He was out cold, and Arrowsmith was standing beside the bed, sleepy and confused now that the perceived danger had passed. He glared about at the people around him, then finally spotted Hemas. "What the hell is going on?" he yelled. "You just punched the healer we called in to look at you, you bloody great Ogre!” shouted

Hemas. “What did you do that for?"

"I don't like people standing around me when I sleep. Makes me nervous."

Hemas snorted. "You've been stumbling about like a dying man, and when I decide to have you

looked at, you go and do this! Remind me not to worry about you ever again.

The healer opened his eyes and looked about, dazed and bleeding. Another man, dressed

similarly to the healer, went to him and helped him to his feet, then turned to glare at

Arrowsmith.

"We will be leaving now," the younger man said. Placing his master's arm about his shoulder, he

led the older man out of the room, closing the door behind himself.

Arrowsmith fell back down onto the bed, hearing Hemas walk over to his bedside. "Are you all

right, son? You don't look very good."

"I'm fine, Hemas, really. Just exhausted."

"Well, several of my kinfolk have shown up here to take me home. They were hoping to meet

you sometime before we leave."

Arrowsmith opened one eye to look at Hemas. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Arrowsmith nodded. "And what time is it now?"

"Coming up to supper time."

"Fine. Hey, Hemas? Do you think that when you go downstairs you could have a second bath

sent up for me? I didn't get to take the last one. I’ll get cleaned up and be down as soon as I can."

Hemas nodded. "All right, but if you go back to sleep, I'm coming up here with my brothers, and

we'll give you what for!"

"You can try, you fuzzy-faced rodent."

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"Rodent! Harumph! You're a fine one to talk, you Ogre. See you soon." Hemas left the room, and Arrowsmith felt his whole body sink into the mattress. "Seth?" he said. "Are you here?" "Always. What do you want?" "I want to look in on Infamous. How do I do that?" "Why don't you try it yourself instead of asking me?" Arrowsmith smiled, then closed his eyes. To all appearances, he had gone back to sleep, but he had not. He had left the room. It was like flying, but faster, and silent. He was heading directly to the mountain cabin, where he assumed Infamous would be, but he was jerked to a stop by the sight of a small campfire. It was eight days' travel from the Palace, and he hovered like a bird, looking down at it. Infamous was sitting near the fire, his wolf Simon next to him. He dozed as his master sketched the land around him in charcoal. Infamous was too far off course to be heading to Two-FiftyMile-House; he had to be making for White Palace. Arrowsmith was seized with a sudden urge to get on his bike and go to Infamous, but he knew he had come to the city for a reason. He had to stay. Reluctantly, he returned to his room. He blinked and opened his eyes, looking up at the young man standing over him. They stared at each other for a moment. "Did you say something?" Arrowsmith asked. "I said your clothes are here, sir." "Oh." Arrowsmith stretched and yawned like a lion, then stood up. He pulled off his rancid T-shirt and tossed it onto the bed. He pulled off his boots. His socks were pretty ripe, too, and he yanked them off, one going left and one going right. The servant chased after all three items, putting them in a bag to take to the washers. Arrowsmith yanked off his jeans and sent them flying as well, then wandered over to the tub, getting in and finding the water was pleasantly hot. He washed his long, golden-brown hair, the valet bringing over a tray of different soaps and washcloths. Arrowsmith chose a soap that wouldn’t make him smell like a flower garden. "I need a duck in here," Arrowsmith crabbed. "Ya can't have a bath without a duck." He had meant the remark to be humorous, but he hadn't thought that Dargothians were unfamiliar with the concept of a rubber ducky. Moments later, a live duckling was dutifully deposited into his bathwater. Arrowsmith stared at the small, eeping creature.

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"Thank you," he said to the valet, and let the duck go swim. He finished his bath, but since the duck didn't look ready to get out, he left it to play while he dried off and dressed. The clothes he had been brought were Elvish clothes. There just wasn't anything of human make that would fit him. The leather boots were tall and straight, like riding boots, and the leather breeches were soft and cream-colored. The long, draping shirt felt like soft cotton, but it had a shiny quality to it that reminded Arrowsmith of silk. It hung on him in drapes and folds, and perfectly matched the coat he had also been given. The frock-style coat went almost to the floor and was a shining emerald green, embroidered down the front with gold leaves. It made Arrowsmith think of some of the clothes Seth had worn in his last incarnation. It looked beautiful on him, but Arrowsmith felt a little goofy. After all, he'd spent his life in jeans, smelling of gasoline and beer. He brushed out his long hair and turned to look at the valet. "Well? Whaddya think? Does it look stupid?" The servant gaped at him openly. "N-no, my lord. It looks...just fine." "Ya think?" Arrowsmith looked at himself in the mirror again, then shrugged. "Okay." He turned to leave the room, but the servant called after him. Arrowsmith stopped and looked at him. "Yeah?" "Uh, the duck, my lord. What would you like me to do with it?" Arrowsmith looked at the little fuzzy yellow thing, then back at the servant. "Get him a bowl of water to play in and some ducky food. I like him." He turned and headed down the stairs. He descended into the common room, pausing at the foot of the stairs to look for Hemas. A sudden silence fell as he came into the room. Everyone seemed to be staring at him. Some of the women had actually risen to their feet in order to get a better look at him. Arrowsmith stood, feeling nervous. The attention was a little disturbing, and he was about to demand what the hell everyone was staring at when Hemas saved him the trouble. "By the Sacred Forge, boy! Get over here and sit down before some woman runs away with you! Not that you'd do her any good! HAR! HAR! HAR!" Oh, lord, thought Arrowsmith, wincing as he turned to the noisy Dwarf and his friends. He walked across the floor to Hemas, moving with an unconscious grace, like a dancer. He was painfully aware that his progress was being watched by virtually every woman in the room. As Arrowsmith seated himself at the table, he glared at Hemas. "Did you have to do that?" "Oh, ease up and have some fun. Arrowsmith, meet my family..." There were twenty of them, and that was just a small portion of the clan, it seemed. They were

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all loud, and as black as the Sacred Forge that had wrought Dwarven kind long ago, deep in the heart of the Infinity Mountains, home of Dwarfs and dragons both. It was pretty hard not to be affected by their noisy good humor, and it wasn't long before Arrowsmith was being just as loud. They drank and laughed, and when supper came, they all stuffed themselves with joyous abandon. Hemas teased Arrowsmith about announcing himself as the Seer of Hercandoloff, and Arrowsmith grinned. "What if it's true?" Hemas roared with laughter. "What if it's true? It isn't true! If it was, then the Palace would have risen like you said it would! And what would the Seer be doing sitting with a bunch of everyday working folk like us? You're a funny boy, Arrowsmith, and a good lad, but you're no Seer. I'd stake my family honor on it." "Oh, really? Well how about a more friendly wager, then? I don’t think owning a Dwarf’s honor would do me any good. It’s not as if I deserved it." "What do you mean by a more friendly wager?" Arrowsmith leaned back in his chair, raising his tankard of ale and taking a drink. "If you win, I pay for your family's stay at the Rooster. If I win, you make my lover a piece of jewellery that I specify. Agreed?" "Agreed!" roared the whole table, causing people to turn and look yet again. Hemas laughed. "All right! So, what are we betting on?" "I say I'm the Seer of Hercandoloff. You say I'm not, and the proof would be the rising of the Palace, which I would know about." "Right! So when will the Palace rise?" Arrowsmith's fourth incarnation, who had been a good fellow but a wretched gambler, screamed that Arrowsmith had better know what he was doing, because everyone recalled how little Infamous approved of bad bets. But the Palace had been calling to him the entire time he had been on Dargoth. It would take no effort to determine its time of rising. He didn't have to cast his thoughts very far. As soon as he reached out to the Palace, he was nearly overwhelmed by the force of its presence. By daybreak, the Palace would be there for all to see. People had been drawing close to the table. It was hard not to know what was going on. Dwarfs were noisy; excited Dwarfs were noisier, and this group had good reason to make a racket. If they won the bet, they had their rooms paid for. If they lost, then they were sitting with a man who had walked the streets of Palaklais nearly one thousand year ago. Arrowsmith raised his tankard again. Dargothians drank their ale warm, and he had never quite gotten used to that. He set the large mug down again. The entire place was utterly silent, waiting

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for him to speak. "The Palace will rise tonight. It has, in fact, begun to rise as we are speaking, and by the first rays of the sun, it will have emerged fully from the earth. And in one half hour, a little girl of about eight, an orphan living in one of the Temples of Marakim, will come tearing through the door, and shout that the Palace is beginning to rise." The inn was silent; it was a pretty bold statement, one that could easily destroy any sort of credibility Arrowsmith would ever have in the city. People quietly whispered to each other that this man must not be in his right mind to make such a claim. Hemas leaned back in his chair and smiled at Arrowsmith. "You're on! Be nice to have my room paid for, but the Thief may not be as attached to you as he is now, if you pass him a bill for twenty Dwarfs and their dinners." "You may not be terribly fond of me after I tell you about the item I want made. And need I remind you, we have half an hour before you can gloat about your room." Hemas snorted, then took another drink of his ale. He didn't look as certain as he would have liked. The wager seemed to have frightened him just a little, but it likely was not the price of the jewelry that concerned him so much as the thought of whom he might be sitting with. This was the idea that seemed to have occurred to all who had heard the bet. People discreetly arranged themselves so they could either look out of the northern windows that faced the Palace's resting place, or overhear further conversation without being obvious about it. Arrowsmith finished his beer and ordered another, then asked a server for some paper and something to draw with. These arrived, and he proceeded to sketch something onto the paper, unconcerned with anything else. The only sound within the crowded common room was the scratching of a pen on paper, and the occasional clink of a glass. Arrowsmith's drawing was suddenly interrupted when a little girl came charging into the Rooster. Everyone within the room turned to look at her, while Arrowsmith merely sat back to study what he had drawn. He wasn't much of an artist, but he thought he had made his point. He bent down to add another touch to the drawing. "What are you doing in here?" someone asked the child. She stood panting, completely winded. The cloak she wore hung about her shoulders like a large dead animal, limp from the rain. She appeared to be wearing her favorite bits of her father's uniform, not necessarily the matching bits. She completed the whole outfit with a pair of fancy party shoes, these also wet, and shining glossily. She pushed her wild dark hair out of her small face, then took a deep breath. "It's rising! It's coming out of the ground! The whole world started to shake, and then..." "Slow down, child," said Hemas. "What is rising?"

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"The Palace!" she said. "The Palace is coming out of the ground! I was playing in the perimeters and it just starting rising under me!" There was an exodus from the Red Rooster, the little girl leading the crowd down the road. Suddenly the whole room was empty, save for Arrowsmith, Hemas, and his relatives. The Dwarfs just sat in stone silence, looking at him in silent awe. Arrowsmith looked down at his sketch, deciding it was finished, then casually passed it to Hemas. "Like that," he said. "Could you make something like that?" Hemas slowly tore his gaze from Arrowsmith, dropping it to the paper. He had to lick his lips before he could speak. "We will do our best, my lord."

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Chapter Two Arrowsmith awoke the next morning with a duck on his face. It wasn't the worst awakening he had ever experienced, but he wasn't certain he wanted to be confronted with a pair of webbed feet in his eyes. "How did you get up here?" he muttered. "I didn't know ducks could climb." He picked the little, yellow, fuzzy creature up and set it on the floor. Just as he released it, he suddenly noticed someone standing across the room from him. He sat up slowly while the young man watched him. They considered each other for a moment. "Hello,” said Arrowsmith. The man smiled. "Hello." Arrowsmith raised his hands to his painfully-throbbing head. It felt like he had a Dwarf in his skull, one who was trying to kick his way out. He pressed his hands against his temples in an attempt to contain the Dwarf. "Did you put a duck on my face?" "I put a duck on your bed. Standing on your face was his idea. How do you feel?" "I don't know, how are you supposed to feel after you've been raised from the dead? Do I know you?" "We met last night, sometime after your adoring public had poured the tenth pint of ale down you. I'm Korai Blackfox. I used to tend bar at the Dirty Duck.” He cocked his head. "You look pretty bad for a demi-god." "I'm not a demi-god," said Arrowsmith, coughing heavily. He reached for a pack of cigarettes, suddenly remembering he smoked a pipe now. Stupid pipe. He'd bitch to Blackbird about getting some smokes the next time he saw him. He began filling his pipe. "Then what are you? According to everyone downstairs, you're nine hundred years old and descended from a god." Arrowsmith sucked on his pipe, then coughed heavily. "Do I look nine hundred years old?" "Do you mean at the moment?" "You're a funny guy. I said I was the Seer of Hercandoloff, I didn't say anything about being the original seer. And my parents were a lot of things, but I'm pretty sure neither of them was a god. It's hard to tell: I haven't seen my mother since I was a couple months old, and I never met my

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father, he was killed before I was born. And why are you in my room?" "You said you needed help finding the floor. I thought perhaps I ought to stay and keep an eye on you." "Thanks. Why?" "To make sure nothing befell you, since you were so foolish as to let the whole town know who you are. And to tell you Infamous is coming. You should let the Temple of Marakim know so they can organize a retinue for him. It would not do for the Master Thief to arrive to open the White Palace unescorted. And I would tell him about the nightmare you had last fall. It is important." Arrowsmith suddenly forgot all about the Dwarf in his head. Slowly, he turned to look more closely at the man before him. There was a strange, translucent quality to him, as though he was being viewed through a sunbeam. Korai Blackfox no longer walked the land of the living. "Who called you?" he asked softly. "Seth. And, in a way, you. There is a storm coming, John Arrowsmith, and only you know. The land seems peaceful, but it is a false peace. The dead do not rest easy." "And what do the dead say to one another?" "They say the realm to the south wakes, and conducts its silent business at night, when the living will not see it." "The realm to the south? If you're talking about Infinity Mountain, then we know where they are. I was out getting drunk with them last night. Little guys with beards, they mine gold and sing dirty limericks. Approximately the same color as midnight in Dracula's castle." "I do not speak of the Mountain Dwarfs." "Then who?" "I speak of the ancient evil, the one that was thought to have been defeated all these long, cold years. I speak of Silverwood." The Dwarf in his head slammed a war hammer into Arrowsmith's temples. "Silverwood? There's nothing in Silverwood!" "You forget much of what you knew about this world, Arrowsmith. Have the Keeper of the Forbidden Library show you the tomes about Silverwood. I must go." "No! Wait a minute! About my nightmare..." Arrowsmith said. The specter paused and looked at Arrowsmith patiently. "The monster in my dream said, 'the jewel for my master, the thief for me,

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and the cold of the earth for you.’ Well, obviously, the thief is Infamous. But what jewel is it talking about? I don't recall the Court of Hercandoloff having any jewel." "All will become clear in time," said Korai. He faded from view. "Yeah, easy for you to say, ya stupid, cryptic dead dude," muttered Arrowsmith. He swung his feet over the side of the bed. He looked down at the little duck, who was nibbling some lettuce. "Aren't you glad you're a duck?" he asked. *** Arrowsmith decided to change his base of operations to the Dirty Duck Tavern, just a few streets away. The proprietor of the Red Rooster was greatly upset by this announcement. She asked countless times if she had offended him, and if there was anything she could do to convince him to stay. Arrowsmith assured her over and over again that she had done nothing to upset him; it was just that he had friends over at the Duck. Finally, she left him to pack in peace. Two hours after his conversation with Korai, Arrowsmith, Harley, and Ducky the duckling were over at the Dirty Duck. His main reason for wanting to be there was the Thieves' Temple under the tavern. He had barely unpacked and set out Ducky's water bowl when he felt a familiar, silent presence within the room. He turned to look at the two creatures peering, ferret-like, at him from the large but simple bed. "Did you need us for anything?" asked one. "Your Master is coming," said Arrowsmith. "He is on the plain, about seven days' ride from here. Send a retinue to attend him, and let him know the Palace is up." One thief vanished silently, simply becoming a part of the wall. The other edged closer, interested in Arrowsmith's belongings. "Shall I tell Prince Noblis you are ready to see him?" the thief asked, examining a broad leather bracelet decorated with metal studs. Arrowsmith looked over his shoulder at the inquisitive little ink blot. "Who?" "The Crucib Paladin. Big guy, carries a big battle axe, has a long white nose with a cute little grey spot on it." As Arrowsmith stared at him blankly, the thief said, "Oh, come now, everyone knows Noblis." "Sure, okay," said Arrowsmith. "When he heard you were here, and the Palace was up, he came looking for you. He was over at the Rooster, but he came here when he found out you had moved. He's downstairs."

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"Oh, fer cryin' out loud," muttered Arrowsmith. He set Ducky into his bowl and ran out of the room, thundering down the dusty wooden steps toward the common room. He took the last five stairs in a leap and landed on the brick floor with a thump. Heads turned to look at the leather and denim-clad figure that now moved with long easy strides through the room. He stopped before a rough wooden table, standing uncertainly before the large creature that rose to greet him. Prince Noblis stood considerably taller than Arrowsmith. Crucib were large beings, but this one was massive, and, like all of his kind, commanded awe and respect. His long black mane was braided with dyed feathers and glass beads, the forelock pulled back from his white equine face. The long, arched neck faded into the body of a large, powerful man, clad in simple breeches and boots. On his head, he wore a sort of stylised halter, decorated with more feathers and beads. His long, thick tail was braided in the same manner as his mane, and when he flicked it, there was a soft rattle of ornaments clicking together. As Arrowsmith stood before him, Noblis bowed, a movement that seemed to require all of the space in the room. Then he straightened and studied Arrowsmith with intelligent brown eyes. "Fond greetings, Seer of the Mage," said Noblis, his voice as large as he. "Hey, how are ya," said Arrowsmith. "Noooooooooo! You cretin!" howled Seth. "You do not say 'how are ya' to a prince!" Arrowsmith decided not to start a fight with himself and said nothing to Seth. Noblis flicked an ear at the remark, but he seemed more amused than anything. Arrowsmith cleared his throat, desperately trying to recall how to speak to royalty. Seth was so appalled that he told Arrowsmith he wasn't going to help him. "Uh, sorry for making you wait down here. I, uh, didn't know you were here until just a moment ago." "Quite all right, I would imagine you have your mind on higher things. Shall we sit?" They sat at the table, which was built for the average Dargothian human and was far too small for either of them. Noblis, however, looked perfectly at ease. The scars across his face and chest suggested that he had battled with many of the evil things that walked the land. Small tables, he could deal with. "I had come to the city to rest a while from my wanderings," said Noblis. "So I was here when the Palace arose. I would have set out on a journey to find either the Seer or the Thief, but the children of Marakim told me you had reached the city a full day before me. Now that I have you before me, I must ask you why it has risen. If there is danger, I must warn my people." A silver tankard of ale appeared before Arrowsmith as if by magic. A similar tankard appeared before Noblis, filled with an aromatic green tea. Most of the inn's patrons had gathered quietly

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about them. Dargothians were not normally a nosy group, but the Seer speaking to the Paladin Prince of the Crucib in the common room of the Dirty Duck was just something that seemed to require one's full attention. Arrowsmith picked up his mug and sipped his ale. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't know right now exactly what is going on, or who will be involved. The Dead say that Silverwood is awake, but you'd know more about that than me." Noblis nodded, and his ears flicked. "I have wandered to the edge of that land. I was hoping to see that it was recovering from all the years of evil it had suffered. However, the Dead Plains are still just that -- dead. I met only one other creature, a Mycinocroft. She told me that the Mycinocroft tribes are moving out of the area because none of the rivers are good anymore, and there are no fish for them. She did not know of anything occupying Silverwood Castle, and if something was awakening, it would be there. Whatever faults Mycinocroft may have, they do not lie." "No, they don't lie, but they don't know everything, either." Arrowsmith shook his head. "Well, in a vision, I was told there was a storm coming. And I mean to spread the word as fast as I can. If I'm wrong, then I'll cheerfully take whatever shit I get for starting a panic." Noblis laughed, a low rumbling sound. "So be it. But take my advice. Do not leave the city, wait for the Wizard. I will travel to Infinity Mountain, and the black Dwarfs will send forth dragon riders to warn the other kingdoms." "But it will take days for you to reach the mountain." "It will not. A friend of mine in this city keeps an arrow dragon, and will lend it to me. Though I do not care to ride, the faster we reach the other kingdoms, the better. And I know of nothing faster than an arrow dragon. Now that I have met with you, I shall depart for the mountain." Noblis rose and bowed formally to Arrowsmith, then left the dim tavern, walking into the sunlit street. As the door closed after him, Arrowsmith found himself wishing he had never left the damn cabin.

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Chapter Three The Wizard-King of Dargoth had taken Arrowsmith's CD player into the bathing chamber with him, and was listening to it as he soaked in the hot water. He submerged himself briefly, then rose from the tub's depths, his blue-back hair slick against his skull. He wiped the water from his face, then flicked a hand at the player, making the volume go up. Sometimes he missed technology, but not so much that he would bring it back. Arrowsmith had been gone for a few days. Infamous had followed the day after he departed, heading for White Palace in hopes of intercepting his lover there. Infamous had gone the shorter route, over the plains rather than through Two-Fifty-Mile-House. Since then, things had been quite peaceful, and everyone was taking advantage of the fine weather to tend to the outdoor chores. Blackbird had volunteered to clean the house that day, which was a deplorable mess. It took him two spells and twenty minutes to put all in order. Now, he had the rest of the morning to soak in the tub. It was an altogether glorious way to start the day. "Blackbird..." said a voice softly, and the little wizard sat up, listening. He glanced about the room. A person could hide in there with ease, but Blackbird had the strange feeling that the voice had not come from within the room. He waved a hand to silence the CD player. "Hello?" he said. "Blackbird," said the voice again. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are up to, you wretched little lizard...wizard...but if you do not come here right now..." Blackbird rose out of the pool and wrapped his black robe about himself, heading for his bedroom. He entered it and crossed the cluttered chamber to a small, cloth-draped table. Upon it sat a large crystal, its twelve facets sparkling sharply with the green light of the tree-filtered sun. "Hello?" he asked. The crystal became less clear, darkening. From within it, a face began to form, a long beautiful face. The golden eyes with their reptilian pupils had an amused light to them. They shone out of the narrow, sun-hued face, and the scales along the narrow muzzle sparkled like light on a lake. For a moment, Blackbird was too overjoyed to say anything. "Librator! How are you? It has been a long time!" "Very long," said the great sun dragon, drawing his eyes from Blackbird to study his golden claws. "It has been three of your lives since I was last forced to call you on this nasty device. I much prefer to speak to you personally." The dragon turned his eyes back to the Wizard, and narrowed them thoughtfully. "Are you wet?" "Yes, I was bathing." A Strange Place in Time Book II: The White Palace Awakens - 20

"So much the better. Perhaps this is not such a bad device after all." "Thank you. Did you call for any reason, or just to show me how beautiful you are?" "My beauty is reason enough to call a mere Wizard. But I just had the most interesting conversation with a black dragon from the Infinity Mountain. Which is also reason enough to call a Wizard, because black dragons rarely leave their mountain, and this one was carrying a Dwarf." "And you spoke to the dragon?" "Well, it was either the dragon or the Dwarf. And I was not going to speak to the Dwarf." Blackbird began drying himself. "And what did you two speak about?" "Oh, dragon-stuff. Gold, thieves, gems, wind currents, how hard it is to find a virgin to devour and a village to pillage. The nearest one can get to that these days is going to Two-Fifty-MileHouse, buying a whore and setting fire to abandoned buildings. Even then, you have to have her home by morning." "How terrible." "Isn't it, though?" Librator sighed heavily. "Not like the old days, when we could level a whole town of squeaking Elves. Ah, me. Oh, anyway, before I forget, the black dragon did have a reason for visiting. He had heard that I knew where you were. I said well, yes, I and that aging Elf Gilgarin. And is he getting old or what? I saw him the other day, and let me tell you, that Elf isn't over the hill, my no, he is the hill. I have it on very good authority that he farts dust." Blackbird laughed, slipping into a pair of breeches. There was no point in trying to hurry Librator; the dragon would get to the point when he pleased. "Anyway," Librator continued, "he said -- the dragon, not Gilgarin, I wouldn't have that Elf in my lair -- that I should call you and let you know that dragons have been sent from the mountain to realms all over the land, asking them to send armies and ambassadors to White Palace. I hear they're even contacting that little Mycinocroft village near Stone Realm. I can't bear Mycinocroft, they're so self-involved and fuzzy." "Really," said Blackbird, pulling on his boots. He didn't like the turn this conversation was taking. He was beginning to suspect that the quiet of this lifetime was about to be shattered. "And why is all of this happening?" "Oh dear, didn't I mention? The Palace is up. I was actually calling to ask if you would like me to fly you there. After all, you're the Wizard-King; we can't have you show up on a pony or something."

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Blackbird stared at the dragon in shock. Why had the Palace come up? Everything was so quiet, there had been no news at all of anything potentially evil lurking or growing in the world. What was happening? "All right," Blackbird managed to say. "Can you come the day after tomorrow?" "Of course. See you then." The crystal became clear and sparkling again, but Blackbird failed to notice. He sat for a long time on his bed, thinking. Finally, he rose to his feet, finished dressing, then left his room in search of Monshikka. *** Librator fell out of the sun in a wash of golds and reds, slowly spiraling down like a gigantic eagle, only far more majestic. On either side of him were two slightly smaller dragons, moving in perfect formation with him, stringing sunlight behind themselves. Their enormous wings were outstretched and motionless, as were their long necks and tails, and they fell gently earthward, making a noise like huge, fluttering sails. As they neared the plain, they lowered their hind legs and dropped gently to the grass without so much as a flap. Librator looked terribly pleased with himself. Blackbird immediately ran across the grass to greet the gigantic dragon, and the Moonhound flinched. Blackbird had a bad habit of bouncing up to creatures that outweighed him several thousand times over, often without thinking about what they could do to him. It was a good thing Librator was a friend. The dragon's head was larger than Blackbird's whole body. Blackbird embraced the dragon's muzzle, not quite managing to get his arms around it. The dragon actually smiled. "Well met, little Wizard. It is good to see you." "Oh, it is good to see you again, too. It is always good to run into friends several lives over." "Hrumph," rumbled the great dragon. "Are you implying that I, Librator the Mighty, Lord of all sun dragons, would be friends with so mere an insect as you?" "Of course not," said Blackbird, grinning. "So, release my kingly muzzle. We can't have the peasants starting rumors." Blackbird released the dragon, then climbed lightly up between the creature's wings. Above him, the morning sun shone bright and warm. It would be a wonderful day to fly. The Moonhound liked flying as well, and she walked over to her own golden mount and climbed onto his back. She glanced over at Monshikka, who was the other member of the Court to

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accompany the Wizard to the Palace. Monshikka despised flying and would have rather crawled to White Palace on his hands and knees. He was, however, Kiriannan royalty. He would never admit to being afraid to fly. He climbed onto his own dragon and sat, staring coolly at all around him. The Moonhound could tell he was nervous; the more frightened Monshikka was, the colder and more refined he became. The dragons stretched their great wings, allowing the wind to pick them up like gigantic kites. They rose steadily, rising to heights no birds dared. The Moonhound glanced over at Monshikka, who had gone from cool to positively imperious. He was terrified. "Hey, is that the curvature of the earth?" the Moonhound yelled happily. Monshikka closed his eyes. "Hey, Blackie, if you were a Mycinocroft, your tail would be fuzzed out over all creation." She turned her attention to her dragon. "Come on, dragon! You can go higher than this!" The dragon smiled, and with the slightest twitch of his wings, he and the Moonhound shot upwards. *** Arrowsmith was coming out of his room for no one and nothing. People were acting like he knew what was going on, and they were not very happy when Arrowsmith admitted he wasn't sure. He had been greeted that very morning by five Mycinocroft standing around his bed when he awoke, which was very nearly more than his nerves could stand. He stared into their amber eyes, their wolf faces watching him coldly. Finally, their leader asked when the Wizard was coming. "He'll be here tonight," came out of Arrowsmith's mouth. "Very well," said the Mycinocroft. "We shall arrange to meet him. When will the Master Thief arrive?" "No clue. Look, guys, I'm naked here. I was asleep." "Sleep too much!" snapped another Mycinocroft, his voice heavily accented. "We up hours ago!" "Yes, and you are also known as an inherently evil race. Getting up at four in the morning, every day, may account for that." Dead silence fell. The Mycinocroft were not amused. While it was true that they were a relatively inoffensive breed of evil, it still didn't pay to annoy them. Their eyes remained cold, but their incredibly long, luxuriant tails began to fuzz out slightly, like an angry cat's. Arrowsmith suddenly remembered that they had jaws powerful enough to tear off his arm...or head. And while 'attitude' may have been all the rage where he came from, antagonizing Mycinocroft was suicide. Nobody would have a lot of sympathy for anyone dumb enough to tease these creatures.

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"All right, I'm sorry. The Thief should be here sometime today, but I don't know when. When he arrives, you will be the first to know. You are all staying at the Red Rooster, are you not?" "Well, we're certainly not staying here!" said the first Mycinocroft. "See that you do contact us when he does arrive." "Absolutely," said Arrowsmith. "The moment he gets here." The Mycinocroft left, and Arrowsmith flopped back down to his pillow. "How are these people getting here so fast?" he asked the ceiling. "Stone Realm is hundreds of miles away from here. Damn the Mycinocroft, somebody ought to just skin the lot of them and turn them into hats." He sighed and closed his eyes. The door smashed open, startling Arrowsmith into sitting up. Standing there was a tall, slender Elf with auburn hair and pale blue eyes. His long coat was blue as well, electric blue, so violently vibrant that it was nearly audible. Beneath the coat was a silk shirt of blood red, studded with rubies, no less. So not only did it glow, it glittered as well. The breeches were a quiet cream yellow, and his boots, gloves, and belt were black. He wore a foil at his waist, and that explained the whole outfit to Arrowsmith's streaming eyes. He was a noble fighter of the Sun God. The acid-trip apparition bowed. "Prince Dherrin of Stone Realm at your service. Why are you shacked up in such a miserable hole? The Red Rooster is much nicer. Well, anyway, to each his own, I suppose. I have flown here all the way from my mountain kingdom to once more uphold the friendship between the Wizard and our land." He pulled out his foil and whipped it back and forth dramatically. Then he stared down his nose at Arrowsmith. "I didn't wake you, did I?" "John Arrowsmith, of the Satan's Own motorcycle club. Courtenay chapter. And no, you didn't wake me, the Mycinocroft beat you to it." "Ah, well, that just makes sense. Mycinocroft can't stand to see anyone enjoy themselves. I adore Mycinocroft; they take themselves so seriously. They're good hunting, too. Beats running after some small fuzzy thing that can't possibly defend itself. I'd much rather run after a big fuzzy thing that is at least twice as smart as I am and can strip the flesh from my bones in a bite. Being a prince can be soooooo dull. Get dressed, I'll buy you breakfast, since anybody holed up here can't possibly have two coppers to rub together. Oh, look, a duck! Isn't that just too nauseatingly cute. Here, ducky..." "You hurt my duck, and I will pull your left arm off and hit you with it." "What do you take me for, a barbarian? Get dressed." Arrowsmith got dressed, his plans for hiding away all shot to pieces. He left Ducky swimming in his water bowl and followed Prince Dherrin down the wooden steps to the common room. Arrowsmith could hear his own boots hitting the planks, but he couldn't hear Dherrin’s feet at all. The warriors of the Sun God were light and deadly fast. It was all well and good for this Elf to act like an airhead; he could probably out-strike a snake. Seth cheerfully reminded Arrowsmith

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that his second incarnation had met a quick and grisly demise by insulting a female warrior of the Sun God. He couldn't remember what he had said, but it had something to do with a woman's place being in the kitchen. The only thing he could recall of his death was a whip-like noise, then nothing. He never saw her coming. "How is everyone arriving so quickly?" asked Arrowsmith. "You're here, the Mycinocroft are here..." "Fairenya Whiteflower and Gilgarin are here, Lord Brayden, Lord Anarden and Prince Azmond of Twin Lakes are here, I think there is even a detachment from Kirianna here. Can't bear Kiriannans; I hear they eat their own children." "Oh, they do not. But how did you all get here so fast?" "Well, the royals who have pledged allegiance to White Palace all have in their possession crystals given them by the Wizard. When we find out the Palace is up, we use the crystals to teleport just outside of the city. The armies and such will follow. Oh look, a Crucib, I adore Crucibs." Noblis was standing with Fairenya Whiteflower, and Arrowsmith was terribly glad to see both of them. Anyone was better than this motormouth prince of the electric hells. Arrowsmith was doubly glad to see Fairenya when he recalled that he had been a friend for the past two lifetimes, and had known him through all his lives. Fairenya Whiteflower was one of only three people who knew some of the Court's secrets. As Arrowsmith gave him a wide smile of recognition, Fairenya stepped forward to hug his friend. Thankfully, Fairenya asked nothing about when Infamous and Blackbird were supposed to show. All he said was, "Shall we eat here, or at the Rooster?" "The Rooster," said Prince Dherrin. "Here," said Arrowsmith and Noblis. The four ate an early lunch, then had some beer and sat in the common room. Noblis had tea instead of beer, and cheerfully watched the Elves and Seer drink and laugh. Fairenya pointed out that the owner of the Red Rooster must be having fits with the Seer of Hercandoloff doing his drinking at the Dirty Duck. Arrowsmith didn't care. The beer was better at the Duck, and he had been friends with the Elf who owned the place, Kirzag Darken, for almost as long as he had known Fairenya. No one would suspect the owner of a place like this to know anything about the Court, but Kirzag knew how to keep his mouth shut. He also understood that revealing secrets about the Court would not only be bad for business, it would force him into an uncomfortable confrontation with an angry Wizard and his wife. Kirzag preferred to pour beer and mind his own business. A small, black-clad figure stepped silently into the tavern, flanked by five other men. All were wearing black, and on their midnight-colored cloaks sparkled eight-pointed stars. They stood watching Arrowsmith and his companions as they sat, talking and laughing. Prince Dherrin was

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telling some unlikely tale about defeating eight Ogres with two pickles and a fruit knife. The

foremost of the six men smiled and lowered his hood, revealing masses of long, corded auburn

hair, beaded with onyx and silver. He motioned to his comrades to stay behind, and began

walking lightly, silently, up to Arrowsmith.

"You know I hate this tavern," he said softly.

Arrowsmith spun around quickly and found himself staring into a pair of black eyes.

"Infamous!" he said, surprised, "How long have you been here? My god!" he exclaimed, noticing

the velvet-black clerical raiment. "You look...absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you. You look like you were hit by a hay wagon and you smell like an outhouse. Kiss

me."

Arrowsmith did. "I'm so glad you're here. I missed you so badly..."

Prince Dherrin cleared his throat and peered over Infamous' shoulder. "Creator knows that I am a

notorious voyeur, and I would love to watch this reunion, but considering the ambassadors who

are pouring into the city, not to mention the tempers of the Mycinocroft, shouldn't you be

opening the Palace?"

"Go away," said Infamous, not taking his eyes off Arrowsmith. "How long until Blackbird

arrives?"

"Uh, he'll be here at nightfall."

Infamous blinked. "Nightfall? Well, that doesn't leave us any time!"

"I know. Bloody inconsiderate of him, if you ask me."

Infamous exhaled heavily. "I've been traveling for days, I was counting on having time to rest."

He sighed again. "All right, no sense in whining about it. I'll go up to the Palace."

"Anything I can do to help?" said Dherrin. "Not that I'm good at anything."

Infamous ran his hand over his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked exhausted.

"Perhaps you and Prince Whiteflower can have your servants begin planning a formal dinner for

tomorrow evening. The Wizard is going to have to properly greet the ambassadors."

"Oh, now, that I can do. I'm very good at planning parties."

"Thank you." Infamous looked Arrowsmith up and down. "Do you have any decent clothes? Oh,

stupid question. It's a good thing I love you, you know."

Arrowsmith remembered the clothes he had bought when he first had come into the city.

"Actually, I do. I bought some when I was staying at the Rooster."

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Infamous kissed him. “Smart and sexy. Must be why I like you. Now get changed so you don’t embarrass me in front of the Mycinocroft.” Arrowsmith grinned and kissed him back. “Fine. I have other ways of causing diplomatic incidents.” Arrowsmith changed into his new clothes before he and Infamous went to meet with the Mycinocroft. The conference was mercifully short, then afterwards they went back to the Duck to pack up Arrowsmith's belongings. Simon nearly ate Ducky, but Arrowsmith managed to save the tiny duckling from the old wolf. He changed back into his usual apparel while Infamous sent his wolf on ahead to the Palace in a carriage. Then he, Arrowsmith, and Ducky rode Harley slowly down the broad cobblestone streets to the Palace. Along the way, Arrowsmith told Infamous about the nightmare he had last fall. "I thought, if anyone would know anything about a jewel, you would," said Arrowsmith. Infamous was sitting behind him with his head resting on his shoulder. Arrowsmith hoped he hadn't fallen asleep. "I don't recall Hercandoloff having a jewel,” said Infamous. “I mean, it would be a pretty notable thing, I'm assuming. It would not be just an ordinary jewel." "So one would think. Wouldn't Blackbird have told us about it, if it was important?" "I don't know. But I've heard nothing about Hercandoloff having a jewel. The creature you described in your dream was a manifestation of the evil thieving god, called SkullDigger. He is the enemy of Marakim and just about everyone else. He is also a mad god, and it is not unlikely that this jewel exists only in his own fevered mind." "SkullDigger? Doesn't he tell his priests to eat their firstborn children?" "And to sacrifice blood and gold to him every night. And they'll eat anybody's children, not just their own. The priests of SkullDigger are also madly in love with poisons. They've got a venom for every day of the year, and some of them can leave a person screaming in agony for days before they finally kill them." Infamous shuddered. "I hate them." "Ever spend any time talking to one?" "I try to avoid it. Whatever made you ask such a horrid question?" Arrowsmith shrugged. "I don't know, morbid curiosity, I guess. Maybe just trying to understand what makes people want to spend their lives serving a god so evil that they know he will kill and cheat them every chance he gets." "Power, my love," said Infamous. "Or the promise of it. Never understood it, myself. When I agreed to follow that wretched little mage through all eternity, it certainly wasn't for power, I can

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tell you. Remember Berengar?" Arrowsmith blinked in surprise. "Slight change of topic, but yeah. He was a great guy, real funny. I liked him." For one brief moment, Infamous wanted to hit his lover. He did the next best thing. "I think he was a High Priest of SkullDigger." Harley screamed to a halt on the white stones of the city street, his riders jolting with the abrupt stop. Arrowsmith twisted around to look at Infamous, his expression one of absolute incredulity. "What!?" "I said..." "I heard you, Sunshine, I heard you. Berengar? But he was so nice..." "No, he wasn't; He was worm droppings. He was a bastard, and if I had the chance I'd kill him, raise him from the dead, and kill him again. I don't know why I've been thinking of him so much lately, but I have to tell someone and I'd rather tell you. There was something dark about that man, the way he played with shadow and light. He also dressed mostly in rusty greens and browns, the colors favored by SkullDigger.” Arrowsmith began to feel ill as he allowed himself to think things he never had about Berengar. He studied Infamous carefully. Infamous looked tense; he was almost shivering with some buried emotion. Arrowsmith fumbled clumsily for something to say, feeling Seth and several other incarnations suddenly howling with outrage that anyone had ever hurt Infamous. "Well, he's been dead almost a thousand years, you don't have to worry about him anymore,” said Arrowsmith quietly. "I hope that is true," said Infamous. "I wish I had his gold-plated skull in a box in my Temple, where I could keep an eye on it." They sat in the street for a little while, until Infamous seemed to have calmed down. Then they once more began heading up the wide, graceful street toward the Palace. *** The five men Infamous had arrived with were waiting for him as he and Arrowsmith drove down the white, smooth stone road to the Palace. Arrowsmith stopped the motorcycle by the front gate and stared up at the regal, spired structure. The White Palace was not truly white; it was more of an opalescent blending of all colors into a brilliant rainbow white. It glowed in its own light, and reached nearly as high as the clouds above it. It was a square structure, with four tall, slender towers at each corner. Hundreds of tall windows, all with stained glass depicting gods, wild animals, knights, fields, towns, and

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mountains, stared out over the vastness of the city and the plains beyond. Some windows wore enormous sweeping balconies, the rails of which were carved into the likeness of slender intertwining branches. Around the windows themselves were carved more branches, as though living ivy was growing about them. Arrowsmith knew that ivy. From the ground it was spectacular, but up close it was full of bees, flowers, tiny lizards and birds, all manner of wee vine-dwelling stone creatures. A low stone wall, only about four feet high, surrounded the Palace. In the middle of it was a tall gate, its sides cut from the same opal stone and shaped into leaning trees. The gate itself was wrought into the likeness of a rose bush grown wild. Past the gate opened up gardens of scented flowers, and through them ran a wide white path to the actual door of the Palace. Arrowsmith and Infamous left Harley by the gate, walking up to the Palace door. Carved upon it were strange runes, magical writing to lock the Palace until the proper housebreaker came to pick the locks. "It's so beautiful," said Arrowsmith quietly. "I keep forgetting how beautiful it is." Infamous nodded. "Big, too. The whole of Dargoth could live in there, and probably there would be space left over. I'm not going to get it all open; I'll start with Blackbird's chambers. Then I'll do the Towers. Monshikka will want the Tower of Knowledge open, and Blackbird will want the Tower of Magic. And I'm already so tired." Arrowsmith placed a gentle arm around him. "What do you suppose Monshikka does in that tower?" "Who knows? Probably stares out the window and contemplates his wasted years as a virgin. Those Kiriannans have morals that a dead person would have trouble living up to. Their marriage rituals are five days long, for Creator's sake. One day, Monshikka is just going to snap, and we'll find him down at the Red Rooster dressed as a leg of mutton and yelling 'Eat me!' Come along, I'll introduce you to my retinue." Arrowsmith laughed. "You're an evil man, Infamous." "That's a nasty rumor started by my friends." They walked up to the five thieves. One of them, Arrowsmith noticed, was not dressed in the manner of a Temple thief. Most of his clothing matched the others, but he did not carry the star and dagger. Instead, he wore about his throat the blood-red lace of the Highwaymen, a slightly different sect of the faith. Arrowsmith was a little surprised to find a Highwayman with a group of Temple thieves; the two groups often disagreed over how Marakim should be worshipped. Arrowsmith didn't really know a lot about Marakim, but he knew enough about the Dawn Thief to suspect that he would be delighted with any sort of worship. Marakim was a good and considerate god; he was also universally acknowledged as a nut bar. All five of the men bowed when Infamous drew near, and the Highwayman stepped forward.

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"We have waited for you, Master, as you instructed." "And I'm very glad to see all of you. Arrowsmith, allow me to introduce to you Darkrist, Dusty, Nevrin, Archem, and our one lone Highwayman, Roer. Children, this is John Arrowsmith. He is the Seer of Hercandoloff; he is also my lover. Please treat him with all the respect and deference you would me." "That little?" said Darkrist doubtfully. "By Marakim's blindfold, would you look at the size of him?" said Roer. "The man is a Gnome's nightmare." The thieves laughed, all save for Archem. He looked irritated and impatient. "Shouldn't we be opening the White Palace?" he snapped. The smile faded from Infamous' face. "Archem, for the past few days, all you have done is complain and be surly. I am sure Marakim sent you to me to remind me of my duties, but you needn't be so unpleasant about it. The Palace will be opened." Infamous turned and began heading for the Palace doors, his gaggle of thieves chasing after him. "Dusty, Archem, once we are inside, I want the two of you to open the Temple and begin preparing it for worship. Darkrist, Roer, Nevrin, I want you to start opening the quarters on the second floor. I'll begin opening the Mage's quarters." The group entered the garden and followed the white path up to the doors. Archem was by now walking slightly ahead of the group, and when they reached the doors, he grasped one of the gold handles. The doors refused to budge. He cursed and pushed against them, then glared at Infamous as he lightly pushed him aside. "Archem, I'm the only one who can open these doors. You know that, or at least, you ought to." Archem looked annoyed. "Sorry. I was just anxious to see the inside." "Well, it does not say much for you as a thief that you would simply walk up to a door and bash into it." "No, Master." Infamous gazed at Archem for a time, then turned to the door. He touched it lightly and, without a single sound, the enormous, carved wooden doors swung open.

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Chapter Four The huge doors swung open in eerie silence, the massive hinges uttering not even the smallest creak. The light streaked in behind the cautious group, illuminating the fine specks of dust in the air. They changed colors like fairy glitter. The doors opened into a wide hallway, extending deep into the Palace. The shadows of those standing in the entrance stretched across the white stone floor ahead of them, anxious to enter the ancient and mystic structure. Hung on the walls near the doors were enormous tapestries, delicately embroidered with scenes from Dargoth’s history, the woven figures gazing across the ages, not seeing the intruders. Above them, the ceiling swept high into the shadows, its surface painted with clouds in the pink light of a fading day. Sparkling gems were set into the painting to suggest evening stars. The thieves peered about almost timidly. Arrowsmith hung back, rubbing his duckling’s small head as the little creature peeked out of his leather jacket. "I realize this is an odd question for a thief to ask," said Darkrist. "But, should we be in here?" Infamous laughed. "If we were not supposed to be in here, the doors would not have opened. Come on, the Palace won't bite." Infamous began walking down the hallway, Archem behind him. The other four thieves gazed about nervously for a moment, then ran forward to catch up with their Master. Arrowsmith grinned, walking after them. The thieves bounced and flitted, moving like playful cats. Infamous walked ahead, and they followed like a ghostly comic troop, moving with the grace and silence their god had seen fit to give them. Archem tried to get into the act, but this was a man who seemed like he never bounced a day in his life. He just did not have the natural comedy about him the others did. Arrowsmith found it hard to believe this was a man who would dedicate his life to Marakim, but there was no accounting for taste. Then there was that other great adage, 'opposites attract.' Halfway down the wide hall, they came upon two doors, one on either side of the hall. As the thieves paused, Arrowsmith recalled those doors easily. They led to the barracks of the fighters of the Moon Goddess, five hundred of the most terrifying fighters on the planet. The thieves looked from the wolf carvings on the doors to their Master and back again, as though they expected to be attacked and overwhelmed the moment the doors were opened. Infamous sighed and went to open them himself. "There is nobody in here, you see?" he said, entering the room beyond. The other thieves paused and watched, then went thundering after their Master. ”Ferrets,“ thought Arrowsmith. “Giant, two-footed ferrets. That's what these guys are.“ He wandered after them. The chambers beyond the door were common eating and drinking rooms, and past those were the A Strange Place in Time Book II: The White Palace Awakens - 31

barracks proper, with space for two hundred and fifty fighters to sleep. The rooms across the hall would also hold as many. The barracks were not overly luxuriant, nor were they merely common fighters' quarters. The warriors of the Goddess had a decent place to live, even separate rooms. They were not large rooms; they held little more than a bed, a footlocker, and a few personal effects. However, considering what most soldiers had, this was luxury. They walked through the enormous eating area. The benches and tables all bore scars from generations of fighters. Names and rude graffiti were engraved into the rough wood of the table. Dirty limericks and dirtier pictures were scrawled all over the floors and walls. However, at the far end of the room, there was an area that was surprisingly clean and free of debris. It was an alcove, and within it sat a wolf cast entirely in silver. Across its back were folded silver wings, the flight feathers tipped with gold. Whatever chaos ensued during meal times, none of it ever touched the Moon Goddess. The jaws of the statue were open, lips pulled back over long fangs. The emerald eyes seemed to watch the seven men who had dared enter her domain coldly. The statue would be hollow, Arrowsmith knew, and offerings of silver would be thrown into it, tossed down the great wolf's throat. "Gives me the shivers just standing here," said Roer. "This isn't a place for men, and the goddess doesn't want us here in her barracks anyway." "Oh, come!" said Archem. "It's just a statue, we've as much right to be here as anyone." The other thieves looked about nervously, obviously not convinced by Archem's words. "Roer is right," said Infamous. "Come along, we've opened the place, that's all we're here to do." Dusty hopped after Arrowsmith, staying close to the biggest and presumably the strongest person in the group. He looked very young; Arrowsmith figured he was twenty at the most. He seemed more than a little intimidated by the Palace, and the barracks especially. His large dark eyes darted nervously about the room as they walked through it. "Nervous?" Arrowsmith asked him. Dusty glanced up at Arrowsmith, then his eyes resumed shifting about the room. "Women frighten me at the best of times," he said. "Women who drink blood, eat human flesh, roll in the entrails of the fallen and scream like wolves really upset me." "That's not hard to understand," said Arrowsmith. Dusty shivered. "I see them, sometimes, down at that tavern they go to, the Roadside Splang. They make me wonder why the goddess created them." "I'm sure they'd be happy to tell you, Dusty." "I ain't asking one of them."

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“What’s a ‘splang’?” asked Arrowsmith, puzzled. Darkrist flitted past him, fast and silent as death. “Ever hear two warriors in full armor in combat? That’s the noise their armor makes when the sword strikes it. Spla-a-a-a-a-ng. Why did the Moon Goddess create the Wolf Warriors, anyway?” "The Highwayman knows the story," said Nevrin. "Ask him." "Highwaymen know everything," said Roer. "Oh?" said Darkrist. He cocked a thumb at Arrowsmith. "So, what does he see in the Master?" "That has to be love," said Roer. "But I choose not to speculate about the Master because he throws daggers faster than I move." Infamous smiled slightly, but said nothing. "Anyway," said Roer, "I believe how the tale goes is something like this. The Creator made the Sun God and the Moon Goddess. The Sun God made the lands, and he put men on the land to worship him. The Moon Goddess made the fields grow and put women on the earth so all things would be balanced. Shortly after this, the Sun God was murdered by the chieftain of the pale Dwarfs. For a long time, the Goddess hunted the pale Dwarfs, and the black Dwarfs of the Mountain helped her, which is why she watches over them -- because she has grown fond of them. She caught the pale Dwarf and ate his liver and heart, then scattered what was left of him across the world to nourish it." "I've seen that display," said Dusty, looking green. "While she was hunting," Roer continued, "the sun and the moon had been neglected, and allowed to wander across the sky as they pleased, and even now, without the help of the Sun God, she is still unable to get them into their proper paths. When she finally got a chance to look down upon the people she'd helped to create, she saw something that didn't please her. The men had made laws unfair to the women, and told them how to live their lives. They did not allow the women to learn any of the arts the men knew. They had let the lands go bad through neglect, and the men only seemed to want to make war with each other." "Sounds like my last relationship," said Arrowsmith. "Angered by this," continued Roer, "the Goddess took back her women and hid herself from view. Now, because the moon was gone, there was no rain for the crops or animals, no night to give relief from the burning sun, and it occurred to the men that what they had done was wrong. They began to try to please the Goddess. They watered the plants with such water as they had, and tended to the fields and animals. For a very long time, they prayed, and finally the Moon Goddess asked her women if they wished to return.

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"'Yes,' they said, ’But perhaps the men will forget their regrets and promises when the land begins to grow again.'” "'Then I will give you priestesses who can tell me how you are faring. And you will produce fighters who can watch over the priestesses. I will also give you a sacred animal, the wolf, and you shall do as she does. When you go into battle, go singing, so that anything that does not wish to fight will not be there when you show. If your opponent flees, hunt them, for they are cowards, and cowardice breeds viciousness and evil. If it surrenders, eat it; it is prey. Scatter the remains of what you hunted, so that it may turn back into soil and grow things anew. Remember that all life is a circle, and through it runs a river of milk and blood, life and death. There are two sides to everything, and let no one take part of you away anymore.'" They left the barracks. Infamous closed the door partway, and they continued down the hall toward the large reception chamber, where the Wizard would spend much of his time. They paused before the grandiose, dark wooden doors. To their right and left, another enormous hallway stretched, intersecting the way they had come and traveling what seemed to be an endless distance. The thieves scattered, heading toward their appointed areas. Nevrin, Darkrist, Roer and Dusty all moved lightly, silently, like shadows. Archem just ran. He was not clumsy, but he was by far not as graceful as the other three. Arrowsmith watched this thoughtfully. "Something not right about that Archem guy." "He is not a young thief," said Infamous. "I dare say there have been a few lives where I moved less than gracefully. I understand Roer tried to get J’Vanna Snoweaver, but J’Vanna fell off a roof and broke one of those long, pretty legs of his. Shame. I love to watch that man walk." Infamous pushed the reception room door open. "J’Vanna Snoweaver," said Arrowsmith. "Beautiful name." "Beautiful name for a beautiful person," said Infamous. "Tall, slender, graceful, soft-spoken, refined, intelligent, and sweet to the bone. A being like that makes you believe the world is a fine place. And I have the honor of being a relative. Well, he's been kind to everyone in the land; I'll have to return the favor and make certain he's taken care of until he mends. Great Creator, look at this room, would you? Makes me wish I was the Wizard." The reception room was a perfect rectangle, stretching in all directions. The wall directly across from them was all of stained glass, rising from floor to ceiling, showing the ancient city of Palaklais in all of its splendor. The depiction was accurate, from the temples on the hills to the people on the streets. Daylight shining through the glass gave the impression of the sun shining on the city. When night fell, stars would once more look down on the buildings. At either end of the long room were two large fountains, with wide, shallow bases. Stone horses rolled in the basins, and the water splashed in such a way as to suggest the heavy animals were playing in the water, thin rivulets running down their bodies and over their shaggy manes.

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Lounging couches were arranged about the room, each having a small table next to it for food and drink. Rugs were scattered about as well, and paintings were hung upon the walls. It was a glorious room, a chamber worthy of its occupant, and soon the quiet would be broken by more than the soft splash of water. It would also be filled with gentle music, conversation, and the noise of a few dozen frogs. Blackbird was wildly enthusiastic about frogs, and every time he lived in the Palace, he amassed some truly spectacular collections. "Ribbit," said Arrowsmith, looking at the fountains. Infamous sighed. "I know. All this beauty, and what does he do? Grow frogs. Ribbit, indeed. Ought to call this place Frog Palace. Let's open Blackbird's chambers, then I'll open our room. Then I'm going to the Tower of Magic and see if I can't get in there." "I thought you could go everywhere in here," said Arrowsmith as they crossed the reception hall. "No, actually, there are two places I cannot get into. The top floor of the Tower of Knowledge is one, and that's because that door can only be opened by the Keeper of the Forbidden Library." "Monshikka." "Yes. And I'd love to see the inside of that Library one day; I'll wager it’s crammed full of naughty pictures and such. That's why it’s forbidden; Monshikka doesn't want us to find out what a wild man he is. The other room I never quite managed to pick is the uppermost chamber on the Tower of Magic. But I get a little stronger every lifetime, and the last time I was here, the door nearly opened for me. That was quite a while ago; I should be strong enough to open it now. If there is a jewel, it will be there. Then we can decide if this dream of yours needs to be looked at more closely.” "All the dead people who have been showing up to talk to me say that it does." "Yes, but they're dead, what else have they got to do with themselves? Decompose, that's it. So they amuse themselves by frightening us. There has been no word of anything happening anywhere. Nothing. The Mycinocroft did not even know of anything, and if something was afoot, they'd know it." "If nothing is amiss, then why are we opening this Palace?" "I don't know," said Infamous, "and I'm much happier not thinking about it.” Arrowsmith put his arm around Infamous' small shoulders and gave him a squeeze. They finished opening the rooms Blackbird would occupy. Then they began heading for their own quarters. "So where did Hercandoloff get the idea of having you open the Palace?" asked Arrowsmith. "I'm not certain," said Infamous. "He was pretty old when he came up with it; I'm sure it made

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sense to his fevered little brain at the time. Symbolic, I suppose, to have the Thief open the house. I'm certain an intelligent person could come up with all sorts of explanations for the way this Palace works, but I strongly suspect it could all be put down to senility. You know how fragile Blackbird is; he never ages well." They reached the door to their own chambers, and Infamous turned to look at Arrowsmith, his dark eyes gleaming. "So, here are our chambers. Think we should inspect them?" Arrowsmith drew closer to Infamous. "Don't you have a Palace to open?" Infamous’ black eyes glittered mischievously. "Well, we couldn’t take long, but we could have a few minutes. Unless you're still trying to get Misty's attention?" "Misty who?" said Arrowsmith. That response seemed to please Infamous. He slipped into the huge chambers, and Arrowsmith followed him, closing the door behind himself. They stepped into a huge bedchamber, bathed in a strange, indigo light as the sunlight attempted to penetrate the heavy velvet drapes. The black marble floor was scattered with rugs and large silk pillows, and there was the distant scent of fragrant dried herbs. Arrowsmith slipped on one pillow, but caught himself, then set his duckling down before he slid his arms around Infamous and kissed him. He felt Infamous put his arms around his neck, then pull himself up to wrap his legs around Arrowsmith’s waist. “I missed you,” said Infamous. “Missed you, too. Oh, and remind me to never wander off before Recalling again; I ended up getting tossed in the dungeon for being drunk in public.” Infamous laughed. “I will do my best.” He kissed Arrowsmith again. “Bed.” “Right.” Arrowsmith tossed him onto the bed, then leapt onto it after him, moving over top of him. “That was most undignified,” said Infamous. “But fast.” Arrowsmith reached up to open the clasp holding the long outer coat on, then kissed Infamous’ exposed throat, breathing in the scent of his lover. Then he began opening the garment worn under the coat. “What the hell do you need all these clothes for?” “Take too long to explain. Just undress.” “Right.”

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Arrowsmith yanked off his much-loved old clothes, hearing Infamous toss his own clothes onto a nearby chair. Then they pulled back the covers and slid under the heavy grey silk quilts, stained lavender by the purple light. “We’ll have to do this right later tonight,” said Arrowsmith.

“If I’m awake. If not, just start without me.”

“Oh, very romantic.”

Infamous laughed quietly, then tossed his head back and gasped as Arrowsmith gently bit his

throat. *** Infamous left Arrowsmith in the ludicrously rich bedroom, dozing in the rose-scented silk quilts. Arrowsmith felt as though he was wrapped in warm, silk-lined lead, and all he wanted to do was lie in the deep, soft bed. The last few days had taken a great deal out of him; he couldn't imagine

how tired Infamous was.

The door slammed open. "Are you in bed again?"

Arrowsmith peered over the mountain of quilts. "Why is it I only met you this morning, but

already I can tell when you've entered a room without even looking?"

"I have that effect on people," said Prince Dherrin. "I'm memorable. Now get up, the whole place

is going mad. Why is it the only two members of the Court we have on hand are either in bed or

gone?"

Arrowsmith stared at Prince Dherrin. "Exactly what is it you expect me to do?"

"I don't know, something! You can start by getting out of that bed." He picked up Arrowsmith's

leather chaps and stared at them in disgust. "Don't you have any other clothes?"

"Yeah but I ain't wearing them. Don't you have any others, Electro Man?"

The remark didn't even touch him. "Well, I suppose these will have to do." He threw the clothes

onto the bed. "Now, get up!"

Arrowsmith grumbled and threw the covers back. He reached for his jeans. "You're a pain in the

ass."

"Yes, I've heard that rumor." Dherrin sighed, and his demeanor softened slightly. "Really, I'm

very sorry, but royals and nobles are teleporting in from everywhere but Silverwood, and the Kiriannans expect to be greeted by someone of the Court..."

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Seth chose that moment to speak through Arrowsmith and intervene. "Tell them the Court has better things to do than wait on their meager presence. If they want to be received, then they can wait in the hall with everyone else or leave. I'm sure I shan't miss them." Prince Dherrin didn't seem to notice the change, or if he did, he was saying nothing. "Yes, my lord, anything else?" "Yeah, I'm fuckin' hungry." Arrowsmith dressed in his old clothes and stood up. "And I could use a beer. Did those Kiriannans bring any of those members of that religious order, the Right Hand of the Creator?" "Two of them," said Dherrin. As Arrowsmith loped out of the room on his long legs, Dherrin followed lightly after him. "Can't stand them. They're the cretins who won't allow clerics of Marakim to aid the poor and orphaned." Arrowsmith pulled his shades out of his jacket pocket and put them on his face. "I bet the Mycinocroft are just thrilled." "Delighted," said Dherrin dryly. "I haven't seen tails so fuzzy in a long time. The Crucib aren't happy either." "Yeah, well, neither am I. Why would the Crucib and Mycinocroft care?” Dherrin gave him a jaundiced look. “You know why. They still hunt them for sport. They make clothing out of them, for the love of Creation they skin Mycinocroft infants while still alive for glove-leather. White Palace has been trying to make the Kiriannans stop this and permit the Children of Marakim help their orphaned, but these vile monsters disguised vaguely as holy men won’t let them. I mean not that the King of Kirianna cares anyway but the Temple of the Right Hand gives them a handy excuse.” They walked down the hall to the reception room. Prince Dherrin walked into the crowd, as one would expect from nobility. He simply breezed in as though he had every right in the world to be there, and the servants who now ran after him were just so many ignorable entities. Arrowsmith curled his lip and growled at the first servant who tried to approach him. The man stopped, shocked, as if he had been expecting the Seer to be a bit more, well, refined. Arrowsmith snarled at another individual, then prowled into the room like a great cat. These people weren't his kind, and he knew it, and he didn't much like it. He was completely out of his element and, for a moment, he considered just turning around and leaving. "Realizing that you can't very well begin speaking to me in a room full of people," said Seth, "I can be of some assistance, if you let me. Parties are fun, John, not that you've ever been to one. I wouldn't call those beer-sucking orgies you and your little biker pals threw parties. I, however, have breeding. Now, stop snarling at the help like an unfed dog; they are called 'help' for a reason. And be pleasant."

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"Fuck off," said Arrowsmith, very quietly.

"Now, that is exactly the sort of behavior I am talking about. Stand straight and behave."

Arrowsmith slouched over a table and poured himself a tankard of ale, ignoring Seth's

commands. He took a long drink, then felt a hand slip under his jacket and around his waist. It was Infamous. "Hey, you wild thing," he said, smiling. "You look out of place."

"I'm lost," said Arrowsmith. "And Seth is yelling at me, trying to make me act like something I'm

not." He smiled as Infamous took a drink from his tankard. "Did you get into the Tower?"

Infamous nodded, passing back the tankard. "Yes. There are a lot of magical items in there, most

of which I have never seen before in any lifetime, but no jewels. Are you certain that beast

wanted a jewel?"

Arrowsmith nodded. "'The jewel for my master,' that's what it said. Maybe it's not a literal jewel,

maybe it's something else. But I can't think what."

Infamous shrugged. "Let's cheat and ask the Mage if he has a jewel he hasn't told us about.

We've puzzled about this long enough by ourselves. In the meantime, I'm hungry." Infamous

began helping himself to various things on the table. "So, what brings you in here? When I left

the room, you were half-asleep."

"Prince Dherrin came and jumped on my head. He said he needed me to greet the Kiriannans."

Arrowsmith sipped his beer. "I'd rather shove needles into my eyes. Seth artfully told Prince

Dherrin to tell the Kiriannans to fuck off."

Infamous held up a small round cake for Arrowsmith to bite. He chewed thoughtfully, not certain

he liked it. Infamous ate the rest.

"What was that crap?" Arrowsmith asked.

"Elven cloud-cake, you cretin," said Infamous affectionately.

"Tastes like old road dust."

"Oh, come on, this is wonderful. Here, try this." Infamous held up something else, and

Arrowsmith scowled at it suspiciously.

"Looks like ground grasshoppers on a cracker."

"I'm certain that's exactly what it is," said Infamous dryly.

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"Get it away from me; it looks evil." Infamous laughed, then bit into whatever it was he was holding. "It's delicious." Arrowsmith snorted, then glanced over to the open doors of the hall. There, he saw four people, three men and a woman. The woman and the man next to her were both dressed in fine robes of vibrant colors, and they wore jeweled crowns. The two men who stood on either side of them wore simple robes of white-trimmed scarlet. They stood, cold and regal in the door, waiting for someone to greet them. "Is that the King and Queen of Kirianna?" asked Arrowsmith. Infamous raised his head to look. He sighed. "Yes. I wish Monshikka was here; this is exactly what we have him for." "Can't we just leave them there until he shows?" "No. They hate White Palace at the best of times; if we insult them, we'll be lucky if all they do is declare war. Come on, we'll meet them together." "Oh, man, you and I are the last two people who ought to be meeting those jerks." Infamous narrowed his eyes. "No, I don't agree. I think the Wizard's homosexual Thief and his beer-swilling, ill-tempered lover are the perfect people to meet these most pure and moral of rulers. Come along, dear." Arrowsmith smiled happily. Beer in hand, he followed Infamous across the room. *** Greeting them was every bit as horrible as Arrowsmith anticipated. The two were rude and cold, and made no effort to hide the fact that they had expected to be greeted by the Wizard himself. It was as though White Palace was so insignificant a realm that its King was little more than their personal servant. The two men in the red robes said nothing, but they stared at Infamous icily. They made Arrowsmith think of some mafia don's hired muscle in a cheap gangster film from 1940. Arrowsmith and Infamous finally managed to escape the situation when Dherrin gracefully edged into the conversation and departed with the whole horrid bunch. He took them to the far end of the hall and had his own servants wait on them. Infamous shook his head as he and Arrowsmith headed back to the banquet tables. "I wonder why this city maintains relations with Kirianna. Them and their morality or, should I say, false morality. No wonder Monshikka left the kingdom. I'm surprised they let him live. They kill any children who are deformed or unusual, you know. They claim such children are an abomination in the eyes of the Creator." "Is this the same Creator who claims to love every creature equally, regardless of who or what

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they are?" "No, this is the Kiriannan Creator. The one who murders the imperfect and starves orphans, because anyone with ill luck must deserve it. Only the good and just reach status in life." Arrowsmith shivered. "I keep forgetting how much I hate that place." “I’m not fond of it myself. The only time I went to Kirianna, I died." Arrowsmith put an arm around Infamous and pulled him close. "Well, they can't touch us here; White Palace law is not Kiriannan law. Let's get some beer and munchies, then sit in front of his and her majesties and tongue-wrestle." "Have I ever told you I love the way your mind works?" *** The three sun dragons reached White Palace just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, and all the world was red and gold. Far below, the White Palace was a blazing diamond, and the dragons began their slow downward spiral toward it, the tips of their wings trailing light. The Moonhound had finally run out of steam and now lay over the back of her dragon, staring past its shoulder at the approaching earth. Monshikka wasn't brave enough to do that, but he was watching the clouds around him. He seemed much less frightened now than he had that morning. Blackbird was asleep, flat between Librator's outstretched wings. He had awoken a few times that day, but the travel was just too stressful for him. The Moonhound doubted he would wake up even after they landed. The dragons circled lazily. Beneath them the city came into closer view. Details became clear, and soon the Moonhound could see the gardens around the Palace, and the white stone walkways. In the grounds behind the Palace, she could see people, hundreds of them, all waiting for them to land. She sighed. "Look at all those people. I suppose I'll have to stop and wave or something." She grinned falsely and offered a queenly wave. "I shall deal with that," said Monshikka, trying not to laugh. "I am not without experience in such matters. And you have the excuse of getting our great and powerful Mage into his jammies." The Moonhound snorted in amusement, then looked over at Monshikka. "You're a Prince of Kirianna; do you think your parents are down there?" "Oh, probably. I would imagine they will be beside themselves with joy upon seeing me arrive with the Wizard. They will be able to speak my name aloud in public again." "Why did you leave Kirianna?"

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"Well, it's all very silly, really," said Monshikka. "There I was in the bath, feeling all sanctimonious and knowing I was the finest, purest, most kind and virtuous being on the planet. This was assured because I was a wealthy prince, and only good people are wealthy nobles. Then, I Recalled. Suddenly, right before my eyes were all my eight hundred and some-odd years on this earth in their glowing imperfection. Talk about a slap in the face. Realizing I was not conceived through an act of divinity, I got out of the bath, threw some things into a bag, and left. I made my way directly to the Mountain Cabin, pausing only to eat, sleep, and beat my head against the occasional large rock for being such an oaf. In the future, I shall endeavor not to be born in Kirianna." The Moonhound laughed. "Well, I hope you get your wish. I was born to a farm woman near Stone Realm. I'm sure she thinks that either I was switched with her baby at birth, or else I'm possessed. When I brought Blackbird home and said this was the man I was going to marry, she screamed and fainted." "Well, I can see her point," said Monshikka airily. "He's a sweet man, but he's terrible breeding stock. If he was a horse, he would have to be put down." The Moonhound glared at him. "I'm going to tell Blackbird you said that when he wakes up. Then you can spend the rest of your life as a little white newt." "He wouldn't dare," said Monshikka. "He would have to host his own damned social functions." The Moonhound burst into laughter. She always did when Monshikka cursed; he did it so well. Monshikka himself smiled a little, then leaned cautiously forward to see how close they were to the ground. He sighed with relief. "We've nearly landed," he said. The three dragons landed in the garden behind the reception hall, touching down lightly, then settling onto the ground with their wings outstretched, tongues lolling. Accommodations had been set up for them in the rooftop garden, but judging from the way they flopped like wounded ducks, they were not going to take flight again that day. The Moonhound slid down from the back of her dragon and walked immediately over to Blackbird. He had not moved, even upon landing, and she was a little concerned about him. If there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was that a being as fragile as he was died with incredible ease. However, he was still breathing when she reached him, and she let out a tiny, quiet sigh of relief. She smiled as she looked at him. "The mighty Wizard," she said quietly as she lifted him off of Librator’s back. He squeaked faintly, but that was the only sound he made. The large gathering all around them was silent, reverent, and the rows of lords and ladies parted with a soft rustling sound as the Moonhound walked by, bowing respectfully to her. Monshikka followed close behind her, cold and regal, his white robes fluttering around him. They walked out of the garden and into the hall, heading directly for Blackbird's chambers. The Moonhound was a little surprised at herself for

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remembering the way; it had been so long since she was last there.

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Chapter Five Monshikka had servants scuttling within moments of his arrival. He walked through the crowd like a deity of ice, his white robes fluttering out behind him, issuing commands in a firm, quiet voice. Baths were to be drawn, bags were to be brought in, and the dragons were to be tended with all the respect they were due. The Wizard would speak to no one, and was not considered to have officially arrived until he was cleaned up, rested, and ready to face his duties. Monshikka made no apologies for their inglorious arrival, and made only passing acknowledgment of those assembled. His duties lay with the Wizard, not with nobles attempting to start their fawning early. The Moonhound admired his ability to handle the situation, and many times over the course of their lifetimes had given thanks for his grasp of courtly politics and courtesies. Being married to Blackbird made her the Queen, but where matters of nobility were concerned, she had to admit she was not much more than a common fighter. She did not like situations that could not be dealt with by beheading something. They made their way to the huge set of apartments that were the royal chambers. Once there, the Moonhound made her way directly to the bedroom, Monshikka quietly following. They entered the bedchamber, and the Moonhound paused, curling her lip. “Purple. What is it with him and purple? I hate purple. I swear, this lifetime, I’m gonna make him redecorate.” Monshikka closed the door behind them, and the Moonhound carried Blackbird over to the great expanse of the lavish bed. She carefully set his tiny form down on it, then stepped back, feeling protective and a little concerned. She felt Monshikka lightly take her arm. “He is well,” he said softly. “Yeah, I suppose. He just looks so little.” Monshikka grinned. “My friend, that is because he is little. Sit.” “You really are a creep, you know this.” She gave him a friendly kiss on one white cheekbone, then walked over to a high-backed embroidered chair. She sat down on it heavily, exhausted. "Oh, Creation, I need a bath and a large mug of beer," she said. Monshikka collapsed into a chair himself. "Quite," he said, "although I would prefer some Elven pepper wine to beer." The Moonhound laughed quietly, then forced herself to stand. She walked over to Blackbird and began removing his boots and heavy black robes. Tossing the garments over the end of the bed, she pulled the soft, thick quilts over his little body. Blackbird slept on. Monshikka and the Moonhound both dozed as they waited for the baths to be prepared. Finally, there came a light A Strange Place in Time Book II: The White Palace Awakens - 44

tap at the door, and a maid peered in to say the water was ready. Monshikka thanked her and waved her away, then looked over at the Moonhound. “The bath is ready,” he said. The Moonhound couldn't even open her eyes. “Bully for the bath.” “I take it you are going to sleep.” “I am, if you go away.” He laughed quietly. “Sleep well, then.” The Moonhound listened to him cross the room and depart, quietly closing the door behind him. She forced herself to her feet, shedding clothes and leaving them in a pile. With the last rays of the sun fading from view, she climbed into bed beside Blackbird, slipping an arm around his small body and falling into a deep sleep. *** Monshikka was equally as weary as the Moonhound, but he had a few things he had to attend to before he would permit himself to sleep. Not that the Moonhound did not take her post seriously, but her duties lay with protecting the realm. Monshikka's lay with keeping ancient tomes, and practicing the fine art of being pleasant to people he couldn't stand. He decided not to walk all the way to his own bathing chamber. Since the Moonhound wouldn't be using her bath, he went into her chamber. He stepped into the warm room, closing the door, then shedding his clothes as he stepped across the black marble floor over to the elevated stone bath. The chamber had tall, arched windows that allowed the failing light in, shining down on the vases of cut flowers and the hand-painted porcelain fixtures. Then the sun was gone, and now, with the sky all purple, the room was filled with a mystical glow. A fire crackled quietly in a hearth, its dancing light making the stone hearth Gnomes laugh. Monshikka lit a small brazier made of polished brass and threw into it a handful of incense. A soft plume of curling smoke rose up from the coals, and he breathed in the exotic smell, feeling the tension begin to leave his body. He sat on the tub’s carved stone edge and trailed one long hand through the water, checking its temperature. Stepping in, Monshikka sank down into the perfumed water, submerging completely, then slowly rising again. The stone tub was deep, and the water reached his shoulders. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, breathing in the smell of incense and lavender. The only flaw he could see, and it was a tiny one, was that the Moonhound drank beer, not pepper wine. He ignored the frosted tankard on the small side table. "Great Creation," said a quiet, admiring voice from the far end of the chamber. "You are absolutely beautiful, did you know that?" "I did, actually," said Monshikka. He didn't have to see who was speaking to know his voice.

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"And you are a cretin." "I am nothing of the kind, my alabaster god!" said Infamous, stepping toward the bathtub. "Merely an artist with an eye for beauty." "You're a warped little man. What are you doing in my bathing chamber?" Infamous brought an elaborately carved chair over to the tub, then sat on it the wrong way so he could rest his hands on the high back. "Actually, I'm in the Moonhound's bathing chamber. I came in to annoy her. Why are you here?" "Because she's not using it, and I was too weary to walk all the way to my room. Pass me my beer, please." Infamous did so. "I didn't know you drank beer." Monshikka stared critically into the mug, then took a sip. "Ugh, I don't," he said, and passed the mug to Infamous. "She and Blackbird are asleep, and I nearly so. You must be tired as well. When did you arrive?" "This afternoon. Arrowsmith and I spent the time between then and now opening what we could of the Palace. Where are Misty and Lord Sly?" "On their way, they left the cabin this morning on horseback. They'll be here in about ten days. Has Arrowsmith determined why the Palace is up?" "No, there are no rumors of anything from anyone. I'm beginning to think this Palace was just bored and lonely." Monshikka laughed quietly. "I'd like to debate that, but since this Palace is Blackbird's work, I suppose anything is possible. Well, if that is the case, I don't mind. I rather miss this place when we're not here." "So do I. Makes me recall being young." "Yes," said Monshikka, smiling fondly as he thought of times past. He reached out to pick up a bar of soap. "It makes me recall Palaklais. Remember how beautiful and grand everything was? The white streets, the beautiful temples, the parties we used to throw in the Halls of the King? It was all so wonderful." Infamous tossed a piece of wood onto the fire, then took a sip from the tankard. "Yes, what a jolly bunch of zealots we were. All things evil were going to run in fear of us, and peace would rule always." "Don't be bitter, Infamous, we've kept that vow for the most part. And whatever befalls us, we still have one another.” Monshikka smiled at Infamous, then reached out and placed a comforting

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hand on the Thief’s forearm. “You're tired,” he said softly, “We're all tired, and right now, perhaps a little frightened, too. Go to bed; I shall stay awake awhile yet, and address some of those who have arrived to greet us." Infamous nodded, yawning, then leaned forward and lightly kissed Monshikka's face. "Good night," he said. He rose to his feet to leave the room, then paused. "I didn't get around to opening your chambers, but you're perfectly welcome to spend the night with Arrowsmith and me." "What a perfectly dreadful thought that is." "Does that mean you accept?" Monshikka sighed. "Yes, of course I do. I shall be there when I can. Good night, Infamous, and thank you." "Good night, Monshikka." Infamous left the room, and Monshikka closed his eyes to enjoy his bath. *** After bathing, Monshikka made his way to one of the rooms that made up part of Blackbird’s and the Moonhound’s quarters. He went to a chamber that housed the garb reserved for ceremonial occasions, some of which was so ridiculously elaborate Monshikka could not help but wonder what they had all been thinking a thousand years ago. The outfit he personally was going to have to wear was strikingly beautiful, but he could not get into it by himself. And he was not in the mood to be dressed by strangers. Carefully taking the weighty and elaborate garb, he made his way up to the apartments Arrowsmith and Infamous shared, and tapped on the door. He rolled his eyes as he heard the distinct sound of motorcycle boots crossing a marble floor. The door opened, and Monshikka passed Arrowsmith a huge heap of white fabric. Arrowsmith examined the pile critically. “This isn’t for me, is it?” “No.” “Good, because it looks like it would be hell to get engine grease off of.” “It’s for me.” A light went on in Arrowsmith’s mind, and he grinned. “Oh, I remember this! Okay, you hang on to the bedpost, I’ll pull.” Infamous lounged on the bed, a glass of wine in one hand, apple in the other. He watched Monshikka remove his outer robe and toss it onto a chair. Taking the beautiful and elaborate cinch-waisted coat, Monshikka held it up and looked at it.

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“Maybe I can get into it without the damn corset.” “Oh, good, dinner and a show,” said Infamous. “Oh, shut up.” As Monshikka had feared, the outer garments did not fit without the corset. Nor did they fit with it done only moderately tightly. He dropped the outer coat once more, and finally said, “All right, Arrowsmith, this is what we keep you for.” “Right,” said Arrowsmith. He stuck his cigarette between his teeth, and took the heavy laces between his fingers. Then he brought up one booted foot, planted it in the small of Monshikka’s back, and pulled with all his might. “Can ya breathe, Blackie?” “Don’t call me Blackie!” “Tighter then,” said Arrowsmith. Infamous watched the whole thing from the bed, giggling. At last, the garments fit, and Monshikka stood looking at himself in the mirror. It was a confining costume, and he was cinched into it until he almost couldn't breathe. But he had to admit, as he stood before the mirror and looked at himself, that it was a beautiful ensemble. It was a frozen blue-white, and it made him look every inch the 'Ice Prince,’ a nickname Infamous had given him years ago. The basic garments were fitted white breeches and thigh-high boots, with a white shirt. The corset itself fit over the shirt, forming a plain vest. Then there was a delightful little torture device that took the form of a long under-coat, buttoning down the front. The front of it was elaborately embroidered with fine silver thread, creating a complex image of leaves. The skirts of the fine coat opened up and spread out like a flowing curtain of ice, ending just above the floor. The back was boned rigidly, which meant that Monshikka not only could not breathe, he could not sit, either. “Who designed this?” he crabbed quietly. He looked over his shoulder at Arrowsmith. “All right, now the outer coat,” he said, his tone resigned. The outer coat was a painfully grandiose affair: open-fronted, rigidly boned, tightly fitted, with long flowing skirts, and sporting nothing less than the pelts of two white Mycinocroft. The bluewhite pelts met at the throat, then trailed back, forming the outer edge of a cloak that flowed down his back and onto the floor. Monshikka stroked the fur, feeling, as he did so, very squeamish at the thought of appearing before a contingency of these beings wearing a pair of their ancestors. The Mycinocroft were no more pleased about it than he was, but tolerated this example of past barbarism for one reason

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alone. White Palace was the only realm that no longer hunted them. To them, the coat served as a dire warning of what could happen should they ever decide to break the complex treaty that allowed them to dwell in the realm in peace. The Mycinocroft were evil creatures; of that, there was no doubt. They were tolerated by Elves and Humans, though, for a few reasons. Their most redeeming feature was that they were, oddly enough, absolutely truthful, and would abide laws strictly. Which meant law-writing on Dargoth was a nightmare, because if a law was not written carefully, a Mycinocroft would be there to take full advantage. Monshikka had learned that the hard way with the Fish Wars, five lifetimes back. Elves tolerated the Mycinocroft because they were fiercely protective of rivers and waterways, the reason being that they ate only fish, and could not spend long periods of time away from water. Farmers near a Mycinocroft village frequently had fish stolen out of ponds and weirs, and as a result, White Palace forbade the Mycinocroft to steal fish. So the Mycinocroft stopped stealing. Instead, they broke the weirs and let the fish out. "I did not steal it, it escaped and I found it." Next law: no destroying pond barriers. The Mycinocroft pulled them out and set them aside. "Well it’s not broken, is it?" No removing pond barriers. The Mycinocroft dug under them. There were now no less than five hundred laws regarding stew ponds, and no fewer than three barristers had thrown themselves off buildings just trying to keep up with the side-stepping logic of the beasts. The war still was not over; it was just on hold while the Mycinocroft found another loophole. However, while Mycinocroft were, for the most part, reasonably harmless, those who sought their fur were not. The pelt of a Mycinocroft covered only his wolf-like head, then went in a wide stripe down his back and into a long, luxuriant tail. Being creatures of the Dream-Time, when the Creator had fallen asleep over her cauldron and dreamed Dargoth into existence, their fur had an odd, almost enchanted quality to it, and some who touched it were drawn into an obsessed madness over the wondrous softness of it. They would do anything to get it, and some of the horrors visited upon the Mycinocroft made the Court step in and forbid hunting them. It was the beginning of a long and very odd friendship, but Monshikka did not trust to gratitude and laws alone to keep these conniving creatures in line. The white pelts remained on the formal garb, cold reminders of why treaties should not be broken. Monshikka narrowed his red eyes, practicing his 'peasant' look in a mirror, then turned with a flourish to face Arrowsmith and Infamous. “Well?” he asked.

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The two exchanged glances, grinning, then broke into applause. Monshikka inclined his head toward them. “Thank you, peasants, your worship is most deserved.” Arrowsmith stuck his tongue out and made a rude noise. “Now, get out of here before I cut your corset and that outfit explodes.” *** Arrowsmith and Infamous watched Monshikka depart, then Arrowsmith looked at his lover and grinned. “Gotta hand it to him: he looks hot. Nobody wears the past like the Ice Prince.” Infamous nodded, tossing a large bone to Simon. He said nothing as Arrowsmith came to sit beside him, wishing he had not mentioned Berengar. But he had, and there was nothing to be done now save tell Arrowsmith the tale. He spoke quietly, telling the story from the beginning. Arrowsmith’s memory of the time was limited at best; he had spent much of his days trying to avoid the strange beings he had fallen in with. He had spoken often with Berengar, who, at the time, seemed to be the only reasonable, God-fearing person there. It was no surprise he had not known what Infamous was going through. Infamous finished the story, and together they sat in silence on the huge bed. There was nothing that could be done to mend the hurt Infamous had received so long ago, but at least he felt better for telling. Arrowsmith reached out to put an arm around the smaller man, drawing him close. He gently kissed him. “I tell ya one thing,” said Arrowsmith. “It’s a good thing Berengar is already dead. Because, if he wasn’t, I’d fucking kill him.” *** Prince Dherrin had succeeded in organizing a decent party in a short period of time. The fact that Dherrin rarely went a night without a party could explain why his servants were so proficient at setting up for them, but Monshikka still had to admire his speed and efficiency. He spotted the warrior the moment Dherrin stepped into the great reception hall, drunk out of his mind and telling some outrageous tale about fending off twenty Trolls with a breadstick. The party came to a pause as Monshikka entered, head held high, white pelts flowing behind him. The ruling clans and families moved out of his way as he strode across the marble floor, walking up to the dais that held Blackbird's throne. He stood to the left of it and stared down at the crowd; tall, imposing, a mythical figure of ice come back to life. The crowd before him was silent. After a suitable length of time, he spoke.

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"The Court is now ready to receive its allies." Twin Lakes was the first to pledge allegiance. Prince Azmond, Princess Rain, and Lord Anarden came forward and bowed, renewing the ties of friendship. Monshikka had met them before, when they would come to Kirianna to take up space at his father’s table and exchange drolleries. They were boring fops and he despised them with something like joyousness. But they were stalwart allies, and there was no need to be rude. Next up was the beloved Prince Dherrin; his uncle, Lord Brayden; and Fairenya Whiteflower, along with his timid wife, Grace. Prince Dherrin had to hold onto his uncle's shoulder as he bowed deeply, and Monshikka was hard put to keep a straight face. He loved Prince Dherrin; nearly everyone did. He was a gentle, fun-loving soul with the heart and honor of the dragon he bore on his family crest. Prince Dherrin managed to straighten himself. "The Elves of Stone Realm have come to greet the Wizard, and to say that our armies are at your beck and call, Prince of Kirianna, Scribe of the Wizard. May your reign be longer than the Mountains that forged you." The last line belonged to a greeting that should have been used in the Dwarf Kingdom of the Infinity Mountain, and there were a few muted chuckles in the crowd. Monshikka did his best to hold back a grin, while Dherrin did his best to remain upright. He always wondered how Dherrin could get falling down drunk and still manage to have better manners than anyone else. "Thank you, young Prince," said Monshikka. “I trust the wine is to your satisfaction?” “Passable,” said Dherrin. He had a glass in one hand. The Dwarfs of Infinity Mountain were next: King Kraggen and his wife, Queen Emerald. They stood uncomfortably before the throne, wearing their finest armor. Kraggen and Emerald were warriors, unfamiliar with courtly politeness and ways, and Kraggen stumbled through a short greeting before bowing and stomping off. Monshikka liked Kraggen and pretended not to notice the inadequacies of the greeting. Kirianna was last to come up, and the position was an intentional slight. The King and Queen knew this, and they were not pleased by it. As the closest realm, they should have been first, and their faces showed their outrage. Monshikka smiled, knowing how badly his father must have wanted to give him a whipping, and how violently angry he was to be slighted by his youngest and least important son. Behind the king were Monshikka’s five brothers, who were also outraged that it was their youngest sibling, the one who was flawed and insignificant, who stood on the dais beside the throne of the Wizard-King. Monshikka stared down coldly at them, white hair held back from his fine face by a circlet of diamond and white gold. His brothers and father had the complexion most common to the area; sandy hair, brown eyes, and fair skin. Many times during his life in Kirianna, Monshikka had been threatened with being slain for his appearance. Had he not been so far removed from

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inheriting the throne, he would have been killed. As it was, they were likely regretting not having slaughtered Monshikka as he loomed over them, making them go through the full greeting before bowing them on. They were furious, but there was nothing they could do. Monshikka belonged to the Wizard, and not them anymore. "The Palace greets you all, noble allies," said Monshikka, his soft voice carrying through the great chamber. "And you know that, with its rising, calamity will soon be at our door. We do not yet know what will occur, or if anything has occurred. We do know that the Mycinocroft have told us that Silverwood is still dead..." The King of Kirianna could stand no more. He rose to his feet and shouted at Monshikka. "And why should we believe the Mycinocroft? They are a despicable race of murderers and torturers! Why should they speak the truth? Their appearance is the Creator's way of reminding us of their foulness!" Monshikka stared down his father with his icy beauty. Then he disregarded him, turning to face the crowd once more, which included a small group of the Mycinocroft. "The Mycinocroft are Eldest of All Races, chroniclers of our lands and times. They hold themselves in high esteem, and have never been known to lie for any reason. Rest assured, we will find what has distressed this land, and we shall deal with it." The assembly bowed to him, and the Ice Prince permitted himself the slightest of smiles. "Now, let us greet old friends, and strengthen the bonds of our great kingdoms. Eat, drink, and make merry. The rain has not come yet." *** Monshikka was spending most of the party avoiding his father, who was still livid and determined to give his youngest son a piece of his mind. Monshikka had no desire to speak to him, but suddenly found himself trapped between his father, Sakaia, and his two eldest brothers. The King of Kirianna stepped forward, crowding Monshikka against his brothers. Monshikka hoped neither of them had a knife; the stays and boning of his garb hardly counted as armor. “What is the meaning of this outrage?” Sakaia hissed. “You little freak, you dare try to pass yourself off as Court?” “I am Court,” said Monshikka coldly. “You’re a lying little nothing.” “Only to you,” said Monshikka. “As you let me know from a very young age. What was that you said to me on my fifth birthday? Something to the effect that, if I were not so insignificant, you would not have let me live so long?” “This position should be held by a true Prince of our Realm,” said Sakaia. “Turn those robes

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over to your brother now, and I will not bring the matter up with the Wizard.” Monshikka actually laughed. “Do you really have no clue who I am? I am not some dog to be ordered about! I have every right to these robes and this position. You may not threaten me here.” Monshikka suddenly felt the tip of a knife against his lower back, slipping under the heavy fabric of the coat. “Monshikka,” said his eldest brother Tyrinnan softly, “do not make me destroy this beautiful and ancient garment.” Monshikka slowly turned to look at him, then smiled coldly as a slate-grey form materialized silently behind Tyrinnan. Despite how brightly lit the room was, the figure seemed to form out of the very air, shadow gathering to create a body clad in robes of darkest grey, trimmed with silver and scarlet. The face could not be seen within the depths of the hood, but the gold and crystal dagger clutched in the black-gloved hand was very visible as it hovered near Tyrinnan’s throat. “You are threatening the Keeper of the Forbidden Library, fourth selected to stand beside Hercandoloff,” said the cloaked spectre. “I am the Royal Assassin. You would do very well to recall that Hercandoloff does not leave those closest to him undefended.” Monshikka smiled as he watched the blood drain out of his brother’s face. “Tyrinnan, you do not look well,” he remarked. The cloaked form stepped back, silent and surreal, the robes swaying in an oddly slow manner, as though he was nothing more than a dream-shadow. Tyrinnan, his brother Safara, and their father quietly withdrew from the room. Once they were out of sight, Monshikka sagged as far as his garb would let him and put his hand over his pounding heart. “I swear, I have never been so glad to see you in my life!” The figure pulled back the grey hood, releasing waves of gold hair, then reached out to grab a cloud-cake from a platter. “You looked like you were having a little trouble,” said Misty. “A little, he says. That was very nearly my shortest time in this office in history. What are you doing here? I thought you would not be here for days!” Misty stuffed the cake into his mouth, then reached down the front of his robe to pull out a green crystal, dangling from a silver chain around his neck. “Blackbird’s old travel crystal: I remembered I had it after the three of you left this morning. I had breakfast, had a soak in the tub, an early lunch, then popped into the city in time to knock back a few glasses of pepper wine at the Rooster with Dherrin. I brought Sly with me; he’s roaming around here someplace.” “Travel crystal? You mean I didn’t have to ride that horrid dragon after all? I’ll kill him.” Monshikka then threw his arms around Misty’s neck and held him tightly, shaking. “Misty, they were going to kill me!”

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Misty put his arms around Monshikka and held him gently. “I know. I know. It’s okay, I’m here, they can’t hurt you.” He kissed Monshikka’s face, stroking his ice-white hair. “We’ll talk to Blackbird in the morning; you and he can decide what to do about political relations. I have eight Crucib warriors guarding them to make sure they don’t sneak off before we get a chance to decide what dungeon to toss them into. And I shall ask the Lady Kilarin Silverdawn to amuse herself, and you can have me all to yourself all night!” “Oh, lucky me,” said Monshikka, and though his tone was sarcastic, he smiled. *** The morning sun touched Blackbird’s face, and he squeaked in protest, rolling to his stomach and away from the offensive brightness. He felt a gloved hand gently push his hair back from his face, and he forced open one violet eye. “Hello,” said Misty. “Sleep well?” “Mph. Go ‘way.” He shoved his face into the pillow, and lay like a dead thing for a few moments. Then he opened one eye and looked at Misty again. “What are you doing here?” Misty showed him the small green crystal. “And it’s a good thing I found it, or you’d be burying Monshikka this fine day.” Blackbird sat up, black hair spilling loose over his thin shoulders. “Burying him?” Blackbird turned as he heard Infamous’ voice coming from across the room. “We’ve been here less than a day and already one of us has had an attempt on his life.” Misty flopped onto his back on the large bed as Blackbird turned to look at Infamous, Arrowsmith, Monshikka and the Moonhound. They were seated at a small round table, eating breakfast. “Who in Creation did that? Monshikka, are you all right?” Monshikka nodded. “Barely. My father and brothers had a dagger aimed at my ribs, and they were very serious about using it, if I did not turn over my formal garb and office to them.” “Oh, fabulous. And folk wonder why we do not live in this city all the time.” “That and the fact that we still have Takeshta and her dear friend, Rhaklan the Damned, searching for our hides,” said the Moonhound. “Rhaklan,” said Arrowsmith, “she’s the demon knight who levelled Palaklais in three days.” “Under three days,” said Infamous. “If I recall, we had to drag you screaming out from under a bed. Misty, care for a honey muffin?”

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A black-gloved hand shot into the air like the proboscis of some strange animal. “Death would like a muffin,” said Arrowsmith dryly. Infamous tossed him one. Misty caught it, and true to form, shoved the whole thing into his mouth. “I do not think Rhaklan is as much of a danger to us as she was,” said the Moonhound. “We have grown in strength, and she chooses to stay deep in the mountains. And I doubt Takeshta still lives. But she is not our problem right now. Our problem is we must find why the Palace is up, and decide whether to level Kirianna.” “Just level the Royal Family,” said Monshikka. “That, I will do,” said Blackbird. “Where are the charmers?” “In the lower dungeon,” said Infamous, “screaming that royals do not belong in dungeons.” “Royals may not, but those who would commit murder do. Leave them there. Monshikka, if you are up to it, I would like you to begin searching through the records and see if you can find any reason other than death and destruction for the Palace to be up.” “I think it is death and destruction,” said Arrowsmith. “Look, I heard from a spirit just the other night, and he said Silverwood is occupied.” “The Mycinocroft claim they have seen nothing,” said Monshikka. “Hello! They’re Mycinocroft! ‘No, I have not seen anything’ could well mean, ‘I didn’t see anything because I couldn’t be bothered to turn around and look when Rhaklan and Takeshta went strolling by to admire the lupins.’ Look, guys, I love you all, but frankly, if you aren’t going to pay attention to what I say, then what the fuck do you have me for? I’m the Seer, that’s what I do. I see. The dead say Silverwood castle is occupied. Why would they show up just to blow smoke?” “As inelegant as you may be, you have a point,” said Monshikka. “He does,” said Blackbird. He sighed, running his hand through his long hair. “All right, here is what we shall do. Monshikka, check the records. Misty, keep close to Monshikka; if they tried to hurt him once, they will try to do it again. And no more bed-hopping. Now that it’s known you’re Court, one of your lady friends may just be wearing a triple-headed dog amulet and have a poisoned dagger aimed at your back.” “I’ll get to work opening Monshikka and Misty’s chambers,” said Infamous, “as well as the rest of the Palace.”

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“Good. Arrowsmith, let me know if any other spirits speak to you, and I will dispatch a small group to go check on Silverwood as soon as we are a little better organized.” “I’ll go look over the troops,” said the Moonhound. “If Kirianna is going to be unpleasant, we had best begin preparing now.” *** In the days that followed the opening of the White Palace, more and more people showed up from all over the land. Monshikka took it upon himself to organize a staff for the gigantic castle, while Infamous had to take on the duties of the Master Thief. Arrowsmith wasn't obliged to do anything, but he liked watching Infamous try to get the Temple beneath the Palace in order. It was a lot like watching a man try to train one hundred and fifty ferrets. The thieves, however, knew their business when it came to their clerical duties. Infamous quickly realized the Temple worked more efficiently when he used only a minimum of authority. The Moonhound, however, had her work cut out for her. Infamous was already well-known to the Thieves of Marakim, and they had long ago come to recognize him as their Master. The five hundred women who made up the guard of the Palace were not about to listen to the Moonhound just because she said she was the Queen of the Palace and their rightful Commander. When the Palace was not up, the warriors were trained and housed in city barracks. However, as new troops now poured in from other realms, the women moved up to their traditional barracks inside the Palace. The Moonhound did nothing to assert her authority while the warriors were moving in, allowing time for them to settle and become used to a new routine. Then, after three days, she decided it was time for everyone to find out who was head wolf. Twenty-six officers were in charge of the warriors, and asserting her right as Commander meant beating up or killing all of them. Officers had the right to refuse the challenge, but that meant they had agreed to be under her command. The Moonhound figured a couple heads would roll before anyone would refuse to battle her, but that was fine. It was the will of their goddess that nothing and no one be accepted without trial. The officers had been told to meet her on the training field, and when she arrived she saw that, not only were they assembled, but there were also at least one hundred warriors come to witness the fight. Lady Seraph, a high priestess of the Temple of the Moon Goddess, had come to perform services for those who did not live through the day's battles. The Moonhound crossed the soft earth field, dressed in her grey and black uniform, watched by those assembled. She could tell they were not impressed by her alleged status, nor would she be in their place. She reached the assembled group and stood very much alone in a circle of experienced fighters. She drew her blade. "I am the Moonhound, descendant of she whose command began in the days of Palaklais. I have come to claim leadership over my warriors. Stand down from your posts or meet me in battle!"

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The warriors were unimpressed, and the officers did not look too daunted, either. A young woman pulled forth her sword and headed toward the Moonhound. The rank indicated on her uniform was Unit Commander, the lowest of the officer ranks. "I am..." she began, but never finished. The Moonhound swung her sword with a terrible swiftness, and the woman fell to the ground, split from shoulder to hip. The Moonhound reached into the gaping chest cavity with her bare hand to tear out the warm heart. "Is this what passes for officers these days?" yelled the Moonhound, holding aloft the steaming, dripping heart. "Was she to come out here and talk me to death? Or was she merely a snack to get the battle going?" The Moonhound bit into the heart and chewed, gazing around at the remaining officers. The officers exchanged glances. At least now they knew this woman was one of them, and to be taken seriously. An older woman stepped forward now. She was of higher rank than the previous combatant. She drew her own sword, and she and the Moonhound squared off. The woman lunged forward, sword held too high, leaving herself far too vulnerable. The Moonhound was stunned at the inept display, certain it must be a ruse. Then, as the woman came closer, she realized that her opponent really was that inexperienced a fighter. Rather than being in the officer ranks, she would have been better off with the green recruits. The Moonhound split her skull with one deft move. As the woman dropped, the Moonhound suddenly tore straight toward the remaining officers, blade scything downward. Most of the women got out of the way; two of them did not make it. One fell crippled, clutching what remained of her left shoulder. The woman who had been standing next to her was now headless. The move was completely unexpected, and the officers were now scattered and off balance. The Moonhound lunged straight into the largest group and downed two more, scattering them even further. There was no time to come back at her. The few who still had wits enough to attack did not last long against her blade. Soon, the wiser officers were dropping their blades and collapsing to the ground in submission. Ordinarily, a creature in such a pose would have been relieved of its head and entrails. The Moonhound, though, accepted their subservience and let them be, attacking whoever was still standing against her. One woman panicked and ran. She was quickly torn apart by her fellow officers. Cowardice would not be tolerated under any circumstance. Finally, the battle was over, and, out of twenty-six officers, eighteen remained. Of the eighteen, three would never fight again, and six others were wounded. But out of all who lived, none disputed the Moonhound's right as Commander. "First time I saw twenty-six officers of the Goddess routed by one woman," commented Lady Leoness Trask. She was standing next to the Moonhound, cradling a broken sword arm. "You must be the real thing. It'll be awhile before I can fight for you, though." "There are other things you can do," said the Moonhound. "You know these women. After your

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arm has been seen to and you've had some rest, I want you to organize a new staff of officers. I want veterans, though. I don't want anyone who hasn't fought before. As for that woman who turned and ran, put her in the public cemetery. I don't want her lying with real fighters. Someone has been getting soft about the requirements for officers. I shouldn't have been able to mow you down like that. Who is handing out ranks?" "Former Commander Carisa Wolfborn," said Lady Trask. "She is Kiriannan-born, and favors fawning and flattery to experience. I recommend Unit Commander DJ Danache as your secondin-command. She is experienced, and the women like her. Wolfborn had her rank dropped because DJ openly disagreed with how she handled the officers." "There’s that word again,” the Moonhound muttered. “‘Kirianna.’ All right, I accept your recommendation. And have Carisa Wolfborn arrested and thrown into the dungeon for endangering the lives of officers by taking on women unfit for the post. This is a fighting unit, not a Kiriannan ladies' club. She can go back there to play tea party." "Yes, Commander. How long do I have to organize the new officers?" "Not long enough. Now, go inside with the other wounded. Things look to be under control out here." Lady Trask saluted, then turned and headed for the barracks. The Moonhound made her way back to the Palace. Lunch was being served when she came in. The Moonhound had cleaned herself up by washing her face, but had not changed the blood-splattered uniform. Blackbird looked up from his place at the head of the table as she came in, but his smile quickly became a grimace of disgust. "Been playing with the ladies?" he asked dryly. The Moonhound pulled her sword and pointed it at him. "That's more accurate a statement than you know. Some wretched high-born Kiriannan woman has been turning my army into an embroidery club." She tossed her sword onto the table and sat down. Blackbird stared at the blade distastefully as it slowly dripped thick red gore onto the white tablecloth. "So, can you repair the damage?" "Yeah, I can. I'll have to smash a few heads before they realize I intend to do things by the traditional means. And I don't know how many women will have to be taken out of the ranks. I'll just have to keep an eye out for anyone who may not be fighter material. Seems we came back just in time." A young server brought the Moonhound her favorite meal: raw beef sliced on a plate with pepper and lemon. She began shovelling meat into her mouth. Blackbird just shook his head and began eating his own lunch: a garden salad.

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The door flew open, and Monshikka walked into the narrow, sunlit chamber, cradling a large, ancient book. He was looking very pleased with himself as he came to the table and sat down. He cast a brief, horrified look at the Moonhound as she sat, bloodied and eating like a wolf, then opened up the book on the table. "I believe I have found why the Palace is up," he said. "Oh, good," said Blackbird. "Let me hear it." Monshikka leafed carefully through the tome. "This book is my record of the rise of Palaklais. I was going through it for any information I could find. What I found was a date. We have all been so worried about attacks and subterfuge that we neglected to look for the obvious reasons. In one year exactly, it will be time to re-invoke the Talisman used by Hercandoloff to open the wells of magic that feed this land." Blackbird blinked in surprise. "Is that all?" "So it would seem," said Monshikka. "There has still been no news of any other sort. Even the Mycinocroft who have come up from Silverwood have seen nothing." "Arrowsmith has been saying otherwise," said the Moonhound. "About what?" said Arrowsmith. He walked into the dining room, followed by Infamous. They took their places at the table. "Monshikka says the reason the Palace has risen is because the Talisman will need to be reinvoked soon," said the Moonhound. "That may be true," said Arrowsmith, pouring himself a glass of wine. "But that doesn't explain the things I've been seeing. What about that conversation I had with Korai Blackfox? Blackfox said there was a storm coming, and I'm the only one who knows about it. And then there's that nightmare I had last fall…” "What nightmare?" said Blackbird. “I thought I told you about that,” said Arrowsmith. "Back when I was staying at the Troll. I saw a triple-headed dog, SkullDigger, though I didn’t know who it was at the time. He was raving about ‘the jewel for my master, the thief for me, the cold earth for you.’ The only part of the dream that has me confused is the part about the jewel." "Jewel?" said Monshikka. "We don't have any jewel. But given SkullDigger's state of mind, he could have just as easily started demanding the holy salt and pepper shakers." Infamous laughed, then noticed that Blackbird was looking a little more pale than usual. The little wizard slowly, carefully, set down his dinner fork, then looked at his friends with his strange violet eyes.

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"Perhaps," he said quietly, "I ought to share something with you."

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Chapter Six "I suppose I should have told all of you about this sooner," said Blackbird. They had gathered in the sunroom. Arrowsmith and Infamous sat together on an embroidered couch near the large window, sunlight falling around them, listening to the song of birds in the flower garden. Monshikka sat on the carved wooden seat beneath the window, the golden sun turning his white hair to platinum fire. Misty lounged in a padded leather chair, his feet thrust out before him, his long golden hair trailing across his chest. Lord Sly lay on another couch, a fierce creature even in repose. The Moonhound occupied the leather chair next to Misty's, still in her dirty uniform, holding a tankard of beer, her fingers idly sliding up and down one of the strings on a small harp that rested close to her. "What else haven't you told us, little mage?" she said. Blackbird sat on a rug on the floor. Before him rested a black wooden box, inset with silver designs. The silver lock on the front looked delicate, more ornamental than anything. Arrowsmith had a suspicion that it was bomb-proof. "I'm certain there are quite a few things I never mentioned," said Blackbird. He looked down at the box, trailing his thin, fragile hands along its edges. "But in this case, I thought the fewer people who knew about it, the better. It would seem I kept it a secret from everyone but the gods." He tugged gently at the lock, and it opened compliantly. "This lock can only be opened by me," he said quietly, as though to himself. "No one else can open it. I don't know why I thought to lock it; this box has been hidden since the days of Palaklais." He smiled a little. "Just senile, I guess." "You?" said Misty. "Oh, come now, little one, not you!" "Shut up, or be a toad," said Blackbird. "How about a duck?" said Arrowsmith. "Ducky needs a friend." He stroked the fuzz of the rapidly growing duckling, which was settled comfortably on his lap. Blackbird smiled. "If I may have your wandering attention," he said. He opened the lid of the box and reached into it. "I think this is what the monster is talking about." The jewel he pulled out was the shape and size of a large apple. It looked to be a diamond, and was a perfect blue-white. But it seemed to have been hollowed out and filled with a fluid: a dark, blood-red liquid. The gem glittered brilliantly at its outer edges, but its dark heart did not sparkle at all. A force radiated from it, and Blackbird's little hands looked too small to hold it. The gem was not just an object; it was somehow very alive.

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"I call it the Red Jewel," said Blackbird, as the others sat forward to gain a better look at it. "I made it just two years before the first time I died. For a while, I thought I would not finish it in time, and all my work would have been for nothing. I thank the Creator for giving me the extra time." "What is it?" asked Misty, awe in his voice. Blackbird smiled, turning the pretty thing between his hands like a favorite toy ball. "It is us," he said softly. "Our life forces, caught and contained here in this diamond, held safe, so that each time we die, our spirits have a beacon to guide them home again. This is what enables us to live over and over again. Without it, we would all be just so many old bones. Here," he said, passing it to Misty. "Feel the life of it." Misty gingerly took the gem, and smiled. "It is alive," he said quietly. "It's even warm." He rested his cheek against the gem. "It almost breathes." "Only we can handle it," said Blackbird. "Should a person other than one of us attempt to touch it, it would burn them. I made it that way so no one could steal it and attempt to destroy it." Arrowsmith accepted the large gem from Misty, and was startled by the feel of it. It was very much alive, and he held it carefully, almost fearfully. "'The jewel for my master,'" he said quietly. "I don't understand that," said Infamous. "The creature Arrowsmith saw in his dream was the embodiment of SkullDigger. He is the god of evil thieves and doesn't serve anybody. Why would he say it was for his master?" "It may not be SkullDigger," said the Moonhound. "The creature in the dream may be one of his servants." "That makes more sense," said Monshikka. "What I don't understand is, 'the thief for me.' He must be talking about Infamous." "He can't have me," said Infamous. "I'm spoken for. Not that I'd run off with any servant of SkullDigger." "Anyway," continued Blackbird, "It would seem we still have a lot of questions. I suggest we pry more answers out of our Seer." Arrowsmith had passed the jewel to Infamous, and was getting very interested in the nape of his lover’s neck. He raised his head suddenly when Blackbird mentioned him. "What are you planning on doing to me?" "I thought we could convince you to go look for some answers." "Oh, man!" complained Arrowsmith. "I hate doing that shit! I'm sick for days afterwards. I'm

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sorry I mentioned the nightmare; can't we just pretend I made the whole thing up?"

"Gracious! What an outburst!" said Monshikka, taking the jewel from Infamous.

"I hate fucking around in the astral plane," crabbed Arrowsmith. "Can't we wait a little longer?"

"No, we can't wait," said the Moonhound. "We need to know now. No more mysteries.

Something is beginning to stink around here, and I want it hunted down and killed."

"Thus speaks the Military Advisor," said Blackbird dryly. "What does the rest of the Court say?"

"No!" said Arrowsmith.

"Apart from the Seer," said Blackbird.

"All right, fine," said Arrowsmith. "I'll do it. But you all have to be nice to me for at least a

week. And I expect to be able to demand a price. It's my right as Seer."

"Well, of course it is," said Blackbird. "But you've never asked for anything before."

"I told you he'd want something one day," said Monshikka. "Considering he could rightfully ask

a price for the ten or twelve times he's done this, we could be in an awful lot of trouble."

"You're all lucky that I'm not greedy," said Arrowsmith. He looked down at Blackbird and

smiled almost evilly. The tiny wizard pretended to cringe away from him in fear.

"And what do you want, you fiend?" said Blackbird.

"Two friends I left back in the other world. As well as my adopted parents."

"Oh," said Blackbird. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "Done," he said

simply. "But you'll excuse me, I hope, for not bringing them over until after we deal with the

present troubles."

"Fine," said Arrowsmith.

"Why don't you ask for something else as well?" said Monshikka. "Like a good tailor. Not that

I'm implying that there is anything wrong with your clothes, I think worn denim and old engine

grease are very becoming."

"Yeah!" said Arrowsmith. "A party, too. Seth used to be able to dance the minuet very well, I

thought I'd do it wearing my old bike leathers."

"You vicious bastard!" Seth hissed. "You've the breeding and refinement of a prostitute's dog!"

"Would Seth like that?" asked Monshikka dubiously.

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"Nooooo!” howled Seth. "Sure, he's crazy about the idea," said Arrowsmith. "It must be wonderful to be able to talk to your former incarnations," said Misty. "To me, everything is just one long memory, but you've got several other people to talk to." "It's like being trapped in a sewer," Seth muttered. "I like it," said Arrowsmith. "I'm never lonely." "No, you've got a captive audience, you godless heathen," said Seth. "Well," said Arrowsmith, picking up his duck and passing it to Infamous. "If it has to be done, then bring on the poison." *** The room in which Arrowsmith found himself was small, dark, and virtually empty. The only things within it were a small brazier of lit coals, a large box of incense, and four flagons of wine. Both the wine and the incense were made from a flower that grew wild in the Palaklais Mountains. It was a rose, its petals a dark, dusty blue, said to be beloved by the Elven WarriorPhilosopher god, Shallougha. It grew along the ground in great profusion, especially over graveyards and old battlefields. The Dargothians simply called it the Battlefield Rose. It was a beautiful flower, but it was extremely toxic. Just sniffing it could bring on feelings of euphoria and hallucinations. Eating it unprocessed could kill a person. Arrowsmith was going to spend the next few days breathing it in and drinking wine made from the beautiful flower. Hopefully, the resulting visions would tell him what he wanted to know. He removed his T-shirt and tossed it carelessly aside, then sat down cross-legged on the stone floor. The closed and dark chamber was used only for this purpose, and still smelled of incense from when he had last used it two hundred years ago. He opened one of the bottles of wine and poured some of the fluid into a silver goblet. The wine was a strange shade of blue, but in the dull light of the brazier, it looked black. He took a drink, closing his eyes and savoring the berrylike flavor, the exotic scent. He'd always loved the wine, even knowing what it would do to him. Elves ate the blossoms of the rose whole, and drank the wine with no ill effect. However, a Crucib who grazed a little too close to the brambles would die in a few hours. Arrowsmith topped off his glass, then reached into the carved black box and took a handful of incense. He dropped it onto the coals, watching it ignite and begin to smoke. He took another drink of wine, and threw on more incense. Then he closed his eyes. The room filled with smoke, then gradually faded away, as did his body, leaving only his mind. For three days, his spirit struggled to escape this container, finally pulling free and taking flight straight up and out of the Palace, slowly fading away into the strange realms inhabited by the dead and the gods.

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***

Monshikka flicked idly through a book as he sat in the lower level of his library. Ordinarily, he loved nothing better than to spend an afternoon curled up by the fire, leafing through great and ancient tomes. However, knowing his father and two eldest brothers were in the dungeon for trying to murder him took all the joy out of it. He shut the huge book, then placed it back on its shelf before turning to face Misty. However downright goofy Misty seemed at times, he knew his duty when it came to looking after one of his friends. He had been a near-invisible shadow, never interfering with Monshikka’s peace or his duties, but at no point was he more than a few feet away. He was currently seated on a huge padded velvet chair, his booted feet on a matching footrest. He was clad in his grey robes and was idly playing with his deathly-sharp crystal dagger. Their eyes met, and Misty gave his friend a sympathetic smile. “I am being as quiet as I can,” he said. “It is not you, it is this whole situation. My father is not a fool; he knows full well that the Keeper is determined by an act of reincarnation, and cutting my throat would not get my brothers this office. He did not try to kill me, as he claims, to put a ‘true prince’ of his realm into the Library. He did it because he cannot stomach the fact that a child he considers freakish and monstrous is now in a position of power in the ruling city, while his other sons do nothing but spend, drink, and create unwanted offspring.” Monshikka paced the small room before turning once more to face his friend. “Am I really so grotesque?” “You are beautiful, Monshikka. Unusual, yes. There are many words that describe you, but ‘grotesque’ is not one of them.” He smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Which leads me to a question of my own.” Monshikka folded his arms and stared down his nose at Misty, reverting to his Ice Prince persona. “And that would be?” “Why a fair and healthy young man like you is alone and a virgin.” “That, Misty Foxsworth, is none of your affair!” “I know. But I’m curious. I have never met anyone as secretive about his loves as you. I’m sure there must have been someone once, years ago. Infamous seems to know of someone around four hundred years ago, though he says nothing. But I have known you nearly a thousand years, and I do not even know if you prefer females or males.” “Infamous has told you nothing?” said Monshikka, looking surprised. “Infamous parts with secrets no more easily than you do. Yes, he has mentioned that you loved someone long ago, but nothing more than that.”

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“Is that so?” said Monshikka softly, a slight, sad smile on his handsome face. “Yes, I did make him promise, didn’t I?” He sat down in a chair near the fire, gazing at the wavering flames. He picked up a metal poker and idly nudged at the logs. “It was a very long time ago, Misty. I do not choose lovers lightly. But this one… this one was very, very special. And I loved him.” Him? thought Misty. Crap, that means I owe Blackbird five gold. “Who was he?” asked Misty aloud. “He was a paladin of Shallougha, the Elven god of battle. He himself was half-Elven, and so handsome. I had never seen anyone like him. I confess, I made something of a fool of myself when I first saw him. I think you knew him. His name was Andirin.” “Only vaguely,” said Misty. “I recall his clear blue eyes, his long black hair. He was tall and noble, clad in armor of black, with the symbol of Shallougha on his breast in silver: a sword entwined with the battlefield roses. Now that I think about it, I do seem to recall you frequently being at his side. But I did not know him well.” “I spent a great deal of time with him,” said Monshikka. “Every time he was in the city, we were together. There was nothing I would not have done for him; I even built a temple to his god in the Sacred Garden, where the other temples rest. And then, one night, he invited me to a party at his brother Niridan’s house, and all came to ruin.” “What happened?” Monshikka stabbed at the logs with the fireplace poker. “I do not know.” “You do not understand what went wrong?” Monshikka shook his head. “It was a party celebrating the birth of Niridan’s daughter, as well as being the Spring Festival. I, along with the rest of Dargoth, was drunk. Infamous was there as well, which is how he knows of this. We danced, we ate, we drank, we danced some more, drank some more, and I was sick in the courtyard, fairly standard stuff.” Misty laughed, and Monshikka himself managed a slight smile. “Anyway, along about midnight, I really was in dreadful shape; I was far too drunk for my own good. I told Andirin I was going back to the Palace before I did something to embarrass myself, called for the carriage and left. I was poured into my own bed a short time later and left to sleep it off. And when I awoke, I found a note under my door from my beloved. It seems someone at the party came into the main ballroom roughly an hour after I left and boasted that he had just had a very good time with me in the garden.” “It was not you,” said Misty. “No,” said Monshikka. “It was a man of my coloration, yes, but not me. The man no doubt was drunk enough to think it was me, but when Andirin went into the garden to confirm the tale, all

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he saw was the long white hair and white skin. He packed his bags and left that hour. I vowed to make him understand the next time he came to the city, but he did not return. I wrote letters, all came back unopened. I even took a winged horse once to his home in Stone Realm, but, though I lingered a month, he would not see me. His own brother tried to make him see the error he had made, but by then I think he could not face me. And I locked myself away, trying to prove I would not have done something so base to one I loved so much. And ever since I have done the same, trying to prove myself to a man so long dead I can no longer recall even the sound of his voice.” He fell silent, gazing into the flames, a look of deep sadness on his face. Misty rose from his chair and came to sit on the floor beside him, taking his hand. “And so here are the different ways we deal with our losses,” said Misty. “You die of thirst, whilst I drown in excess.” Monshikka looked down at him, reaching out to touch his face. “So, who did you lose, that the loss hurt you so profoundly you do not spend an hour alone with your own thoughts?” Misty settled himself on the floor, resting his head on Monshikka’s lap as he gazed into the fire. “That is a tale for another day. I am not ready to speak of it.” Monshikka nodded, then leaned back in his chair, idly stroking Misty’s long golden hair. Together, they watched the fire in silence. *** Arrowsmith had made the journey to the spirit realm before and, as he felt himself break free of the material plane and rise into the world of ghosts and gods, he had some idea of what to expect. Most frequently, he would find himself in the Dream-World, the plane of the sleeping Creator goddess who nodded over her cauldron, surrounded by the things she had given life with her thoughts. Occasionally he would enter the Halls of Marakim or Hercandoloff, and speak there with the foxes and ravens that were their sacred animals. Once, he had even entered the forest of the Moon Goddess, and conversed with the Great Wolf herself. But as he looked around, he realized he was not in any of those places. Arrowsmith found himself standing in what seemed to be a tunnel. He saw little, save for a strange, reddish light at the far end, dimly reflected on the curving walls. He turned away from the red light and began moving down the hall, searching for something, or rather someone. He suddenly realized there was a person down here waiting for him. “This is not a happy place,” he muttered, peering into the gloom. He did not know where he was. This was not a place he had ever been to, and the darkness was thick with the stench of rot, as well as the scuttling of small, invisible creatures. He had thought at first that this was the plane where Drakkaus, the Mycinocroft god and deity of law, dwelled, but Drakkaus was not creature of filth. Arrowsmith began to get the feeling he was not

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someplace he wanted to be. He paused, thinking he heard drumming behind him. It was very faint and very far away, but it was growing louder. Then he realized that what he heard was not drumming, it was the sound of racing paws; a lot of paws. Arrowsmith bolted down the corridor away from the sound. He ran into an intersecting hallway, one made entirely of dead beings. He stopped as the stench nearly felled him, and he felt fear grab him like a fist. This was not the home of a gentle god. He looked around, the feeling that he was being sought by someone growing. "I'm here!" he called, not knowing who was summoning him. A man ran up to him, long red hair spilling down over his face, green eyes wild with terror. He was clad in black, and Arrowsmith recognized him as a Thief of Marakim. "Save me," he pleaded. "How?" said Arrowsmith, "What can I do?" The man thrust a bone into Arrowsmith's hand. It was a forearm bone, sharpened to points at both ends and bound in iron. "Don't let the beast have this. For the love of Creation, don't drop it!" The man vanished, turning to smoke and blowing away. The thunder of paws was very close, and Arrowsmith turned around, realizing he couldn't escape this plane until the wine he had drunk wore off. The drum of paws changed to a strange ripping sound as they hit the hall of dead flesh, the claws tearing through decomposing meat. Arrowsmith turned, and watched the monster that bore down on him. It ran toward him, huge and shaggy, its clawed paws tearing dead flesh from the corpses it ran over. Its eight long legs carried its immense, dog-like form toward Arrowsmith with astounding speed. Its three heads snapped their jaws, froth dripping and steaming from the blackened lips. Arrowsmith watched the creature race toward him, filthy black fur blowing over huge, oozing sores along its ribs and shoulders. Black tongues lolled over stiletto teeth. Its seven eyes were blank and mad, and Arrowsmith realized it was the light blazing in them that he had seen at the end of the tunnel. "How dare you come here to spy on the works of SkullDigger the Mighty!" the creature roared. "I will not have my plans revealed by you, Seer! You will die here and stay with me, along with your treachery!" Arrowsmith turned and tried to escape, but he was on SkullDigger's world, and the god caught him easily. He felt teeth stab into his ribs, and the violent wrenching as the huge beast reared and flung him back and forth. Then, with a whip-like movement of its head, the creature threw him. Arrowsmith struck the wall of flesh, and abruptly found himself back in the darkened chamber, his disembodied spirit form lying next to his own crumpled, bleeding body.

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***

Infamous was screaming his name. It was a strange, wild, and hysterical note he had never heard in his lover’s voice before. Arrowsmith wanted to respond to it, but he was trapped within the two hundred and twenty pounds of dead meat that was his body. He could not so much as twitch. Infamous seemed to be miles away, as was the pain he felt. He was disembodied, but somehow strangely attached to himself. His astral being and physical self had not quite merged yet from when SkullDigger had thrown him out of his world, and all he could do now was lie in trapped silence. For days, Arrowsmith passed in and out of consciousness. He was in his bed, he knew that much. Time had very little meaning, and he was still unable to speak or even so much as open his eyes. Someone was always with him, and that was a great comfort. Infamous mostly, but there were times he would awaken and there would be the Moonhound, or Monshikka. Once, he woke to hear Misty reading Elven erotica to him. That was interesting, though he more enjoyed the sound of Misty's voice than anything. He awoke to Pink Floyd once. The song was “Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun,” and it gave him strange dreams about dragons and spaceships. That would most likely have been Blackbird; he was turning into a Floyd fan as well as a Dead Head. Time passed. Sometimes, Arrowsmith was aware of clerics feeding him through tubes shoved down his throat. Prince Dherrin even came in once to tell him that, if he didn't wake up soon, he was going to introduce Infamous to a tall, handsome knight from Twin Lakes. Once more, Arrowsmith was unable to respond. *** It was strange to be able to feel his body and, when Arrowsmith woke up and could actually feel pain, it was rather wonderful. He lay, listening to himself breathe. He still felt somewhat removed, but this time, when he tried to open his eyes, he could. The world was bright and beautiful. Sunlight streamed into the room through the huge glass doors that led to the balcony. The colors of the walls, the bed, the ceiling, all seemed so impossibly bright. Arrowsmith tried moving his head and found he could do that too, though only very slowly and carefully. He looked down to the end of the bed where Infamous sat, quietly drawing with charcoal. Arrowsmith watched him: the way the light touched his corded hair, his beautiful face. He looked old, and tired, and his eyes were red-rimmed with black circles beneath them. Infamous looked like he hadn't changed his clothes in days. Arrowsmith grinned. "Hi, Beautiful," he said. His voice was the thinnest of whispers, nothing more than air moving almost soundlessly from his lips. But Infamous heard it, and his head snapped up. "Arrowsmith?" he said, his voice quavering. Arrowsmith smiled at him. Infamous dropped the sketchbook and moved across the bed. He lay

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next to Arrowsmith, his black eyes filling with tears. "We didn't think you were going to wake up," he said, gently running his fingers over Arrowsmith’s face. "What happened to you?" Arrowsmith managed to get an arm around Infamous, pulling him close. He rested the side of his face against the top of Infamous' head, and promptly fell asleep. *** When Arrowsmith woke some time later, six pairs of eyes were staring back at him. Even Lord Sylvannamyth was there, and he actually managed to look slightly concerned, as opposed to

crazy and hungry.

Arrowsmith licked his lips and smiled weakly. "Hi," he whispered hoarsely.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" said Misty. "We were worried!"

"Good!" said Arrowsmith. "So was I!"

"What happened?" asked Blackbird.

Arrowsmith described what had occurred in a slow, soft voice, pausing occasionally as he fought

to stay awake. He managed to finish, although Infamous would have sworn he wasn't awake at the end of his tale. Arrowsmith slept until dawn of the next day. *** The next time Arrowsmith opened his eyes, he felt a little stronger, and hungry.

"I'm hungry!" he bleated at nothing, then looked around to see if his complaint had been

acknowledged.

Infamous materialized at his side. "What do you want?" he asked softly.

Arrowsmith was shocked at the state of his lover. Infamous was haggard and thin, and the circles

beneath his eyes were dark and large. He clearly hadn't slept in days, holding constant vigil by

his side. The Master Thief looked like he had been raised from the dead, but, to Arrowsmith, he

had never been more beautiful. Arrowsmith narrowed his eyes and grinned.

"You. Come here."

Infamous squawked in surprise when Arrowsmith grabbed him, then glared. "You are in no

condition to be acting like this."

"Hey, come on, Lover. I'm Fritz the fucking cat. I been all over this big old world, I fought many

a good woman and laid many a good man. You can't kill me, I just bounce back."

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Infamous sighed, then smiled. "I'll call a servant. Make up your mind what you want." "I want tequila and a cheeseburger. And a cigarette." "And you're not getting any of those." Infamous reached up and pulled the bell rope, then returned his gaze to Arrowsmith. He smiled. "I was worried. We were all worried. If SkullDigger had killed you on his plane, we would never have seen you again." "I know." Arrowsmith closed his eyes. After a moment, he spoke. "That bone the red-haired man gave me, I don't suppose it came with me, did it?" "It did," said Infamous. "It took three of us to pry it out of your hand." He sat up, and Arrowsmith opened his eyes to watch him. Infamous opened a drawer in the little table next to the bed, and pulled out the iron-wrapped bone. He passed it to Arrowsmith. "What is it?" Arrowsmith asked, turning the strange item over in his hands. "It's a soul-bone," said Infamous. "When the priests of SkullDigger sacrifice a victim to their god, they take the left forearm of the victim. They believe that is where the soul dwells in the body. They shave the ends of the bone to make the opening too small for the soul to get away, then wrap it in iron to prevent it from ever being broken and releasing the trapped soul." Arrowsmith looked at the strange, ugly device. "What should we do with it?" Infamous lay down next to Arrowsmith, placing his head on Arrowsmith's shoulder. "The traditional thing to do is to have it broken by a blacksmith, the iron melted down and the bone burned to ash. That will release the trapped soul." "Should we ask Blackbird about this?" Arrowsmith asked, closing his eyes. "We should certainly inform him as to what we're up to. You stay here, I'll go get him." "Stay here? Like I'm gonna be up bouncing around." Infamous kissed him quickly. "I'll be right back." *** After about an hour, Infamous came back with one of the Palace blacksmiths. He was a huge man, built like a bull and armed with a chisel and a mallet. He gave Arrowsmith a brief, respectful bow, then set the bone down on the great stone hearth. While Arrowsmith sat in bed, eating soup, the blacksmith split the bone in half with one swing of the great hammer. Infamous then asked that the iron be taken away and melted. As the blacksmith departed, Infamous carefully and meticulously picked up all the bone fragments and threw them into the fire.

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"Well," said Infamous, "whoever was in there is free now." Arrowsmith ate his soup and watched the bone burn. As he gazed into the fire, he saw the faint shadow of the red-haired man step out of the flames and into the room. He looked at Arrowsmith, and smiled. “Infamous? What does your cousin J’Vanna look like?” Infamous gave Arrowsmith an odd look. “Tall, slender. Long legs, long red hair, big green eyes.” The shadowy image before him opened his tunic, and showed Arrowsmith a scar, just below his throat. “Any scars or marks on him?” “Yes, a small white scar just under his throat, from an accident he had as a child.” Infamous looked from Arrowsmith to the spot where he was gazing. There was fear in his voice when he asked “Arrowsmith, what are you looking at?” The shade vanished, like smoke from a candle, and Arrowsmith put his arm around the small man beside him. He kissed Infamous' brow, and said softly, “I have some very bad news, Lover. I’m sorry.”

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Chapter Seven Blackbird sat in bed, staring at the pages of a book he was trying to read. Every time it seemed he had finally focused on the cream-colored vellum, his attention wandered again. Finally, he closed the book and sighed. The Moonhound watched him. "Restless, little one?"

He nodded. "Yes. Or rather, worried, I suppose, would be the best description." He turned his

violet eyes toward her. "SkullDigger was waiting for Arrowsmith in there. Arrowsmith said he could hear him coming the moment he reached the plane." "Well, we've pretty well figured out that SkullDigger is plotting against us," she said, pulling him close.

"SkullDigger doesn't plot, at least not against us. Someone is putting him up to it."

"Oh? Who?" said the Moonhound. "We know Silverwood isn't awake."

"Do we? Arrowsmith didn't get anything from his journey save for an old bone and a lot of

bleeding stab wounds." Blackbird lay in silent thought for a time, then rolled over and slid out of bed. "Where are you going?" the Moonhound asked wearily.

Blackbird pulled a night coat around himself. "To get the Talisman. I'm not waiting until the year

is up; I'm going to begin the invocation ritual in the morning."

The Moonhound watched him leave the room, then groaned irritably. "Damnable little Wizard," she crabbed as she reached for her breeches. "Once he gets an idea in his head, it takes a mallet to get it out." She dressed hurriedly and went after him. Catching him was no great feat; he was sitting on the stairs of the Tower of Magic, panting. The Moonhound crossed her arms and glared down at him. "You ran, didn't you?"

Blackbird stared up at her with soft, round eyes. He coughed. The Moonhound sighed.

"How many times do I have to tell you to be careful? You were out the door before I could even

remind you that you can't lift that stupid thing by yourself."

He coughed again. "I could have used a levitation spell to carry it."

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"Then you'd wear yourself out so much that you couldn't sit up all night and obsess. Sit here, my fragile butterfly; I shall fetch it for you." She bounded up the stairs easily, singing a rude beer-drinking song. Blackbird sighed. "Next life, I'm coming back as my wife," he muttered. He waited on the steps for her, listening to the quiet of the Palace at night. In the distance, he could hear a spring rain falling. Footsteps approached, and a grey Crucib peered around a corner to see who was there. Blackbird smiled at the creature, who then withdrew his head and left again, too polite to ask the Wizard-King why he was sitting there at this hour. Passing by in the wall to his right, he heard the soft patter of three of the thieves playing their strange, nocturnal games. All of the White Palace was filled with their secret passages. A person who wandered in, unwelcome, would never come out again; the passages moved and shifted constantly, and only the thieves knew the way. They watched from their hidden runs, and any group foolish enough to wander into the Palace with evil intentions would never see a new day dawn. Blackbird slapped the wall with the side of his hand, and called out. He heard the footsteps pause, then resume a fascinating route that took them to a spot about twelve feet above his head. A large, solid-looking stone moved, and eyes peered down at him. "Oh, look! There's a Wizard in the tower!" said a disembodied voice. "Have you little wall rats seen anything odd as of late?" said Blackbird. "Other than you on this step at this hour? No. Why, should we be looking?" "Yes," said Blackbird. "Tell your brethren that the Palace may be in danger. If you see anyone doing anything they oughtn't, deal with them. Fast. You can also tell them that SkullDigger is involved." Blackbird heard the stone slide back into place, and the thieves run off. They could appear downright silly at times, but they knew their jobs well enough. They had a deep hatred of SkullDigger and his ilk, and encounters between the two always ended with one or both of the combatants dead. Usually it was SkullDigger who lost those battles, because his priests tended to underestimate the playful followers of Marakim. Often, they never got close enough to use their poisoned daggers before they were struck down. *** Arrowsmith raised his head, a befuddled expression on his face. Beside him, Infamous did the same. The pair exchanged glances. “Did I just hear a knock?” asked Arrowsmith.

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“It’s not even daybreak!” said Infamous, stuffing his face into his pillow and pulling the covers

over his head.

There came a second quiet knock at the door. Arrowsmith sat up and reached for his jeans,

pulling them on and making his unsteady way to the door. He crashed into a table and swore,

then resumed his way, limping.

“I’m gonna kill whoever it is,” he muttered, then pulled the door open.

It was Infamous.

Arrowsmith felt himself come fully awake as he stared at the half-Elf before him. He looked

over his shoulder toward the bed, where Infamous was trying to get comfortable, then snapped

his gaze back to the person before him. It was still Infamous. Gradually, as his mind cleared, he realized it was not quite Infamous. The long auburn hair went to his waist, true, but it was loose, not corded. The ears had a distinctly Elven point, whereas Infamous’ were more like his human parent’s. The black eyes peered out of a face that had a softer, younger expression. To top it off, he was wearing Elven robes, something Infamous would never do. “Sorry to wake you,” said the young half-Elf softly. “I’m looking for my brother...?”

Infamous shoved the blankets back and sat up. “Sjaan?”

Arrowsmith stepped back to let his lover get a good look at himself. Infamous actually screeched

with delight.

“Sjaan! By the Creator, what are you doing here?”

Sjaan went over to the bed, hopping onto it to hug his twin brother. “I ran away from home.”

“You did what?”

“I heard from Lord Brayden you were Master Thief of the Palace, so I ran away to live with you.

Is that all right?”

“All right? It’s perfect! Arrowsmith, come meet my baby brother!”

“Baby? You’re only an hour older.”

Arrowsmith closed the door and lit a candle, then crossed the floor to the bed. The two had their

arms around each other, and now Arrowsmith could see the pair did not look so identical, after

all. It was clear that, of the two, Infamous’ life had been the harder.

“Arrowsmith, this is Sjaan. Sjaan, this is my husband, Arrowsmith.”

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Sjaan smiled shyly. “I’m sorry to wake you,” he said.

“No, quite all right.” Arrowsmith sat down on the bed, scratching his long, gold-brown hair.

“So, how did you get here?” asked Infamous.

“I crept into Mother’s room and stole her travel crystal. She doesn’t even know I’m gone yet.

I’m tired of being her little showpiece, the child she conceived from one of Marakim’s own. What a joke. Before you became famous, we were a punishment for her indiscretions. She treated the both of us like dirt. Then, when you became Master Thief, suddenly I became a status symbol. And now that you’re the Palace Thief, she’s talking about arranging my marriage.” He made a face. “Who’d want to marry me? I can’t do anything.” Arrowsmith looked at Sjaan, and thought of a few reasons why someone would want to marry him that had nothing to do with how useful he might be. For one thing, he was very pretty. Infamous kissed his forehead. “Well, we will find a use for you, I am sure. Where are you staying?” “Staying? Oh. I hadn’t thought about it. Can I stay here for now?”

“Of course. Where are your things?”

“Things? Oh. I guess I didn’t think to pack. I told you I can’t do anything.”

“Nevermind. You can stay here with us. Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping.”

“Oh! Now, shopping I can do. I’m good at being a waste of money. Will you come with us,

Arrowsmith?”

Arrowsmith yawned. “Shopping? Fuck no, I’d rather be shot and pissed on.” He flopped

sideways down to the bed.

“A simple ‘no, thank you’ would have been sufficient, my love,” said Infamous.

“No, thank you, I would rather be shot and pissed on,” said Arrowsmith.

“It’s a good thing I love you.”

Arrowsmith grinned. “Somebody has to, I guess.”

Infamous shoved him over to make room for Sjaan. Within a few minutes the trio were settled in

bed, and Arrowsmith quickly fell back asleep, leaving Sjaan and Infamous to talk. ***

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The Moonhound went up the stairs at a jog. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and she would have liked to sit down and rest, had her pride permitted it. The stairs were indeed enchanted, another of Blackbird's little security measures. What was a journey to the highest levels of the sky going up would be a twenty-step staircase going down. As far as the Moonhound could tell, no one other than Blackbird and Infamous had ever bothered to go further than halfway up these stairs. She went on for hours. That, too, was part of the enchantment. When she came down, she would find only a few minutes had gone by. She did not know how the enchantment worked, only that the magic had been created by the Crystal Mages, who had lived thousands of years before Blackbird came along. Blackbird had discovered some of their spells and fallen in love with them, and the result had been the White Palace and its magical, ever-expanding interior. The Moonhound swore as she jogged up the staircase that if she ever met those long-dead Mages, she would choke them. Just when she felt she could go no further, a door appeared at the top of a small landing. The Moonhound staggered up to it, then sat down heavily, breathing hard. The door opened for her politely as she sat panting, and she grinned, shaking her head. "Must be a lot of fun being a Wizard," she said. She slowly stood up and walked into the room beyond the door. It was a small, eight-sided room with windows all around like a lighthouse. It was dusty and quiet within the chamber, and the few precious magical items stored here were locked in their little cases. There was a case containing five rings, covered heavily in dust. A large black book rested upon an oak pedestal, closed and silent. Scattered disrespectfully on one window ledge were nine long, rectangular crystals of different colors. Various small items lay about the room, but in the midst of all, on a stand of dragon bones and gold, rested the Talisman of Hercandoloff. It was triangular in shape, and cast of solid silver. All along its edges were strange letters and designs cut deep into the gleaming metal, still bright and untarnished after almost one thousand years. The Moonhound had not seen it since her lover had made it and, for a long time, all she could do was stare at it. It seemed that suddenly she realized how old she was, and all that she had seen and done. She remembered all her childhoods, some good, some bad. She remembered a hundred teachers, and a thousand summers, some of them spent running wild, some as a lady in a tower, some as a peasant woman tending a house. But all had led her to Blackbird, and the Mountain Cabin where they had first begun their lives together. She recalled the very first time she had seen him. She had been seventeen, the uncontrollable daughter of a poor farmer. He couldn't support her and, even at her young age, he had despaired of ever marrying her off. Her only saving grace was that she was intelligent, and a good scholar. She went to school every day, and it was while she was in school that she first saw the adopted child of a fabric merchant from Twin Lakes. She watched the beautiful creature enter the classroom and sit down, quickly and nervously, at the first seat that presented itself.

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The Moonhound remembered wondering why this girl was dressed as a boy, in the thigh-high boots and cinched coats popular with the youth of the day. She even had her long, blue-black hair braided and tied off with a black velvet ribbon. Still, the whole outfit looked quite charming on her. Her legs were long for her height, and slender. When she crossed them in that unconscious manner as she bent over her books, not a boy in class was looking at anything else. She had beautiful hands, too, long and delicate. Musician's hands, the Moonhound’s father would have said. She had a quick sense of humor, often making very quiet jokes at the teacher's expense. By the end of the day, the Moonhound decided she liked this quiet person, and invited the girl over to her house as a sort of welcoming to the community. She seemed surprised at the offer, but accepted the invitation. Her name was Hercandoloff, an old-fashioned boy's name, but there was no way that anyone who looked like her was male. The Moonhound made up her mind to ask the girl about it. It took the pretty creature a few minutes later that evening to convince the Moonhound that she was a he as they sat by the small river that ran near the Moonhound's house. She decided that the matter bore closer examination. Her father never did believe that making love was her idea, not his. Indeed, there wasn't a whole lot the little pretty thing could have done to hold her off, not that he tried. She ravished him cheerfully, thoroughly, and repeatedly before they were caught. A mere four weeks later, they married. They moved into an old, unused house with the owner's permission. The whole town was scandalized when she got a job so he could stay home and study arcane literature. Neither of them knew it, but the Third Age of Dargoth had begun. The Moonhound smiled at the old memory, her fingertips lightly tracing over the Talisman. She raised her green eyes to look out the window at the perpetual twilight, at the stars glittering high over the curvature of the earth. He had done what he had set out to do, and she couldn't help but be proud of him. She picked up the Talisman, stumbling slightly under its weight, and left the room. The door slid closed behind her as she walked down the stairs. Within moments, she reached Blackbird. He was looking at her with those beautiful violet eyes, a streak of black hair over his pretty face. As she walked by, he got up and followed her. They reached the bedroom and the Moonhound entered the chamber, carrying the Talisman through the room to the small, velvet-draped study where he worked his magic. She set the device down onto a silk covered table. However, as he walked toward it, she caught him and swept him up into her arms. He squeaked in surprise. "And just where are you taking me?" he asked as she carried him out of the room. "To the small garden," she said. "The one with the stream." She wrestled with him in the garden until it began to rain. The Moonhound would have happily remained, but Blackbird was unimpressed. She had no intention of letting him go, but, somehow, he did the impossible and wiggled out of her embrace. She swore, then got up to chase him. The Crucib guards posted near their chamber politely failed to notice as Blackbird ran by, his robes

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clutched around him and his hair hanging wet and loose around his shoulders. They likewise pretended to not notice the Moonhound as she tore by, half-naked and muddy. She chased him into the bedroom. By now, he was tired from his run, and he squeaked when she caught him. "So you don't like the rain," she growled, nuzzling at his neck. "Let me be. I'll never survive this treatment!" He was trying to be stern, but the look in his eyes belied his words. She tossed him onto the bed, then leapt after him. *** Infamous and Sjaan sat on the bed and talked while, a few feet away, Arrowsmith lay under the quilts, asleep. At one point, he rolled to his side, yanking the covers with him and almost spilling

the two to the floor. Sjaan giggled, then reached out to touch Arrowsmith’s long hair.

“Oh, he’s so handsome, Infamous. But far too large. I mean, really, how do you…?”

“That is none of your business, brat!”

Sjaan giggled again. He stroked the gold-brown hair once more, then lay against him, using the

large man as a back rest. “I suppose having a big lover does have its uses.”

Infamous rolled his eyes. “My husband is not a chair for little Elf-brats.”

“Who are you calling an Elf?”

“You, you Elf! Look at this! The hair, the robes, the knotted chain around your neck, the boots.

You’re an Elf!”

Sjaan smiled, then looked down at his slender hands. “You’re not unhappy with me, are you?”

Infamous shook his head. “No. My difficulties with Mother are just that -- my difficulties. I

begrudge you nothing. And the other Elves were always kind enough. I don’t know why I became so angry with all of them. Perhaps if Mother had treated us with kindness instead of shame, I would have felt differently.” “She was always kinder to me than you; I could see it.” Infamous grinned at him, pushing his brother’s long hair back behind one pointed ear. “Well,

who wouldn’t be kind to you. Look at how cute you are.”

“Yes, cute and useless. I can’t even shoot a bow. At my last archery lesson, the arrow I fired

went wide and I pinned Master Senesh to the wall by his hand.” “Ouch! Is the hand badly damaged?”

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“It will mend, but he told Mother I was a menace. I think you got all the talent in the family.”

“Nonsense. Look, it’s just a matter of confidence. Come here, I’ll show you how to throw a

dagger.”

Sjaan cringed. “No, Infamous, please. I know I’m useless, I’ve made peace with it! Don’t make

me kill again.”

They both laughed. Infamous took a small, finely-balanced throwing dagger from its place on a

table. He then held his hand out to his brother. “One try. For me.”

Sjaan sighed heavily, then got off the bed and walked over to Infamous, taking the dagger.

“What do I do?”

Infamous showed him how to hold the small weapon, then directed him to a target hung on the

door. “Just throw it, just like I told you.”

“And you’ll forgive me if the shot goes wide and levels the White Palace?”

“As long as my husband and wolf are unharmed, I will.”

“I promise nothing.” Sjaan turned to the target. Then he raised the dagger and threw.

The weapon, as if guided by vengeful sprites, struck the target at an angle suitable to send it

spinning off to the right, where it landed point first in the head of a marble bust. Infamous just stared, mouth open. “You see?” said Sjaan. “Useless. The only thing I can do is murder innocent statuary.”

“Sjaan, I don’t understand. Your mother is an Elf, your father is a direct descendant of Marakim.

You should be able to dance on the rim of a wine glass without damaging it.”

“I’m still cute.”

“Well, maybe we can marry you off to someone with money.”

“That’s what Mother said. Actually, I have been seeing someone.”

Infamous went to get the dagger, yanking it from the skull of the dead general. “Oh good, do I

know her? Or him?”

“I think so. Prince Dherrin.”

Infamous spun sharply to face his brother. “Dherrin? Dherrin the Drunk? ‘I just lost half the

wealth of the kingdom gambling at the Red Rooster?’ That Dherrin?!”

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“I thought you liked him!”

“I adore him! I love Dherrin to bits. But do I want him bedding my brother? No!”

“He’s really very nice.”

“He’s an absolute sweetie, but he’s as responsible as a two-year-old!”

“I love him.”

“Good. Fine. I’m sure the two of you will be supremely happy together. Thank the Creator you

won’t breed.”

Sjaan was about to offer his opinion of that statement when Arrowsmith sat up. The two brothers

fell silent, watching the large man. Sjaan was about to apologize for waking him, when Infamous gently put his hand on his arm and motioned for him to remain silent. Arrowsmith pushed the covers back, revealing the half-healed fang marks on his chest and stomach. He did not seem to see Infamous and Sjaan as he looked around, puzzled. He flung the covers off and got to his feet, then walked straight to the balcony. Arrowsmith paused at the carved stone railing and stared ahead, as though gazing across the small lake the Palace overlooked into another world. Infamous quietly came to his side, not touching him. “Arrowsmith?” he asked softly. The large man’s eyes moved, as though he was watching a bird Infamous could not see. “We

forget,” he said, “that rats may run between the paws of dragons.”

Infamous motioned to his brother to get the pen and parchment on a nearby desk. Sjaan pulled

out the chair and seated himself, writing quickly in Elven script the words Arrowsmith had just

said.

“What rats?” asked Infamous quietly.

“The rats that hide in Palaklais.”

“Palaklais?” Infamous whispered. Arrowsmith did not seem to hear him.

“They come from North and South, and we must go East. This is a war of few, but the rats will

kill all. They work to the same goal. Even now, they gnaw holes in the walls.”

“What rats? Do you know their names?”

Arrowsmith blinked, eyes still blank and distant. “The floodwaters rise. The rats are coming in.”

Then he turned and walked back to the bed, the fang marks on his back seeping blood. He lay

down upon the bed and pulled the covers over himself, and was once more asleep.

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Infamous looked at Sjaan. “Did you get all that written down?” “Yes, but it makes no sense.” “Sense enough, I’ll warrant. I have to show this to the Wizard. Stay here with Arrowsmith; I will not be gone long.” He took the paper, then kissed Sjaan’s face. “Never say you are useless ever again, little brother.” Then he left the room. *** Blackbird was deeply asleep when the Moonhound awoke an hour before dawn. She sat up carefully, so as not to disturb him, smiling as she watched him sleep. He was sunk into the pillows and quilts, lying motionless, one tiny hand resting near his face on the pillow. His long hair was rumpled into strange kinks from having dried while he slept. He usually wore a nightshirt to bed, but right now he was completely naked, and the overall effect made him look child-like and helpless. It was hard, sometimes, for the Moonhound to remember that he wielded almost godly power. Right now, he simply looked small. She watched him sleep for a while, then leaned forward to kiss his face. He made no move as she then rolled out of bed. She stood and stretched her scarred body, her joints snapping and popping as she flexed them. She tied her long red hair back with a small, jeweled clip, the only piece of jewelry she wore with any regularity. Blackbird had given it to her, and now she wore it as a luck piece. She dressed in her field uniform and quietly left the bedroom, heading down the hall and slapping her scourge against her thigh. She had a busy day planned. Lady Trask was waiting for her on the training ground with a group of twelve soldiers, young ones who were still quite green, but showed a lot of promise. She jogged up to the Moonhound the moment she saw her, eyes green with excitement. "How do you feel about taking these girls on an actual hunt?" "Fine," said the Moonhound. "Hunt what?" "One of the Master Thief's group was just by here, said that he heard from a Highwayman that a group of the pale Dwarfs is moving south not far from here. We could run them down and rip out their miserable lungs." Ancient instincts began to stir within the Moonhound. It had been a long time since she had hunted with her sisters. "Who told you this?" "Archem," said Lady Trask. "I believe he is one of Infamous Keeper's chosen." The Moonhound nodded. "All right. Tell DJ she is in charge while we're gone." "Already have, Commander."

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The Moonhound and Lady Trask grinned at each other like a couple of werewolves. Then, as Lady Trask moved to her position in the pack, the Moonhound snapped her scourge. "All right!" she yelled. "The hunt is on! And it could be hours before we catch what we're after. If you won't run on your own, then by Creation, you'll run with me after you! Move out!" The group moved forward at a controlled pace, loping away from the city, moving south after the Dwarfs. *** Blackbird awoke to the spicy, warm scent of whiteroot tea. He made a small sound as he opened his eyes, looking first at the cup under his nose, then at Infamous, who held it. Infamous laughed at the befuddled look on his friend's face. "Good morning," he said. "I heard you had quite the night. I had the servants bring you your favorite breakfast." Blackbird yawned and sat up, scratching his head. "It wasn't my fault, the Moonhound wouldn't behave herself." "Oh, come now, don't blame your debaucheries on that prim, demure lady." "Are you certain we're both talking about my wife?" asked Blackbird as he took the tea from Infamous. "Why are you in my room?" Infamous passed him the paper he held. “Arrowsmith had a vision.” Blackbird took the paper and read it. “Rats. From North, South, and… Palaklais? There’s nothing in Palaklais. North, I can understand, Kirianna is not happy with us right now, unfairly imprisoning their poor murderous ruler. Sounds like something more political than war-like, but I’ll get the Moonhound to put the soldiers on alert. South sounds like dear Takeshta is mustering whatever schemes she has left against us. If she’s summoning Rhaklan, we will be wishing we had stayed back at the Mountain Cabin. Rhaklan has been in the Palaklais Mountains, she may be the rat from the East.” Blackbird shook his head. “I was wrong to hide us away, century after century. We should have faced her long ago.” “You did what you thought right at the time,” said Infamous. “We could not have faced her back then.” “I’m not sure we can face her now. We may be stronger, but I’ll wager she is as well. But we can’t hide anymore. If she is after us, we have to face her.” He stared at the last line. “‘The rats are coming in.’ This frightens me. Infamous, tell Misty not to let Monshikka out of his sight, then fetch my Book of the Talisman from the Forbidden Library, would you please? One thing at a time. I want to get the Talisman re-invoked and the Palace defences seen to. Where is my lady, anyway?"

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"She and a pack of her demon-women went Dwarf hunting. I suspect she will be back later this evening." "I would rather she was here, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. Get my book, please, Infamous. I'll finish my breakfast and make ready." "Of course." Infamous leaned forward and gave Blackbird a quick kiss on his face, then left the room and headed for the Wizard's private library. The White Palace might be Blackbird’s domain, but the Forbidden Library was definitely Monshikka’s. The moment Infamous entered it, he could feel Monshikka’s presence in the immense, silent chamber. The Library contained row upon row of ancient, polished hardwood shelves, each stacked with papers, scrolls and books, all arranged carefully and neatly. The floor was bare, save for a small round rug under a table and three chairs arranged by the huge fireplace. The room smelled of dust and paper, and of the herbs and oils used in magic. At the back of the room was a door that led up to the next level. The Library had five floors in all, with the highest level holding the most important tomes. The upper chamber was guarded by strange little monsters, cat-like and demonic, with large claws and red eyes. They had once been people who had tried to break into the upper level, but had been transformed into the guardian creatures by the protective magicks surrounding the topmost level. Once transformed, they would live out their lives atoning for their trespass with loyal service. Only once had an intruder been spared this fate, when Blackbird learned that his private chamber had been crept into by two ten-year-old boys on a dare. He had released the children from the spell, but left them each with a tail to remind them not to try it again. “Monshikka?” said Infamous. Spinder stepped out from between two shelves and came to stand before Infamous. Spinder was a grey Mycinocroft, one of two who assisted Monshikka in the Library. He stared down his long muzzle at Infamous, golden eyes alive with intellect, wolf-ears angled back to give the tall creature an arrogant expression. Once he saw who was calling for the Master of the Library, the ears moved forward and the expression softened. He bowed slightly. “Lord Keeper. I shall find him for you.” The Mycinocroft turned and went into the depths of the great silent chamber, long grey tail flicking. A brief time later, Monshikka appeared. “Oh, Infamous. What do you need?” “The Book of the Talisman. Where’s Misty?” A grey shade Infamous had not seen rose from one of the chairs by the fire. “Here.” “Arrowsmith had a vision that seems to indicate Kirianna may be up to something unpleasant.”

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Misty pushed his hood back. “So Blackbird would like me to remain close to Monshikka.” He

looked over at him and smiled. “Time to discuss wedding plans.”

Monshikka made a face. “Ugh. Creation, there’s a frightening thought. Wait here, I will get the

Book.”

While he waited for Monshikka to return with the Book, Infamous told Misty about what Arrowsmith had said. “We have to be very careful. I have no idea what is going on, but we really have to start watching our backs. And each others’.” Misty smiled. “Haven’t we always?”

There came a light knock on the door, and Misty went to answer it as Monshikka returned from

the upper chambers carrying a huge, impressive book. He gave Infamous the enormous silver

and gilt tome, and Infamous felt his legs shake under its weight as he took it.

"Great Creation!" yelled Infamous. "I asked for a book, what is this?"

"Oh, you know Blackbird," said Monshikka. "Never make it portable when you can make it huge

and awe-inspiring."

"And the Thief has to pack it," muttered Infamous, clutching the weighty tome and stumbling on

his way.

"So works the world," said Monshikka blithely, smiling. Then he turned to look at the servant

who had just arrived with their breakfast. The man quickly served it, then left once more. Misty

locked the door after him, then pocketed the key.

“Well, let us at least have breakfast. Spinder? Are you joining us?”

The wolfish head peered around the corner. “What are we having?”

“Well, I am having muffins and tea. But I ordered fish for you.”

“Then I will join you.”

Monshikka sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. “I don’t think I’m going to eat. My

stomach is ill from this matter.”

Misty reached out to place a hand on his arm. “We have weathered worse, Monshikka. We will

take care of each other, as we always have.”

“I know. Still, I have no appetite. I will eat later.” Monshikka watched as Misty inhaled a muffin.

“I have a book on etiquette if you would like to see it.”

***

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Infamous dragged the book by sheer willpower from the Tower of Knowledge to Blackbird's chambers. He dropped the enormous thing onto a table and glared at the Mage. "I'd like to have a word with you about making your magical items a little smaller." Blackbird had changed into a magnificent ceremonial robe of midnight blue. A rope of braided silver was wrapped around his waist, and his thin wrists bore fine silver bracelets. He looked every inch the Wizard he was. "If I want to make my magical items large, that is entirely my business." "Not if you want me to carry them for you. Did you really have to make this thing out of gold and then bind it with silver and ironwood?" "They possess certain mystic properties. Besides, the tome has a spell of levitation cast permanently on it. Monshikka need only speak the command word and you wouldn't have had to carry it at all. He knows that." Infamous narrowed his eyes. "Oh, really. He seems to have neglected to mention that. And trust me, I'll get him for it." Blackbird laughed. He walked to the book and touched it lightly, speaking a single word. The book obediently rose a few inches from the table's surface and followed after the Mage. He went into his study, and Infamous curled up in a large chair near the fireplace, helping himself to some of Blackbird's cherry wine. He swallowed it, pleasantly surprised by the warm, sweet taste. He poured another glass. "Mind if I drink your wine?" "Go ahead. And don't let anyone disturb me; this is a very involved set of spells I have to cast. I'd like to get through them sometime this month." "Right." Infamous slowly sipped the wine, then settled back in the chair. There came a gentle tap on the door. Infamous sighed, then set the wine glass down and crossed the large room to the door. It was Archem, and the thief looked agitated. Infamous suddenly felt a strange, sick knot in his stomach. "What is it?" he asked. "Master, we have found something odd in the tunnels." "Something odd? What do you mean?" "A shrine of some sort, an altar. It looks as though someone has been living down there. You asked us to deal with anything we found, but this is out of our experience. I think you should come look at it."

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"I can't come now," said Infamous. "I promised the Mage I would attend him." Archem shifted nervously, licking his lips. "Master, please come. I...I believe it is an altar to SkullDigger, here, in the walls of the Palace." "What?" Infamous said, shocked. "Show me. Now." Archem nodded. Infamous paused, and looked toward the door of Blackbird’s chamber. He did not wish to disturb Blackbird, but did not want to leave him alone, either. Finally, Infamous stepped out of the room and closed the door behind himself, commanding it to lock. He heard the tumblers click into place, then followed Archem into the hidden tunnels of the Palace. *** "Commander!" said Lady Trask. "We've been out here for hours. I don't see any Dwarfs!" The Moonhound scanned the horizon, her mood foul. She didn't like things to evade her, especially the pale Dwarfs. They were destructive little monsters, filthy and vicious. But she had seen nothing to indicate that the Dwarfs had even been there. There were no tracks, and no broken vegetation anywhere. The Moonhound growled. "Archem’s Highwayman must be seeing things. Come on, let's head for home." The Moonhound turned her pack toward the city, an uneasy feeling beginning to settle into her stomach. *** Monshikka had left Spinder and Misty to their breakfast, retreating to the peace of the upper levels of the Library. He spent some time reading, then made his way to the uppermost floor to feed the little creatures there. They greeted him in a milling, mewling swarm as he entered, landing on his shoulder to purr in his ear and winding about his legs. They were honored guardians, and were treated as such, feasting upon good meat and drinking fresh cream and cold spring water. They probably would have been happier to have remained in their original form, but their life in the Library was hardly one of torture and despair. He talked friendly nonsense to the creatures, making certain they had what they needed. After they ate, Monshikka opened the window to give them access to the little private rooftop garden where they could play in the sun. He sat with them amongst the scented flowers for a while, relishing the solitude and peace. He fell asleep for an hour or so, and was awakened by the first few drops of a spring rain. He went inside, followed by a swarm of little furry bodies. Once all were in, he closed the window and left the chamber, descending the stairs to the lowest level of the Library. The knot in his stomach was gone, and he felt he could do with some lunch. “Misty? If you can stand the excitement, I thought I would have lunch brought up, and then after we have eaten, you can help me transcribe some of these older tomes. A few of them are turning to dust as we speak.”

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Monshikka stopped as the area before the fireplace came into view, and he saw Spinder stretched out on the floor. The Mycinocroft was limp and still, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Monshikka ran to him and crouched near his head, touching the soft fur. Spinder was cold, and he was already stiffening. Monshikka immediately looked around. “Misty? Misty, where are you?” He stood up and began searching the Library. He did not have to look long. *** Blackbird leafed through his book, irritated with himself. He had known little about magic when he had created the Talisman. It had been a work of research and effort, as opposed to real magic, and as a result the invocation was long and complex. It required no less than twelve separate spells, and each had to be cast one day after the other. He had cast the first spell successfully, and now he was going through his book looking for a way to shorten the process. He was irritated, because there didn't seem to be a way. He heard the door to his bedchamber open, then close. Booted feet walked across the floor and toward his study. "Infamous?" said Blackbird. "Infamous, get in here, where have you been?” "He was in the tunnels,” said a cold, velvet voice. “I believe he's still there. I think he’s dead." Blackbird turned to face the voice, seeing a tall figure shrouded in a heavy black cloak. The face was hidden completely from view, and the being seemed to be unreal, more a work of shadow and nightmare than flesh. It was evil, whatever it was, the very force of that evil like a black and stinking air around it. It had been many, many years since evil things had dared to sneak up on Hercandoloff. The Wizard did not know how this creature had managed to enter his chambers, but it was not going to leave them alive. "Who are you?" Blackbird asked, his tone indignant. "You know me," said the shadow, stepping closer, seeming to drift more than actually walk. "I am he who has come for that which should have never come into being. I am he who has come by the bidding of the triple-headed god, and the Lady of Silverwood." Blackbird was angry, and not intimidated. The little Wizard did not back up as the creature drew near. "How did you get in here?" "SkullDigger is patient, he finds ways. For many, many years now, he has watched you, and he found ways to enter this Palace. I'm sure you would love to hear how he did it.” “I don’t care how you did it, but rest assured, it’s a way you will never use again. What is it you think you have come for, rat?”

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“Give me the Talisman. Your thief, your assassin, and your general are all unable to help you." "Where's my wife?" Blackbird asked sharply. "She is fine, chasing Dwarfs that don't exist. However, should you not give me the Talisman, I can see to it that she encounters something too big for even her to handle." Blackbird felt his anger rise further, and shook his fingertips, a slow, unconscious gesture. His violet eyes narrowed, and the anger on his face did not suit him. It made him look alien and strange. "How dare you come in here and threaten me and my family? Do you know who I am?" The tiny mage seemed to have grown in size. The hooded man laughed. "Of course I do. I watched you build the halls at Palaklais." The man reached up and slowly pushed back the cowl covering his face, and Blackbird stepped back in shock. The hair that had once been dark brown was now silvery grey, and the handsome face was slightly older than he recalled. But there was no mistaking the man. It was Berengar. "You're dead!" exclaimed Blackbird. "You have to be! You can't be almost one thousand years old!" "Oh, I'm not," Berengar said, smiling. "I'm much older than that. I'm sure I'm at least as old as that book of spells you found, the one that helped you to make all of your lovely magical things. There were mages before you, Hercandoloff, and I'm sure there will be mages again. You see, that is your problem. You forget that you stand on the shoulders of the great elemental mages of the past. I knew them. I knew them all. They sleep now in a cave in the Palaklais Mountains.” "You knew the Crystal Mages?" asked Blackbird. He shook his head. "Berengar, we loved you, we all loved you, and Infamous most of all! Why did you not tell us this back in Palaklais, instead of running south to Silverwood and the Dead Plains?" "Because I did not believe in you, Hercandoloff," Berengar spat. "I went south because I heard there were sorcerers down there who would help me get back the ones who now rest in the cave, and I've damned myself more completely than you ever could for what I must do." Berengar paused, breathing deeply. "Give me the Talisman. I am strong and ancient. You are but a child to me. Do not make me hurt you." "Berengar," said Blackbird softly, "Don't do this. Stay with me. I will help you get your friends back. We would be glad to have you again. We have missed you so much." He reached his hands out to him. “Stay," he said softly. Berengar gave him a strange little smile, and suddenly Blackbird felt a dagger shove into his back. He gasped, startled as he felt the cold length of the blade in his flesh. Then the wound began to burn, and he knew the flood Arrowsmith had spoken of was about to drown him.

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The little Wizard spun and cast his first spell directly into the face of the man behind him. He was clad in rusty browns and greens, and around his neck was an amulet bearing the image of a triple-headed dog, the insignia of SkullDigger. The man backed up, knowing something had happened, but at first thinking the Wizard’s spell had failed. Then he began shrieking, the sound abruptly cut short as his own skeleton tore itself free of his body. It stood for a confused moment. Then, receiving no instruction, it dropped to the floor beside the bag of meat it had inhabited. Blackbird turned his rage on the second of the three men who had been behind him. The assassin stood with a dagger in one hand, which dripped a vile fluid that smoked when it hit the floor. He had a look on his face that suggested he had just realized what it meant to go against a Mage of Blackbird's power. He seemed to be deciding whether to flee or beg for mercy, but he never got a chance to do either. Blackbird cast the next spell with a violent motion of his right hand. Five long, thin claws materialized in the air, and arced down with the movement of his hand. The claws struck the man, slicing through him as though he was made of butter. The bits that were left fell to the floor. Blackbird then turned his attention to the last man. He, however, had dropped his dagger and was now fleeing the chamber. Blackbird wanted to go after him, but his side felt as if it was on fire, and when he touched it he felt the blood running down his robe. There was a smell, too, like flesh burning. His legs shook, and his vision was beginning to dim. He knew that the blade that had hit him was poisoned, and now the venom was doing its deadly work. Rage over took his tiny body, and he screamed something out with the last of his power. A great wolf of white fire suddenly appeared, ravening, silver sparks frothing from its jaws. It hit the ground running, and tore after Berengar, who had already taken the Talisman and fled the chamber. Blackbird heard screaming in the distance, then collapsed to the floor.

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Chapter Eight Infamous followed Archem into the depths of the Palace, winding far beneath the ground level and deeper, eventually reaching the level of the old dungeons, the ones no longer used. No one went this deep into the Palace; there was simply no reason to. It had been unused for centuries. Certainly, if something wished to dwell in the Palace unseen, this was the place to do it. Archem pointed ahead to a door, disguised as a wall, which opened into one of the old cells. The door was open and, there, in the darkness, was the faintest outline of an altar. Infamous was about to move forward when something stopped him cold in his tracks. Something was very, very wrong. He did not know what, but the same sense that had alerted him to the danger by the hot spring spoke to him now. He backed up a step. “Master, what are you doing?” said Archem. “The altar is that way!” Infamous looked at Archem, studying him with narrowed eyes. He glanced around, then began backing up further. “Something is not right.” “Yes, I know, that is why I came for you!” Infamous gave Archem a suspicious look, his eyes glittering in the dark. “You did remember to inform the Temple foxes you were coming here, did you not?” “Oh, of course I did!” “You did? That is fascinating, considering we don’t have any foxes in this Temple yet.” The twin fighting knives were in Infamous’ hands so fast that Archem did not see them before they were driven into his throat. Infamous turned to flee back along the corridor, but stopped as he saw a large figure loom before him. The shape swung at him, and Infamous ducked under the short sword. With unearthly speed, the twin knives plunged into the assassin’s gut, then throat, then heart, then were pulled free as Infamous spun to attack the man sneaking up behind him. One blade went into the man’s throat, the other into his heart, and the hooded figure collapsed. Infamous hopped lightly over his body into the cell, weapons at the ready, searching for anyone else who may be coming for him. The wall slid closed, sealing him into the cell. Infamous listened to the sound of one last figure running off and rolled his eyes. He pulled a fold of cloth out of his pocket and tied it over his eyes. He listened, sensing the world around him. After a brief time, all was revealed to him: the opening, the three bodies in the tunnel, the escape route the last man had taken. These intruders had some idea of how to navigate inside the complex maze, but they did not know all the routes, nor did they know the fastest ones. The Master Thief bolted after him, passing through three feet of solid stone and moving with spectral grace after the remaining would-be murderer.

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The man dodged and wove his way through the passages, finally coming to a halt, apparently confident he was no longer being pursued. He was bent over, trying to catch his breath, when Infamous reached him. The black blades came out of their sheaths, flashing down and biting deep into kidneys, lungs, throat. The man dropped, and Infamous turned to look around. He was still deep within the Palace, and his pursuit of the assassin had taken him far from the nearest passage that would take him to Blackbird’s quarters. He began backtracking, still wearing the fold of cloth over his eyes, still relying on his god’s magic to guide him and let him move swiftly. Walls were no impediment; he passed through them like a ghost, making his way quickly and silently like a flying dream, back to the upper passages. He emerged into the hallway outside Blackbird’s room, watching as a grey-cloaked man ran by, passing through him as though he was nothing more than a spirit. Chasing him was a white wolf of living fire, a creature of pure magic. Infamous pulled off the blindfold, breaking the spell so that he could cast another. He called out a word, and suddenly there were five knives of red fire streaking through the air. They hit the man, and he screamed, dropping something. He turned to see what had struck him, and for the briefest of moments, he and Infamous gazed at each other. Infamous screamed in rage as he recognized Berengar. Then, as the wolf was about to close its jaws about him, Berengar vanished. Infamous screamed again, a sound of pure wrath and hatred. He fired a spell at the place where Berengar had stood, swearing and filling the halls with his anger. Then he went to pick up the item that Berengar had dropped. He went cold as he saw that it was the Talisman. Abruptly, he turned and ran to Blackbird’s chambers. *** Monshikka knelt by Misty’s side. The half-Elf was curled up, fists clenched in pain, lips drawn back in agony over white teeth. Monshikka reached out to touch him, uncertain if he should do so as he watched his friend shake with pain. He felt the tears roll down his cheeks, and he drew his hand back. “Oh, Misty,” he said, surprised at the sound of his own voice, and the grief he heard in it. “Misty, what can I do?” Misty fought to speak, his head flinging back as he fought to suck in a breath. “My pouch…” he managed to say, his words strangling with pain. Monshikka carefully sorted through the grey robes, finding a small pouch around Misty’s neck. He opened it, and pulled out a vial of clear fluid. “This?” Misty gasped with agony, fighting in a breath of air. “I have to drink it.” Monshikka uncapped the small vial, then carefully dribbled the fluid between Misty’s lips. He tossed the empty vial aside, and stroked Misty’s long gold hair. For a long time, the fluid seemed to have done no good. Gradually, however, Misty’s breathing came easier, and he relaxed,

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finally breaking down and crying in relief. Monshikka leaned over him, moving his hand in a

comforting manner over Misty’s back.

“What happened?”

“The food was poisoned,” said Misty. “Is Spinder all right?”

“No, he’s dead.”

“Ah, no. Oh, poor Spinder.”

“I have to get you off the floor.”

Monshikka carefully helped Misty to his feet. He was very weak, and could hardly make it the

few paces to the padded bench nearby. Monshikka helped him onto it, then sat on the floor

beside him, stroking his hair.

“You’re supposed to be the one looking after me.”

Misty smiled weakly. “I am. I selflessly swallowed enough poison to kill a dragon just so you

wouldn’t have to. Fortunately, since I deal with the stuff on a regular basis, I seem to have built

up something of an immunity.” He closed his eyes. “I hurt so badly.”

“I’ll call a servant.”

Misty shook his head. “No, call one of Infamous’ thieves. We don’t know who did this.”

Monshikka moved to get up, then paused as though trying to make up his mind. Deciding at last,

he leaned forward and gave Misty a brief kiss on the lips before rising.

Misty opened his eyes, curling his lip. “Yuck! What was that for?”

Monshikka smiled. “Surviving.”

“Geh, Kiriannan germs. Geez, first Arrowsmith, then you.”

“Well, we have to get our kisses in when all your female friends aren’t looking.”

Monshikka opened the door and peered out. Seeing no one, he slapped the flat of his hand

against the wall as he had seen Blackbird do. Moments later, a panel moved aside, and Nevrin

stepped out. He gave Monshikka a formal bow.

“Prince Monshikka. How may I assist you?”

“Misty and Spinder have been poisoned.”

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The tall man walked past Monshikka, pausing cautiously in the doorway of the Library. Monshikka gave him a nod, and Nevrin walked into the Library and over to Misty. “My Lord Assassin, what happened?” “The food,” said Misty. “Most likely, someone ordered by my father did this,” said Monshikka. Nevrin nodded, then abruptly turned as he heard Infamous screaming like an enraged eagle. The thief quickly crossed the room. “Wait here,” he said, “I shall send help.” Then he pulled the door closed and ran off down the hall. Monshikka went to sit beside Misty, taking his hand, feeling himself shake with fear. “What has happened here?” he asked. *** The Moonhound arrived home early in the evening, dismissing the young soldiers and Lady Trask as they neared their favorite tavern, The Roadside Splang. As the moon rose over the buildings, turning the Palace into a ghostly and luminous faerie realm, she walked down the path to the front gates. Reaching them, she found it odd that Monshikka was standing there with two Mycinocroft attendants, waiting for her. "Something strange is going on," she said. "You have no idea," he said, taking her arm. He led her down the hall to her own chambers, saying nothing while she told him about hunting ‘invisible Dwarfs,' as Lady Trask put it. He directed her into the room where Blackbird now lay, and the moment she saw him, she went cold. He was not white. Rather, he was a sick grey color, and there were black circles around his eyes. His head rested to one side, and -- save for sporadic, ragged breaths -- he looked dead. He had been peacefully asleep the last time she had seen him, and the change that she now saw frightened her. The Moonhound took a single step toward him. "What happened?" she asked, very softly. "I don't know for certain," said Monshikka. “As far as Misty, Arrowsmith, Infamous, and I have been able to put together, no less than two separate murder plots. My breakfast was poisoned. I did not eat it, but Misty and Spinder did. Spinder, unfortunately, has died as a result. Misty survived, but he is hardly well. And someone attempted to lure Infamous into an ambush. He killed all four of his attackers.” “Aye, well, it will take more than an ambush to kill Infamous Keeper.” The Moonhound stepped

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carefully toward Blackbird, fearing any sound she made would be enough to kill him. Her gloved fist clenched, and the muscles in her jaw worked as she fought to control her anger. “Who did this?” Monshikka shook his head. “I am not certain. And Blackbird has asked Infamous not to say.” The Moonhound nodded, then walked toward the bed slowly. She sat next to Blackbird, reaching out to touch his soft hair. He opened his eyes when she touched him, the dark violet strange against the sickly grey of his skin. He smiled slightly. "You should have seen me," he said, his voice faint and weak. "You would have been proud. I got three of them. I would have got more, but the floor bit me." "What happened?" she asked, stroking his hair. Blackbird closed his eyes, weak from the poison and the battle. He shook his head. “I would rather explain when we are all together.” “All right,” she said softly. She leaned forward to gently kiss him, stroking his hair. She smiled as he fell asleep, but her expression was one of grave concern. She glanced up as Arrowsmith quietly entered the room. "How's Blackbird?" he asked. "He'll be fine," said Monshikka. "The poison wasn't a lethal one. It seems they wanted to subdue him, not destroy him.” He turned to look at the large woman seated on the bed. “You know, Moonhound, you ought to go look at the mess he made, it really is quite spectacular. It may cheer you up. He personally forbade the servants to clean it until you'd had a chance to look at it." She smiled. "In a moment," she said. She turned to Arrowsmith. "How's Infamous?" "He's fine," said Arrowsmith. "He's seven kinds of pissed, though. It's been a long time since anyone tried to shiv him in the back. What happened here, anyway?" “Ah, I don’t know. But I tell you this, when I find out who is responsible, I’ll have his liver for breakfast!” She stood up, running her gloved hand through her long hair and looking agitated. “I say we all sleep in here tonight. It’s plain someone tried very hard to kill at least two of us today, and I don’t want any of us where I can’t keep an eye on him! You two stay here, I’ll get Misty, Infamous and Sly.” They watched her depart the room, then Arrowsmith looked at Monshikka. “Notice they didn’t try to kill her.” Monshikka smiled slightly. “No one is that insane.”

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***

The seven of them spent the night in Blackbird’s chambers, not that they managed to get much rest. Misty shivered and convulsed most of the night, despite the healing spells and potions used on him. Blackbird slept heavily, too exhausted from the strain to do anything else. Then, as the morning sun peered in at the group, there came a light tap at the door. The Moonhound got up to answer it, and into the room stepped Wess. “I’m here,” he said, smiling.

Arrowsmith yawned. “Hey, Wess, long time no see!”

Infamous had been lying against Arrowsmith. Hearing him speak, Infamous sat up, looking

befuddled and out of sorts. Arrowsmith grinned at him sappily and gave him a kiss.

“Wess!” said Infamous. “What are you doing here?”

“I sent for him,” said Monshikka. “I thought it best if we were all together.”

“Who’s minding the critters at home?” asked the Moonhound.

“Anakher Snoweaver is taking care of things at the Mountain Cabin,” said Wess, “So no worries

there.” He seated himself and looked around. “What has happened here?”

“Well, I will tell you what happened to me, since the Royal Assassin and the Wizard-King are

still asleep,” said Infamous.

“I’m awake,” muttered Misty from his bed beneath the window.

“I’m not,” said Blackbird. “I’m not saying one word about death until I get breakfast.”

“We can’t trust the food,” said the Moonhound. “We still don’t know who tried to poison

Monshikka.” Blackbird pushed back the covers and slowly sat up. Carefully, he stood up, his black hair loose and dishevelled. He looked as though he would shatter at a touch, and the Moonhound rose nervously, ready to go to him. He made his way to a desk of gold and oak and pulled open a drawer. Inside was a collection of small green crystals. He reached in and took them out. “Travel crystals,” he said. “Let’s go home for the day.” *** “Hello, askew purple door!” Arrowsmith said, pulling it open and stepping into the kitchen. “Hello, rectangular-bordering-on-triangular kitchen!” He turned and took Misty from the Moonhound, carefully holding him against his chest. The blue eyes that looked back at him were

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tired, and had large black circles beneath them.

“Are you going to greet every room in the house?” Misty asked wearily.

“Nope. Not until we have you and Blackbird all nicely placed in bed and I have a cup of coffee.”

“I want tea.” He raised his head and sniffed. “Anakher made muffins!”

“We’ll stuff muffins into you after we get you in bed.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The Moonhound stepped in, taking Blackbird from Monshikka. “People wonder why I never

have children,” she said.

“You do have children,” said Wess. “Seven of them.”

“I want a pony!” said Misty.

“Oh, there are just so many things I could say about that, and won’t,” said Arrowsmith.

“You see?” said Wess. “Seven of them.”

“Jolly,” muttered the Moonhound.

*** They settled in Blackbird and the Moonhound’s bedroom, the only one large enough to hold all of them at once. Misty and Blackbird were in the huge ornate bed, Lord Sly stretched out across the foot of it like a wolf. Together they ate breakfast, laughing and talking for the first time in what felt like years. Arrowsmith had not realized there had been a knot of fear in his gut, but now that it was gone he felt as though a great weight had been lifted from him. The others seemed to be feeling lighter as well. As the sun streamed in through the windows, their breakfast eaten and the dishes put away, they finally began trying to make sense of the previous day’s

events.

“You’re sure it was Berengar?” asked Monshikka as Blackbird finished his portion of the tale.

“But he should be dead!”

“Yes, well, so should we!” said Blackbird. “But believe me, it was him. I spoke to him. His

minions tried to fillet me!”

“He said he knew the Crystal Mages?” said Monshikka. “That would make him over ten

thousand years old! He can’t possibly be that old. And you said he had aged since you had seen him last.”

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“Somewhat,” said Blackbird. “He was definitely greyer than the last time I saw him, but he did not look too bad for his age, I tell you.” “It was not Berengar in the tunnel,” said Infamous. “I had the bodies hauled out. All four of the men who attacked me were wearing the insignia of SkullDigger.” He looked at Arrowsmith. “So, who were they? You said something about rats from the south and east.” “From what I have gathered, through visions and through contact with spirits, Berengar is the rat from the east,” said Arrowsmith. “The worshippers of SkullDigger are the rats from the south. Or rather, they are working for the rat from the south. Takeshta’s hand is in this mess, and I think her allegiance with Berengar is one of convenience. They both want us gone, but for different reasons.” “Well, we know why Takeshta wants us gone,” said the Moonhound. “She’s a leftover petty tyrant from a few hundred years ago who never forgave us for denying her rule over this land and keeping the magic of the Crystal Mages from her.” “But she’s still here, too!” said Infamous. “Where is she getting her extra years from? She’s not doing it the way we are.” The Moonhound looked over at Wess, who was filling his pipe, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Wess?” Wess finished filling his pipe, then lit it, settling back in his chair. “What was it that Berengar said? He went south, because there were mages there he thought would help him. Who taught us how to live forever? The Crystal Mages. We learned through reading their works. If Berengar knew them, then he must know the same secrets. In exchange for Takeshta’s help, he must have taught her. She must have corrupted the spell somehow, becoming a lich.” “That would explain a great deal,” said Blackbird. “So they strike a deal. Takeshta gets White Palace, and Berengar gets…what? He tried to take the Talisman. What good would it do him?” “What does the Talisman do, exactly?” asked Arrowsmith. “Well, if properly invoked, it keeps the three wells of magic open that feed the natural magic into this land. It can also detect large sources of magic. But I fail to see what good it would do him.” The Moonhound leaned her chair back and put her feet on the bed. “Nine wizards in an enchanted slumber would give off a pretty powerful aura.” Blackbird looked at her. “They would, wouldn’t they? So he wants to use it to find the Crystal Mages. But why does he want to find them? If he knew them, if he was a friend of theirs, wouldn’t he know where they were? He might even have been asked to join them in their slumber.” “My thoughts are that he was no friend,” said Infamous. “You do not know this, and I haven’t

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told anyone other than Arrowsmith. But he was manipulating me, using me to get you to bend to his wishes. Even sleeping with me. After he left, I was too humiliated to tell any of you. Later, I thought he was dead, and the matter closed. But if he was willing to use me, as young as I was, to achieve his goals, who knows what he’s capable of. Certainly, he’s proven he is not above murder.” Misty turned his head, reaching his hand out to the Thief. “Infamous! How come you didn’t tell me? I’d have killed him!” “I’d have helped!” said the Moonhound. Infamous shook his head. “As I said, I was humiliated. Ashamed. I felt I should have known better.” “Oh, how could you have?” said Monshikka. “We all kept you so sheltered!” “Yeah, from everything but one monster,” said Arrowsmith. “All the more reason to get him back now.” He put a comforting arm around his lover, pulling him close. “But Infamous raises a point. If he was a friend to these Mages, he would know where they are. Plainly, he doesn’t.” “There’s an old tale about an apprentice of the Crystal Mages,” said Wess. “I always thought it was just a myth, but perhaps there’s more to it.” “What is it?” asked Blackbird. “Well, from what I have gathered through different documents over the years, the Crystal Mages had an apprentice. A young man with a lot of promise, but not long on patience. He was also, apparently, a little too fond of the Snow Mage. Not a good thing, considering she was wed to the Storm Mage. I don’t suppose I need mention that Storm had little tolerance for fools, and for those who would steal his wife, none at all.” Wess paused, looking thoughtful. “Much of this myth I do not understand, but after ten thousand years that is hardly to be wondered at. It seems there was a prophecy made, that a child born to Storm and Snow would grow to become the most powerful wizard who had ever lived. And given that the parents were already very powerful Mages, commanding some fearful elemental magicks, and that one of them was well-known for his explosive temper, some people were pretty frightened by this. The apprentice, however, thought if he was the father, then he could maybe raise this child to do as he commanded. Breed the ultimate Warrior-Mage, then use him to build an empire. So, one night when Storm was not at home, he dressed himself in the Storm Mage’s garb, then used a spell to make himself look like him, and paid a visit to the Snow Mage. I’m not certain how Snow figured out that she had been tricked, but she did. However, not before she found herself to be with child.” “Oops,” said Arrowsmith. “What happened?” asked Monshikka.

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“Well, this is where the myth gets confusing. The Crystal Mages hid, but where or why is a matter for speculation. The child had not been born when they sealed themselves away. The apprentice was reportedly sent on an errand when they did this, and when he returned to where they had lived, he found their abode sealed and himself alone. Supposedly, he has been roaming the land ever since, seeking a means for either revenge or atonement, depending on which version of the tale you hear. What I wonder now is whether Berengar is that apprentice.” “If he is, then I really do not believe he is trying to find them to kiss and make up,” said Arrowsmith. “I get the feeling what he wants is to put an end to them, wait for Snow to have her baby, then kill her as well and raise Junior to be the ultimate engine of destruction. He may even be trying to win over Rhaklan; let’s not leave her out of this little scenario. Just because we haven’t seen her in a few centuries doesn’t mean she’s not out there, too. And we know what she can do just by herself. If she and Junior get together, then never mind Berengar and Takeshta. Rhaklan and this child would make paste of us all.” The group fell silent, suddenly feeling very small and ineffectual. Arrowsmith reached for a leftover muffin, breaking it into small pieces and idly eating it as he thought. Finishing it, he looked around at his friends. “We’ve got to stop this.” “How?” said Monshikka. The Moonhound nibbled her thumbnail in thought. “Attacking Takeshta and Rhaklan would be too difficult and dangerous. They’re just as strong as we are, possibly stronger. I mean, they are not still here because we are so kind that we let them be.” Arrowsmith shook his head. “This is a war of rats. Subterfuge. We have to use the same tactics. Look, Kirianna is to the north, we already know they have something planned, and somehow I doubt all they want is Monshikka’s Library. Takeshta is to the south. Who knows where Berengar is. ‘They come from North and South and we must go East.’ What’s East?” “Two-Fifty-Mile-House,” said the Moonhound. “Twin Lakes.” “Palaklais,” said Blackbird. Arrowsmith nodded. “The ruins of the city of Palaklais. I bet anything, what we want is there.” “Even if nothing is there,” said Infamous, “I would love to see Palaklais once more, just to chase Misty through the Halls of the Kings.” The Moonhound smiled. “Funny. We didn’t live there very long, but it means so much.” “That’s because we built it,” said Blackbird. “Really built it. We all came together and learned what and who we were, and used our strengths to make something live.”

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Arrowsmith sat back and looked at Sly. The wolfish-looking man was on his stomach, napping in the pleasant sunlight. Beneath his hair, following the line of his neck and traveling down his back, was a ridge of fur, one of several signs of his mixed parentage. “Okay, this has always made me wonder. Who is Lord Sly in the Court? I’m the Seer, Infamous is the Thief, then we have the Wizard, the Warrior, the Assassin, Wess is the Cabin-Keeper, Monshikka is the Librarian…” He pointed a finger at Sly. “Who’s he?” Lord Sylvannamyth looked up lazily at the sound of his name and blinked his weird, unfocused grey eyes. Blackbird smiled and put a hand gently on his back, stroking his hair. "Lord Sylvannamyth is a force of nature," said Blackbird, "and probably the main reason Takeshta decided not to take us by force. He is the child of a human and a Mycinocroft, and as such is a natural lycanthrope. Moreover, he possesses certain mental abilities that allow the Moonhound and myself to look through his eyes, even communicate with each other through him. He can change himself into a wolf whenever he wishes, go spy on enemy camps, and relay everything he hears to us. He is also able to manipulate the thoughts of others, convince generals they want to wait a day to attack, or foot soldiers that their leaders are incompetent and will lead them only to destruction. Takeshta has no idea how I have set her armies upon themselves, but she knows that war doesn't work on us. Lord Sylvannamyth is why." "And the Moonhound mops up whatever is left over," said Monshikka. "Very neat." "Yes," said Blackbird. "Unfortunately, because these two are such a deadly defense, I have allowed myself to forget that rats can slip between the paws of dragons. Arrowsmith, Misty, and Infamous see much, but only the gods see everything, and there is obviously a rat or two loose in the Palace." "I'll attend to that," said Infamous. A puzzled look crossed his face as he remembered something. “’The jewel for my master.’ Okay, we have some idea why Berengar wanted the Talisman, but what is up with the Red Jewel?” He looked at Arrowsmith. “Do you understand this yet?” Arrowsmith nodded. “Yeah, J’Vanna gave me some insight into that, but that dream deals more with what is to happen after Berengar’s little fantasy comes true. Our fate, as it were. ‘The jewel for my master’ refers to turning the Red Jewel over to SkullDigger, as a gift for his assistance, damning all of us to eternal torment. ‘The thief for me’ means that Berengar has been personally charged by SkullDigger with the duty of corrupting Infamous into one of his priests.” “That’s not happening,” said Infamous. Arrowsmith smiled slightly. “And ‘the cold of the earth for you,’ means I’m damned to remain on Earth, recalling who and what I am, but never again able to help any of you.” “None of this is happening!” said Infamous. “I’m not letting that…sack of animated garbage hurt any of us! If I have to crawl to Palaklais on my hands and knees, I will!”

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Misty closed his eyes and sighed quietly. “Palaklais,” he said softly. “Are we really going to go

there again?”

“We haven’t decided on that yet,” said Blackbird. “For one thing, it would not be wise for us to

up and leave the White Palace unattended. And I suspect none of us will wish to stay behind.”

“I won’t,” said Wess.

“I certainly won’t!” said Arrowsmith. “It’s all of us or none of us.”

“Then it’s none of us,” said Misty. “We’ve been short a member of the Court for a very long

time.”

There was a sad and thoughtful silence as they remembered their missing friend.

"I miss Blue," said Wess. He drew thoughtfully at his pipe. "I miss how much he loved the

winter snow, and the mountains."

"I miss the herb and flower gardens he used to grow," said Blackbird. "And his dry humor."

"Do you suppose he will ever come back to us?" asked Monshikka.

At this query, suddenly Arrowsmith found himself being stared at by everyone in the room. He

blinked his warm brown eyes. "How the hell should I know?" he asked. *** For the rest of the day, they relaxed in the warm comfort of the Mountain Cabin, recovering from the stress of the previous day. Then, as the sun set, all returned to the White Palace, save for Misty and Blackbird. Together, they lay in the peace and security of the old cabin, untroubled and safe, a square of white moonlight watching over them as Blackbird slept against Misty’s back, an arm around his friend.

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Chapter Nine Blackbird sat, picking at his breakfast. Beside him sat Misty, drinking his tea and staring out the window of the Mountain Cabin. It had been a week since the attack, and while Misty was still shaky, Blackbird was almost completely healed. “It’s a nice day,” said Misty softly. “Makes me want to go down to the brook and fish.” He glanced over at Blackbird, who gave no indication he had heard his friend. “Blackbird?” “Thinking,” said the Wizard quietly. “About what?” “Logistics. It’s all well and good to shout ‘if one doesn’t go, none of us goes,’ but if we all go then the White Palace is virtually defenseless.” “If we are going into those mountains, we need all of each other. The Palaklais are dangerous.” “I understand that, Misty, but we can’t leave the White Palace untended.” “Well, we have Sjaan; he looks enough like Infamous that it would be no feat to disguise him as our own dear Master Thief. Put some robes on him, a few beads in his hair, and lo, one thief. With some of Infamous’ underlings to help him along, he could pass until we come back. There are a few half-Elves in my Temple we could do up to look like me. In fact, we could probably do up a ‘Moonhound’ rather easily, as well, and since Wess is the Keeper of the Well and spends all his time here, we wouldn’t have to find a replacement for him at all. Lord Sly spends all his time down by the lake behind the Palace; no one will notice he’s gone. As for you, all we need do is toss a robe over a fourteen year old girl with black hair. I think the hardest of us to replace would be Arrowsmith and Monshikka. But none of these people have to be duplicates, they just have to be convincing enough to create the illusion we are there.” “Yes, but where do we find a man as large as Arrowsmith on this world? I’ve never seen anyone. And Monshikka is unusually tall as well, never mind being the color of snow.” Blackbird furrowed his brow, poking at his toast. Then he sat back as he thought. “Arrowsmith has a friend on his world, what was his name? He speaks of him once in a while.” “Brian?” asked Misty. “No, another one, almost the same color as Monshikka.” “Oh, I think he called him ‘Silver’.” Misty glanced at Blackbird. “You’re not thinking of going to Arrowsmith’s world, are you?” “Well, Arrowsmith wanted them over here, what does it matter if they come now or later?” A Strange Place in Time Book II: The White Palace Awakens - 103

“The matter is someone has already tried to kill Monshikka. I have to protest against bringing in a stranger who might not understand what he is in for. He could end up dead. I don’t think Arrowsmith or Silver would go for it.” Blackbird sat back in his chair and sighed heavily. “You’re right, it was a selfish thought. We cannot risk Arrowsmith’s friend.” “You’re wrong about Silver,” said a calm, low voice. “He’d love it.” Blackbird glanced up, startled to see Arrowsmith in the kitchen. “How long have you been here?” he asked. “Long enough to hear you two geniuses plotting to disguise some folks to look like us so we can go to Palaklais.” He pulled out a chair and turned it around, sitting on it with his hands resting on the back. “What do you mean ‘Silver would love it’?” asked Misty. Arrowsmith poured himself some tea. “There’s nothing for people like me and Silver back home. There are no places to go to make a better life, just more of the same crap wherever you are. It’s like you live your whole life on permanent hold, asking yourself, ‘Is this all there is?’ You fall out of bed, go to a job you hate, that pays crap, drag yourself home to the same filthy pit you would leave if you had the money to go anywhere, and if you knew where you wanted to go. You end up shooting crap into your arm just to feel like you’re alive, or maybe you get drunk and lie down on a logging road and wait for a vehicle to run you over. A friend of mine did that. I was a hundred feet away shooting heroin into my arm. I heard the sound and just didn’t give a shit. I kinda envied him. He was outta there. “Silver and I, when we were kids, used to sit and read The Lord of the Rings to each other, wish we could do something great, be heroes, wear armor, go see the Elves. I think even then we knew we were doomed.” Arrowsmith smiled slightly. “Yeah, I know you guys laugh at that book, but, frankly, you can laugh. Because you are the people in that book. People like me and Silver, and the rest of us: Uncle Smash, Brian, my adoptive parents…we’re trash. Throwaways. There’s nothing for us. Now, I know Silver. He’s one of my best friends. You hand him a chance to leave that place behind, come here and do something with meaning, and he’ll face down Berengar himself if he has to.” “He could get killed,” said Blackbird. “This is no game.” “I say we let Silver decide that.” Blackbird nodded. “Very well. We’ll go ask him.” “‘We’?” said Arrowsmith.

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“I’m going with you.”

Arrowsmith had a sudden image of the Moonhound ripping his heart out. “Blackbird…I’m not

really comfortable with that thought.”

“You have to take me,” said Blackbird. “I can get you there, but unless I am with you, you can’t

get back. The gate that brought you here only operates once in your lifetime, and only under

certain circumstances. Unless I am with you to reopen it, you’re trapped.”

Arrowsmith nodded. “All right. Creator knows I don’t want to get stuck there. But I’m not

driving around with you in a set of mage robes. And I’m not explaining it to the Moonhound,

either!”

“We’ll tell her about it after we get back.”

“Blackbird, once she finds out I dragged you to my world…”

“You are not dragging me. I am dragging you. And I will explain it to her. She won’t kill me.”

“You hope. How long will we be gone?” asked Arrowsmith.

“However long it takes us to convince your friends and family they want to come.”

“That’ll take fifteen minutes.”

“Very well. Then let’s be off.”

“Blackbird,” said Arrowsmith. “I would really feel better if you looked… a little less out of

place.”

“Out of place? You mean my garb.”

“Yeah. I’m not bringing you to my house wearing mage robes and a circlet.”

Blackbird smiled. “And what do you suggest?”

“Leathers, jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket, boots.”

“Arrowsmith, no one is going to take me seriously dressed like you.”

“They’re sure as hell not going to take you seriously dressed like some Texada Island hippie

chick. You’re a Wizard; can’t you shrink some of my clothes down to your size?”

“Yes, I can, but…”

Arrowsmith rose to his feet, then picked up Blackbird, slinging him over his shoulder. “Come

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on, little mage. You wanna play with bikers, you better look like a biker. Some of these guys will rip out your guts and crap down your neck for the fun of it if they think you’re a poser. And with my luck, we’ll show up just in time for half the fuckin’ regulars of the Courtenay House to be in Dad’s front yard having a mini Sturgis.” “Arrowsmith, I have not the foggiest idea what you are talking about.”

“And that’s why we need you dressed.” He carried Blackbird upstairs to his old loft room, then

set him gently on a pile of hay before going to the trunk where he had stored some of his old

clothes. He pulled out a T-shirt with a skull on it, snakes writhing through its eye sockets.

“That’ll work. I got a pair of jeans in here…” He tossed the grease-encrusted garment toward the

Mage. “Got a spare pair of chaps, some gloves… Huh. No boots. You need boots. Got a vest,

belt…”

“Can’t I wear my boots?”

“You mean the soft suede ones? The blue ones with the fuzzy fur lining?”

“Yes.”

“God no, you’ll get your butt kicked for being a candy-ass. We are trying to avoid that.”

“I could borrow a pair from Lord Sly; he has that pair with the chain around the ankle and the

razor-edged front.”

“Perfect. I’ll get them for you.” He went downstairs to find the Royal Assassin standing in the kitchen, looking worried and nervous. Misty’s gaze was directed to the hatch that opened into the room where Blackbird was now dressing. “You’ll look after him, won’t you?” Arrowsmith put a hand on Misty’s shoulder. “I won’t let him out of my sight for a second. And

we’ll be back before you know.”

“I would just feel better if I was going instead.”

“I’d feel better if we weren’t going at all, to tell you the truth, but he’s right. We don’t have time

to hunt all over Dargoth for another Monshikka. Silver can pass. Once we get him into the robes and circlet, no one will know the difference at a distance. And anyone who gets too close will be in for a big freaking surprise, if they try to hurt him.” “Silver can fight?”

“Ah, he’s not trained, but he can certainly do damage with a broken bottle and a pool cue.”

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Misty nodded. “I hope we are doing the right thing.” “Yeah, well, only time will tell us that. But we gotta do the best we can with what we know.” He gave Misty a hug, then went to get the boots. *** Arrowsmith used a travel crystal to make a brief trip to the White Palace. He grabbed his leather jacket, got into his riding gear, then went and got Harley. The great red and gold bike had not seen a lot of use the last little while; Arrowsmith made up his mind to spend more time with him as he threw one leg over Harley’s broad back. Then he used the crystal to take himself and the bike back to the cabin. He could hear Misty howling with laughter as he crossed the few feet of ground to the cabin door. He opened it, and sat down hard on the hard flagstone floor, laughing uproariously. Blackbird had no business wearing leather. “What?” demanded the tiny mage with heated indignity. Arrowsmith, tears streaming down his face, fell backwards off the steps and landed in a heap outside, still laughing. The eighty-ninepound Hell’s Angel followed him. “You’re the one who said I had to dress like this!” Arrowsmith screamed with laughter, unable even to stand as the Wizard-King of Dargoth, all four feet eleven inches of him, faced him. His tiny body was rigid with indignity, little fists clenched inside the black leather riding gloves. The jeans and T-shirt, which he had shrunk down to fit him, only succeeded in accentuating how thin and fragile he was. The bulky black leather jacket with its chains and studs, as well as the heavy boots, likewise did nothing to improve the picture. The chaps were just hilarious. He looked like the world’s meanest twelve-year-old girl. Finally, Arrowsmith got up off the ground, still giggling. “C’mon, Easy Rider, let’s get going. I wanna be back before my husband and your wife find out what we’ve been up to.” Arrowsmith got onto Harley. Cautiously, Blackbird climbed up behind him. He slid his hands under Arrowsmith’s jacket and around his waist. “How do we get there?” asked Arrowsmith. “The travel crystal. It’ll take you there.” “But it won’t take me back?” “No. They are powered by the wells of magic on this world. Once we are on yours, they are removed from the magic and will become useless.” Arrowsmith looked over his shoulder at Blackbird. “How do you know this?”

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“Remember your first life here? You stole a crystal and went home. I had to go looking for your sorry, drunken self. I found you face down in a cow pasture.” Arrowsmith laughed. “Oh, yeah, I recall. Vaguely.” He picked up his travel crystal and stared at the pale green gem. He pictured the front yard of his house, and then they were there. The crystal turned grey and cracked in his hand. He let it fall to the sparse dried grass, then looked around. The place hadn’t changed much. There was still the little shed with the broken glass in the window frame, its sides grey with age. The house wasn’t much bigger: a square little shack with an old-fashioned roof and a stove-pipe chimney. The shingles were green with moss, and the sides of the house, once golden with cedar, were now grey. There was a little corral in the back that had once held goats. It was empty now. In fact, the whole place was empty and silent, the early summer wind blowing through the long dried wisps of grass that passed for a lawn. Arrowsmith got off the bike and looked around, staring at the place, trying to decide what he felt. He walked over to the fire pit dug into the sandy soil. It was still smouldering faintly, and amidst the ashes were broken bits of glass and charred beer cans. A scrap of tinfoil poked out. Arrowsmith kicked a bit of dust over it, then turned to look at the house where he had been raised. “I didn’t realize it was so small,” he said. Blackbird walked over to his side, taking his hand. “No one seems to be here.” “C’mon,” said Arrowsmith. “Let’s go inside. I’ll try to get Silver and Brian on the phone.” They entered the dark, shabby little house. Arrowsmith noticed little had changed inside as well. Overflowing ashtrays sat on a burn-marked coffee table, reeking. Rickety furniture perched on a rug so old and threadbare it was hard to tell what it had looked like. To the left was his old room, to the right, the tiny kitchen, and, behind it, the room where his parents slept. Next to that was the small bathroom, added on years after the cabin had originally been built. The whole place smelled of old cigarette smoke and beer. Blackbird coughed, and Arrowsmith turned to look at him. “You okay?” Blackbird nodded. He sat down in a chair and coughed again and, this time, there was a definite wheeze when he inhaled. He looked at Arrowsmith with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m not going to be able to stay here long.” Arrowsmith picked up the telephone receiver. “Don’t you dare die on me.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

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Arrowsmith quickly dialed a number, then listened to the phone ring. After the seventh ring, he

heard the receiver on the other end lifted roughly.

“Th’ fuck d’you wan’?” muttered a sleepy voice.

Arrowsmith grinned. “Whaddya mean what do I want, you phoned me.”

There was confused silence, then, “Finland?”

“Hey, Silver.”

“Finland! Fuck, man! It’s been eight fucking months! Your parents are shitting bricks, they’re so

fucking worried! Where the hell are you?”

“Home.”

“So, where were you, then?”

Arrowsmith looked over at Blackbird, who was currently using a spell to clean the chair he was

seated on. He grinned. “Silver, if I told you, you’d never believe me, man. Get Brian and get

your asses over here.”

“Brian don’t talk to us no more. He moved to Toronto to get a real job.”

“What the fuck’s he gonna do in Toronto?”

“I don’t know, man. He met this chick and, the next thing I know, he’s too good for us. He left

me a note and half a month’s rent and two joints and he’s gone. Don’t love us no more.”

Probably just as well, thought Arrowsmith. Brian’s got a big family; he wouldn’t want to leave them. Silver doesn’t have anyone. “Well, I love you,” he added aloud. “Hurry up.”

“Gimme an hour. Shit, man, I can’t wait to see you.”

“And bring beer.”

“Fuck you.” Silver hung up.

Arrowsmith laughed and hung up as well, then turned to Blackbird. “He’s coming.”

Blackbird coughed, then wheezed heavily. “That’s it, I’m cleaning.”

“Are you sure you want to? I think the old beer stains are the only things holding the place up.”

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“I’m cleaning.” Blackbird flicked his hands, then shot out a flash of blue light. Arrowsmith watched as years’ worth of grime and crud vanished from the walls, floor and furnishings. Blackbird inhaled, then smiled. “Much better.” He sat down once more. “Don’t exhaust yourself, little mage.” “I’m fine, Arrowsmith. Really.” Arrowsmith looked at him with concern, then reached out and took his hand, feeling the frail little bones. “Just be careful. I’m gonna put on some music and dig through my room for anything I wanna take back to the Palace. You need anything, yell.” Blackbird nodded, then closed his eyes. Curled in the huge old armchair, he dozed off. Arrowsmith took off his jacket and draped it carefully over the tiny form, then went into his room. *** He packed up a few things, going through his room slowly, carefully. He didn’t have much, but he took the few things that had sentimental value, and his handful of old books. He was just finishing up when he heard the growl of Harley-Davidson engines coming down the paved road toward the little shack. He stepped outside, and grinned. It was Silver, as well as Arrowsmith’s dad on his old war-era bike, his mom as usual behind him, her skinny frame hidden by his great bearded bulk. Arrowsmith waved as he stepped off the porch, and stood unflinching as the old bike gunned toward him, then slowed, stopping in front of him. His dad got off the bike and pointed at him. “Where the fuck have you been?” “’Nother planet.” “I oughtta kick your ass!” “Try it, you aging shit pile.” The fat old biker, known fondly as ‘Mother’ because of his huge gut, grabbed Arrowsmith around the head and got him in a lock. “Say ‘Uncle.’” “Eat me,” said Arrowsmith. They continued to wrestle. Arrowsmith had forgotten how strong the old man was. He finally got free of him, but it took some effort. Then he turned to hug his mother. She was a bony, wastedlooking woman, aged past her years by hard living, her voice rusted from two packs of cigarettes a day. Arrowsmith had never figured out where she got the handle of ‘Popsicle,’ and never

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wanted to know. He’d heard rumors it had something to do with a past as a hooker. That was as

much as he wanted to know. She was, after all, his mother.

She took his head between her hands and looked at him. “You bastard, we thought you were

dead or in the pen. You look good! Where were you?”

“Dead or in the pen,” he said, then turned to look at Silver. Arrowsmith had enough time to get his mouth open before Silver pounced on him. Once Silver had Arrowsmith down, Mother gave him a boot in the ass for good measure. Arrowsmith was glad Infamous wasn’t there; he would have gutted the both of them before Arrowsmith had a chance to explain the intricacies of biker etiquette and greeting rituals. He suddenly noticed a tiny, fragile form on the front steps, flicking his fingers nervously, a cold blue light shining around him. Arrowsmith yelled in Dargothian, “It’s okay! Don’t fry them!”

The light vanished, and Blackbird watched nervously as the three huge men wrestled. Popsicle

turned and looked at the tiny little person on the step. She walked over to him.

“Well, hi, Sweetie. What’s your name?”

Mother and Silver stopped torturing Arrowsmith and looked toward Blackbird. Arrowsmith

managed to get off the ground and scraped up what was left of his dignity.

“Who’s that?” asked Mother.

“Uh, that’s my friend Thraisa,” said Arrowsmith, giving them the Dargothian word for

‘Blackbird.’

“Teresa?”

“No, Mom, ‘Thraisa.'”

Mother looked at Arrowsmith. “So, where’s her mother, and have you been doing anything I

have to kill you for?”

“No, Dad. For one thing, he’s a lot older than he looks.”

“He? That’s a ‘he’?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Looks like a little faggot.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a lot tougher than he looks, too, so just leave him alone.”

“That?”

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Blackbird flinched at the tone. Arrowsmith was having visions of his father being reduced to ash. “Dad, don’t scare him. And stop calling him a faggot. You wanna call someone a faggot, call me one.” “I ain’t scarin’ him. Hey, Teresa, get over here so I can get a look at your skinny fag ass.” Arrowsmith slapped his hand over his face and shook his head. He suddenly heard Silver whisper in his ear, “You never told him about you and me in high school, did you?” “Yeah, I did, but you know Dad, never one to waste a perfectly good insult. Besides, if he ignores the fact that I’m gay, then I’m not, right?”

“So, who’s the little guy?”

“He’s a friend. And if Dad doesn’t quit scaring the shit out of him, there’s going to be an

incident.”

Blackbird looked at Arrowsmith. “What is that man bellowing at me?”

“He wants you to come over so he can get a look at you.”

“He can see me from here.”

Arrowsmith sighed, then walked over to Blackbird. “That’s my father, Tom. This is my mom,

Lilly, and that over there is Silver.”

“So I thought. His eyes are not red, but the height is right, and the build is similar to Monshikka.

He will do very well, if he decides to come with us.”

Popsicle tugged on her adopted son’s sleeve. “Johnny, when did you learn another language?

What is that, Irish?”

Arrowsmith turned to look at her, smiling. “Something like that, Mom. Look I’ve…got a lot to

tell you all, and you’re not going to believe it.”

“Well,” said Mother, “Let’s get a fire going, start some meat roasting for dinner and open some

beer, and you can tell us about it.”

“Fine. Where’s Uncle Smash?” Arrowsmith asked as he followed his father across the grass to

the small fire pit and watched him begin piling up wood.

“Brother Smash should be home in a few minutes to watch Little House on the Prairie.”

“’Brother’ Smash?”

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“Yep. Smash found Jesus.”

“Oh, yeah? Where was He?”

“In the old gravel pit, after Smash got knocked off the road by a speeding truck.”

“That’s where I’d expect to find Him,” said Arrowsmith. “How’s Smash?”

“Good. They had to put his leg back together with some rods and screws, but the rest of him is

good. Him an’ ol’ Jesus talked for about a half an hour at three-thirty in the morning. Fortunately, someone drove by, saw the mess and called for help. Pass me that can o’ gas, will ya?” Arrowsmith did. His father soaked down the pile of wood with gas, then tossed a match onto the whole mess. There was a loud wooooooooff! and flames shot up several feet. “FIRE’S STARTED!” he announced. “POP! GET JOHNNY A BEER!”

“I DON’T SEE A PIANO TIED TO YOUR ASS!” There was a long pause, then, “WHO

CLEANED?”

“Oh, my god,” thought Arrowsmith. “Merc and Khinna are related to my folks.”

Blackbird walked over to Arrowsmith, standing close. Arrowsmith put a protective arm around

him, a gesture Mother pointedly failed to notice. Silver passed Arrowsmith a beer, then pulled a

second one out of his pocket for himself.

“Beer, Blackbird?” asked Arrowsmith.

“All right. But we can’t stay long.”

“Just…let’s have dinner, okay?”

Blackbird smiled. “Sure.”

Arrowsmith grinned, then looked over at his father, who was currently marching toward the

freezer in the shed. “I wonder if I could get Dad a job as a bouncer at the Troll?” He turned to

look at Silver, and smiled at his old friend. “Missed you.”

“Yeah, missed you, too. Where you been?”

Arrowsmith shook his head. “It’s gonna seem really hard to believe, but I need you to, okay?

Remember…remember how when you and I were kids, we would go camping down at White’s

Bay and read The Lord of the Rings to each other? Remember how we used to wish we could

find a path to Middle Earth, and we’d go live in the woods with the Elves?”

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“Yeah, I remember that,” said Silver. Silver turned his head to watch the fire, his unkempt hair falling long and greyish-white around his fine face. Even now, young as he was, Arrowsmith could see the first few lines of despair around his eyes. Silver had no one in life; the closest thing he had to a family was Arrowsmith’s. He had grown up in foster homes, finally leaving at sixteen to make it on his own, which he had more or less done. He only had a grade nine education, and worked in a gas station to pay his rent. His hands were black with grease and oil, the knuckles grown large from hard work and fighting. Arrowsmith put an arm around him, then leaned close and said into his ear very softly, “What if I told you I found that path?”

Silver raised his head to look at him. “There is no path, Finland, you know that.”

“There is, Silver.”

“No, don’t shit me, man. I’m too old for shit. I wish it was true, but it’s not. There’s only here,

and here sucks.”

Arrowsmith looked at Blackbird. “He doesn’t believe me.”

“Oh, really? Well, you walked around claiming a head injury until you Recalled.” Blackbird

looked at his beer suspiciously, then took a sip.

“Can you convince him?”

Blackbird nodded. “I can try. What would you like me to do?”

“I dunno, something big.”

Blackbird sipped his beer again, then passed the bottle to Arrowsmith. “Big, I can do.” He

pushed his sleeves up. “What would you like?”

“Just a sec, I gotta ask Silver.” He turned to his friend once more. “What if I told you this guy

here is a Wizard?”

Silver smiled. “Fin, I don’t even believe that guy is a guy.”

“Yeah, but what if? What would you want him to do to convince you?”

Silver laughed. “I wanna see him turn into a dragon. If he can do that, we’ll talk.”

Arrowsmith translated, and Blackbird nodded. “I can do that.” He walked off a few feet, watched

by Silver and Arrowsmith. He took off the leather jacket and flicked his fingers, thinking. Then he closed his eyes.

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Arrowsmith grinned as the familiar blue light began to radiate around Blackbird, and he grinned even further as he saw Silver’s expression of utter disbelief. The light grew and filled the area with a scent like a thunderstorm. Then there was a crackle, and green light shot out of the ground in a fountain. Blackbird grew in size and changed, wings suddenly unfolding from the huge golden form, the long serpentine neck arching high above their heads, the long tail snapping out like a whip. Within moments, the entire transformation was complete. There, in the backyard of Arrowsmith’s old house, sat a Dargothian sun dragon. “Now, is he happy?” asked Blackbird. Arrowsmith watched Silver stagger back as though shot. He stumbled, then collapsed to the ground in a faint. “He’s thrilled,” said Arrowsmith. *** The quiet and empty cabin soon began to wear on Misty, and he finally did go down to the stream to fish. However, the fish were not biting, and he eventually returned to the cabin. Once there, he left a note for Blackbird and Arrowsmith, then took a crystal and returned to the Palace. He was stiff and sore, the poison having settled into his joints. It would likely be a few weeks before he could move easily. But the day was warm and fair, and he decided to go rest in the Palace gardens. The blooming plants in the warmth of early summer filled the air with a wonderful scent, and he went to sit by one of the carved fountains. Tiny frogs watched him with dour expressions, then dove into the water to hide beneath flowering lily pads. Slowly, carefully, Misty eased himself down onto the soft green grass to watch the frogs who lurked by the dozens in the fountain, in the green leaves of the numerous flowering plants, and on the grass. There were even a few tiny, brightly-colored little creatures huddled within half-bloomed flowers, awaiting unwary insects. Misty leaned forward to study one little beast on the fountain’s rim. It simply stared back at him, tiny throat pulsing. “Gorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp,” he said to the frog. It apparently was an insult; the frog left. His attention was suddenly caught by a glimpse of bright color, and he looked toward it. The color was shades of blue, everything from near black to the same hue as the sky, adorning the garb of a traveler. He had a pack slung over one shoulder, as well as a finely crafted silver mandolin. He had on a wide-brimmed hat, blue like everything else he wore, with an array of long white feathers pinned to it. Down his back spilled a waterfall of white hair, loose and blowing softly in the warm and gentle breeze. Misty stared at him as the traveler paused and lowered his pack, then took out, of all things, a map, and held it in his blue-gloved hands. He turned his head slightly as he read it, and Misty saw his face. He had fine, almost Elven features, and skin the most unearthly shade of white, like cream. On his nose perched a pair of blue-tinted spectacles, and when he studied the map they

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slid down slightly, revealing eyes the color of blue diamond. “It can’t be,” Misty whispered, watching the traveler as he rolled up his map and replaced it in his scroll case. “It simply…cannot…be…” The small man in the strange garb did not seem to notice Misty as he turned to retrace his way out of the garden. Misty watched for a moment, then stood up as hastily as he was able and followed him. He was slender, and quite small, and Misty was hard put to keep up with him as he wove lightly and quickly through the flowering shrubs, finally exiting through the wrought-iron gates. He seemed to know where he was heading, and Misty kept after him as the traveler moved lightly up the steps to enter the Palace. Then he began making straight for the upper floors and the private apartments of the Court. Misty kept up with the little man as he made his way unerringly down the hall. He moved lightly, apparently thinking himself unwatched, and the moment Misty saw him break into an odd loping skip, he could contain himself no further. He tried to call out, but his voice failed him. He cleared his throat, then finally managed to say the name. “Blue! Blue, by all Creation, am I really looking at you?” Blue turned, then stopped. He carefully set his pack and mandolin down, then clasped his hands together nervously, looking both terribly glad and afraid. “Athsfalia?” Misty almost burst into tears upon hearing the name he had been called by seven hundred years ago, and he swept the Bard into his arms. He held Blue tightly, then broke down and cried into the long white hair. Blue put his arms around Misty and returned the embrace, stroking one gloved hand over Misty’s gold hair. His voice was so familiar that the sound of it caused Misty to break down further. “There, there, Athsfalia. I am home. I will not be leaving you again, if you do not want me to.” Misty drew back to look at him, taking his small, almost foxy face between his hands. “If I do not want you to? Blue, I never wanted you to.” He smiled briefly, shyly. “I know that now.” Misty kissed him, then said, “Come on, we have a lot to talk about, and not in the hall.” He picked up Blue’s pack and mandolin, then, with his free arm about the Bard’s waist, walked with him to his chambers. They stepped into the room, and Misty placed the pack and instrument down on a chair as Blue closed the large heavy door. Misty turned to look at him, and found himself grinning like a fool at the sweet, shy look Blue gave him from over the rims of his spectacles. It was the best the Bard could manage for a ‘come hither’ look, but it worked well enough for Misty.

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***

They lay beneath the covers, holding each other close. Misty slid his hand down Blue’s back, listening to him breathe as he relaxed against Misty's chest. Misty kissed the top of his head, then said softly, “I’m sorry. For everything.” Blue ran his fingertips lightly over Misty’s arm. “I have much to apologize for, as well. For many years, I wanted to believe everything was your fault, but all I truly wanted was a place to lay my anger. I had so much of it.” “You had a right to be angry.” “But not at you. Even if, at the time, you really did not consider my opinions, you were still only trying to help. I was too angry to see anything. Taken from my family, forced into this body, then sold... You did none of these things to me. You were the only person trying to help me. You threw away your entire fortune to buy my freedom, and I repaid you with hate.” “Well, I admit that, at the time, I was not terribly happy with the return on my investment,” said Misty, grinning as he heard Blue chuckle quietly, “I admit, I did expect you to fall to your knees in gratitude, which is a really fool thing to expect of a magical creature treated the way you were.” Blue raised his head and looked at Misty. “They do not sell us openly in the squares any more, do they?” “No,” said Misty. He trailed his fingers lightly over Blue’s face, then touched the soft white hair. “The Court put an end to that a long time ago, though, sadly, I must admit creatures such as yourself still fetch a very high price for smugglers.” “Do the rest of the Court know what I am?” “No. You asked me not to tell, and I never have.” “We should tell them.” “If you like.” “Later,” said Blue softly, and lowered his head to kiss Misty.

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Chapter Ten Silver was not well. Arrowsmith had a hard time just getting him to sit up, and when he finally got him up, his friend sat and shook, looking ill. Arrowsmith was truly worried about him, and he held Silver as the two sat in the long, dry grass. Finally, Silver raised his head and made himself look at the dragon. “That’s real?”

“Yeah, Silver, it’s real.”

“You’re not fucking with me.”

“No.” Arrowsmith took Silver’s head between his hands and looked into those pale blue eyes.

“Silver, I came back because I need your help. And because we promised each other we would never leave each other behind if we found a way out. Hey, remember our song? ‘We gotta get out of this place. If it’s the last thing we ever do…’” Silver smiled. “Yeah, I remember. You really…came back for me.”

“That’s what friends do, man. I promised.”

Silver looked once more at the shining, multi-hued dragon, its beautiful golden face angled

toward the sun. “I don’t think Tolkien wrote that,” he said.

“That’s a sun dragon. The place is called Dargoth. It’s not Middle Earth, but it’s pretty nice.”

“There are Elves?”

“Elves. Dwarfs. Dragons. Some other creatures.”

“Hobbits?”

“No.”

“I like Hobbits.”

“I’m sure Hobbits would like you.”

“You said you needed my help? Whatever it is, man…”

“It could get your ass killed.”

“Better than rotting here. Let’s go.”

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Arrowsmith grinned. “Well, hold up, we need Smash too.” “What for?” Arrowsmith looked at his parents, who were staring in silence at the great golden beast in their backyard. “Johnny?” asked his mother nervously. “Sit down, Mom. I’ll tell you guys the whole tale.” Mother licked his dry lips nervously. “Maybe…you should wait for Smash, since you said he needs to hear this, too. Sounds like it’s gonna be a long tale, and I need a beer.” Arrowsmith looked at Blackbird. “How long can you hold that shape?” “Oh, holding it is no trouble, it’s getting into and out of it that is the problem. I can stay like this for hours.” “Good.” He looked up as he heard the familiar sound of Smash’s motorcycle coming down the road toward the house. He noticed then that Harley was in Smash’s usual spot. “Harley, I need you to come here, or Smash will hit you.” Silently, the immense red and gold beast rolled toward him, then stopped. The kickstand went down and the bike leaned on it gently. “Okay,” said Mother, “now I really do need to change my pants.” “On your way back, bring beer,” said Popsicle. Mother made his way back to the house, just as Smash pulled up on his gleaming black and silver bike. Once, there had been an air-brushed mural of a demon on the sleek teardrop tank. Replacing the demon was a female angel. She had long golden hair, and was wearing a flowing gown of white. Her wings were white, partly upraised, and there were dots of snow floating about her. She had her left hand upon her belly, her eyes raised to the heavens, and in her right hand she held aloft a shard of white crystal. The hellfire and brimstone, however, had been left untouched. Arrowsmith decided it must be a pretty miserable angel. Smash was the closest thing Arrowsmith had to an uncle. He had been his father’s half brother, allegedly. No one was completely certain on that matter, and Smash’s mother wasn’t talking. Arrowsmith suspected he was a relative, because there were definite similarities. Both had goldbrown hair, and the same warm brown eyes. Smash was easily as tall and lean as Arrowsmith, and had a similar face. Smash could certainly be Arrowsmith’s uncle. If the other rumors he’d heard were true, he could even be Arrowsmith's father. Arrowsmith smiled at his uncle fondly as he watched Smash get off his bike, one knee in a brace. He turned to look at the dragon. For a long moment, he studied the great creature. At last, he

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spoke.

“Johnny, y’been up to some shit since we last saw ya, haven’t ya?”

“Yes, Smash.”

Smash walked slowly over to the beast, limping. Blackbird extended his head toward him. Biker

and dragon studied each other. “I need a beer,” said Smash. *** It took a long time to explain the whole situation to the satisfaction of all involved. The sun was setting, and soon the sky was awash with the golds and purples of early evening. The roast was eaten, and Blackbird stretched out on the grass, plainly enjoying being the largest being in the group for a change. Silver sat nearby, quietly drinking his beer as he watched the dragon, listening to Arrowsmith’s tale. The whys of the situation made no difference to him; he was going, regardless. But Smash wanted to know the full details. It was a long time before he was satisfied. Smash, like Arrowsmith, was not stupid. “So, if you and your buds go to this…ruined city and find these…wizards, that could fix everything. You’d all be safe.”

Arrowsmith nodded. “That’s what we’re hoping.”

“You don’t know for sure.”

“No. But it’s our best chance.”

“And you want me and Silver to pretend to be you and this Librarian Prince guy.”

“Monshikka,” said Silver quietly. “His name is Monshikka.”

Arrowsmith smiled at his friend Silver, then looked once more at Smash. “Yeah.”

Smash shook his head. “I don’t know, Johnny. I mean, I don’t have to do much, but…”

“Smash, we’re not departing the moment you get there. We are going to show you everything

you need to know. We are not going to take off and leave you confused and vulnerable.”

“It’s a big step, Johnny. Like moving to another country, but bigger.”

Arrowsmith knew what Smash was trying to say. “Smash. If you’re not happy, you can come

back.”

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Smash breathed a sigh of relief, then nodded. “All right, then. I’ll pack.”

Silver rose to his feet. “I’ll go get a few things and be back as soon as I can.”

The two departed, leaving Arrowsmith alone with his parents, while Smash and Silver returned

to their homes and fetched what they cared to bring. For a long time they said nothing. Finally,

Arrowsmith spoke.

“Will you two come, as well?”

His adopted parents looked a little unnerved by the idea. “Where will we live?” asked Popsicle.

“With me.”

“Is there room?”

Arrowsmith laughed. “I think so.”

She looked over her shoulder at the little house that had been her home for over thirty years.

“We can bring it,” said Arrowsmith. She snapped her gaze toward him.

“What? The whole house?”

“Yes, Mom. The whole house. I already discussed it with Blackbird. I knew you might feel this

way. We have an area walled off behind the Palace. It will hold the whole thing. The house. The

shed. The goat pen. Even the firepit. You can have real goats again.”

Popsicle looked at Mother. “We’re going.”

“Yes, dear.”

Arrowsmith looked over at Blackbird, glad he was asleep. The little mage was going to need all

his energy to bring them over and change back into his usual form. He would likely then collapse into a heap and sleep for the next three days. *** Smash and Silver returned within the hour. Neither of them owned much, especially Smash, who lately had been living on a couch in a co-worker’s back room. Blackbird awoke as he heard the great bikes pull into the yard, and raised his head, yawning. He blinked sleepily. “Are they back?” asked Blackbird. “Are we ready to go home?” “Yeah,” said Arrowsmith softly. “We can go home.”

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Blackbird nodded, then slowly pushed his dragon body to its feet. He sat up on his back legs, and began channelling the magic. This spell was much bigger, and the channelling took longer. The blue light gathered about him like a crackling haze, and there were faint shudders in the earth as he called the gate. It appeared at first as a swirl of blue, green and white, then grew larger, opening wider and wider, until it arched high above their heads, its lower half descending into the earth. It came toward them slowly, like a gigantic mouth swallowing all in its wake: house, land, people and all. It passed by them with a scent like rain and thunder, then grew smaller, finally fading away. The constellations above them were new and strange, and the house, once alone in a tree-edged yard, now huddled against a stone wall of white opal. To their left rose the great beauty of the White Palace, its crystal windows glittering in the light of candles and the fading traces of the Dargothian twilight. Blackbird slowly changed back into his usual form, then collapsed, as Arrowsmith expected he would. Carefully, he picked the tiny body up, then looked at his friend and family. “I have to take him to bed. And I have to tell the rest of the Court about you. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” “All right,” said Silver. “I think…we’re just going to sit here for a while and…adjust.” Arrowsmith nodded, then turned to take Blackbird inside. *** Misty rolled over and peered out the huge window. The sun was well nigh set, and the warm scent of an early summer wind drifted to him, touching his hair. He smiled as he felt Blue put an arm around his waist. “It’s getting late,” said Misty. Blue sat up, the candlelight drawing shadows across the fine muscles of his body. “So I see. I could do with a bit of a wash and dinner.” Misty grinned. “Oatcakes, green salad, no dressing, apples.” Blue laughed. “How did you remember all that?” Misty put his arms around him and pulled him down onto his chest, kissing him. “Blue, for the last seven hundred years, I have had a knot in my gut and a hole in my heart. And no matter what excess or indulgence I used to make them go away, they never did. I needed you. I told you once that I loved you more than anything in this whole land, that for you I would sacrifice anything I could. I meant it. I tried to forget you, I tried to just get on with my life. But every time I Recalled, there you were.” Blue lowered his head, unable to meet Misty’s gaze. “I’m not worthy of that. I hurt you.”

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“Yeah, you did. But you were young, and you were in a lot of pain. And I’ve grown up a bit, as well. Look, Blue, we don’t have to fall into the role of being a couple again until you are ready for it. The last thing I want is to cause you any more distress. But until I saw you again, I didn’t know how much pain I had been living in.” Blue grinned, and actually blushed. “How can you love me so much? I’m not even your species. Oh, I forgot. What was it I heard one woman say about you? Oh, yes. ‘Misty Foxsworth, the only Elf on Dargoth to have bedded every race of intelligent beings on Dargoth.’” “I am a free being of this world; I love as I see fit.” “Yes, well, I’m back. The first thing I plan on doing is burning your list of conquests. That should keep us warm through a few winters.” “I have no conquests, only friends. Conquests eventually get together and lynch you by the bits that got you into trouble.” Blue laughed, then kissed Misty again. “Would you believe I am too hungry to have you once more?” “I would, actually. I’m rather hungry myself. Should be about dinner time. Let us wash and dress, then go down to the dining hall. I can think of a few people who are going to be very glad to see you.” *** Blackbird had also decided to eat before he went to bed. The Moonhound looked surprised as she saw him come into the Hall, but as she had no idea where he had been all day, she did not question him. She smiled at him warmly as he seated himself in his usual place, while Arrowsmith went to sit next to Infamous. He and the rest of the Court were just starting to eat when Misty sauntered into the room, grinning. “Well, Master Foxsworth,” said Monshikka. “Care to inform us as to what you are so happy about?” “Oh, well,” said Misty. “Ah, I...found something in the garden.” Arrowsmith smiled back at him, then asked; “Did you smoke it or drink it?” “I did neither, my good Seer, I invited it for dinner.” Misty pulled the door open, and Blue stepped into the room beside him. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and said quietly, “Hello.” Arrowsmith felt his fork slip from his fingers, and heard the Moonhound gasp audibly. Monshikka pushed his chair back and stared, open-mouthed. Blue glanced at Misty, then asked

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softly, “Have I come at a bad time?”

“Blue?” said Infamous.

The small man nodded, then smiled a little more broadly. “It’s me.”

Infamous seemed to be the first one to recover from the shock. He pushed his chair back and

walked quickly toward Blue. “Blue, by all Creation, where have you been?!”

“Oh. Around. I’ve…been traveling.”

Infamous hugged him tightly. “We’ve missed you.”

“Missed you, too. I missed all of you.” He turned to look at Arrowsmith, who had just crossed

the room to greet him. “Were you always this big?”

“Yes,” said Arrowsmith. “C’mere.”

He carefully hugged the much smaller man, recalling how nervous Blue always seemed to be

around him. Arrowsmith released Blue, then stood back, watching him be greeted by the rest of the Court. He slid an arm around Infamous, then lowered his head and said softly into his ear, “Okay, he’s not human, he’s not an Elf, and he is definitely not a Dwarf. What is he?” “No idea,” said Infamous. *** They gathered in one of Blackbird’s private rooms after supper, together for the first time in over seven hundred years. Blue sat on the floor, Misty close beside him as the Bard played nervously with his gloves. He was silent for a long time, considering what he had to say. At last, he looked up at his friends. “I owe you all an explanation, for so many things. My departure was for selfish reasons. I knew it at the time, though I did not care, or rather, I thought I did not. I was angry.”

“You certainly were,” said the Moonhound. “I can’t believe how much you have softened.”

Blue smiled slightly. “I have traveled a lot, and learned. I’ve learned so many things, but the first

thing I needed to be taught was that the injustices done to me did not grant me the right to treat all as badly as I had been. I suppose now is the time to tell you all of myself. I am…not…what I appear to be.” Blue fell silent, looking uncertain and nervous. Misty put an arm around him. “Do you want me to start?” he asked gently. Blue nodded, leaning against him. Misty turned his gaze to his friends. “I began my first life, before the Court, in the town of Twin Lakes. I’m not sure what my father

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did to make his money, but we were wealthy. Stupidly wealthy. Nobody should have the sort of money we did; it was such that it could only breed vice. And we had vices, I tell you. I was the eldest of three brothers. When my father died, we divided his fortune equally, surprisingly enough, and settled down to a life of drunken idleness. I got married to a woman as idle and vice-ridden as myself, and we looked forward to a long life of tormenting the peasantry. Except…I changed. "Not quickly, I admit. People do not wake up from the sort of nightmare I was born into quickly. But somewhere…I lost my stomach for it. I admit, I would rather eat fine food than slop, and sleep in a nice bed than a straw pallet. But I didn’t like doing it when so many others were grateful for a scrap of wood to hold over their heads to keep off the rain. Twin Lakes was that sort of place then: wealth and poverty, the town literally divided in half. I began buying land and putting up little houses, bragging to my friends about the gold I was wringing from the poor beggars who lived there. But the truth is, I never charged so much as a penny for rent. I just could not stomach watching people freeze in the winter streets anymore. “Well, one day, my wife found out one of her friends had a personal slave. Of course, that meant she had to have a slave. Slaves were sold frequently then, in the Market Square. So she and I went there, and began looking around. We had just arrived when I saw a merchant who dealt with ‘unique items’ drive up, a long caravan of oddities behind him. Dragon eggs, tame baby Dragonhawks, Palaklais eagles, all manner of things. And in one of the wagons,” Misty put an arm around Blue, “was this very small man with long white hair, and eyes the color of blue diamonds.” “You found Blue at the local flea market?” said Arrowsmith. “Wait, you said this guy was selling oddities.” “Oh, he was,” said Misty. “He was, indeed. Rare creatures, some so rare they were rumored to be nothing more than legend. Where he got them, I have no clue.” “The Gnome Swamp,” said Blue. “Really?” said Misty. “Ech, no wonder nobody goes looking for them.” “Get on with the story,” said Arrowsmith. Misty smiled. “I knew what Blue was the moment I laid eyes on him. And I could not risk leaving him there a moment longer. While my wife looked at the other creatures the merchant had, I signed over the deed to my house and the land it sat on, leaving myself only some small properties and a rather successful tavern. More than enough to live on, but at the time, it seemed I had just rendered myself destitute. My wife left me on the spot, my so-called friends abandoned me, my brothers never spoke to me again. But I didn’t care. I wonder now whether I was just looking for an excuse to get away from them.” “Sounds likely,” said Monshikka. “So, of course, now we have to ask…”

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Misty looked toward Blue, who was just staring down at his gloves. He then looked to Monshikka. “Have you ever heard of a Guedelph?” “Yes,” said Monshikka. “Supposedly, it is one of the first creatures dreamed into existence by the Creator at the beginning of time, a type of small unicorn…” His voice trailed off. Arrowsmith took up his sentence. “…said to be able to shape-shift into other forms. And a person who takes a Guedelph at a young age can use the power of his own thoughts to force the Guedelph to assume a chosen form. Oh, hell, Blue, no wonder you were pissed at the world!” Blue raised his head and looked at Arrowsmith. “I was taken from everything I knew by a spoiled, wealthy brat of a princess. Her armed men came for me, and killed several of my family who were trying to protect me. I was brought to her but a few days old, and she began forcing me into a shape, into what she believed was her perfect man. A living, breathing toy. Within a year, I was as you see me now. Within two years, she was married, and her new husband did not want me about. It was truly a disgusting scene, me being loaded into a wagon like a cow and she throwing a temper tantrum on the ground. I just wanted to go back to the swamp and search for what remained of the group I had lived with, but I was too valuable to simply release. A brothel in Twin Lakes offered a huge sum of money for me. Misty happened to offer more. What Misty does not mention is he ended up giving what holdings he had left to the brothel in compensation. At the end of the day, he had one asset. Me.” “Oops,” said the Moonhound. Misty laughed. “Well, I still don’t think we did that badly. I had enough in the way of gold and jewelry on me that I bought a little cottage just outside of the town. Blue, fortunately, could play the mandolin, and I could sing, so we weren’t starving. I managed to get apprenticed to an assassin of Drakkaus, and life went on. Only thing I really missed were the cream cakes my chef used to make.” He looked at Blackbird. “Then I met you. And I became the second person to completely destroy Blue’s life.” “You did?” asked Blackbird. “How so?” “Do you recall that night in the castle at Palaklais when you told us that we were all going to bind to this world magically, that we were all going to return time and again, to live together, keep the magic alive, and protect this world?” “Yes, I do. Rather well, I’m pleased to admit.” “Do you recall asking Blue if he wanted to do this, or did you just take my word for it that he would be delighted?” “Oops again,” said the Moonhound. “And thus begins the story of the little guy amongst us with the really bad attitude,” said Arrowsmith. “Blue, I am so sorry.”

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Blackbird sat down before Blue, and said softly, “As am I.” Blue smiled and shrugged slightly. “I thought I was facing an eternity of slavery, forced to belong to a man I wrongfully believed would turn on me the moment the novelty of owning a creature such as myself wore off. Then I would be sold again. With my life essence given over to a mage I did not believe in, I saw my life as a black road of damnation. Finally, I just left. I went back to the swamp first, but there were none there who knew me. Alone, angry, depressed, I did not know what to do. So, I wandered. I traveled far and wide, singing and playing for my keep. Most did not know what I was, so I lived peacefully. "However, there were a few, like Misty, who knew I was a Guedelph. I have been bought and sold a few times, but managed to escape one way or another. I learned much, and saw much cruelty. But I also saw change, and kindness. At last, I knew that, although Misty had perhaps acted thoughtlessly, he had not acted out of cruelty. And I learned that, by being a creature of magic, I could use my position in the Court to do good. I vowed to return freely, not to come back as a slave full of anger, but as a free being of Magic. Then I learned of what was occurring here, of the attack by Kirianna on Monshikka, and of Takeshta plotting in her castle, and I knew I had to return quickly.” He smiled, a glint in his clear eyes. “I learned something else.” “What?” asked the Moonhound. Blue’s smile turned into a grin, and he whispered, “I think I found the Crystal Mages.” There was a gasp from all assembled, even Misty, who had not yet heard that bit of news. “What? Where?” said Blackbird. “No, don’t tell, say nothing. We will discuss this tomorrow at a safer location. Blue, I…” he laughed, exhaustion and relief bringing tears to his eyes. “Blue, you have saved us all a lot of effort. You may even have just saved us all.” Blue smiled slightly, then said in a soft voice, “Just returning the favor.” *** It was nearly midnight when the nine members of the Court finally went their separate ways. Arrowsmith took Infamous and Monshikka outside to meet Silver, Smash, and his parents, while the Moonhound carried Blackbird to bed. The little mage was so exhausted, he was nearly ill, and it was an hour before he calmed enough from the stress of the evening to actually fall asleep. After Blackbird was settled, she seated herself in a chair by the fire to read in peace and relax. She had been there but a brief time before she heard a light tap at the door. “Come in,” she said. The Moonhound looked up as she heard the door to the study open, and she watched as Blue stepped into the room. She smiled at his quiet nature. Knowing what he was now showed him in a different light, and she wondered how she had never noticed that he was a creature of magic.

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Nothing less than a unicorn, even if one forced into an unnatural form. It was an honor to be in his presence. He closed the door, then looked at her with diamond eyes. “Moonhound? May I speak with you?” “Certainly. Come sit down.” He crossed the room and seated himself in a chair before her, shoving his hands between his knees. He lowered his head, his heavy white hair falling into his face. The Moonhound sensed he had something important to say. She reached out to push his hair out of his face, smiling at the clear eyes that peered at her from over the rims of his glasses. “I have something to tell Misty. He’s presently down in the kitchen in quest of muffins, so I came in here to speak with you.” “Tell him what? That you are a unicorn?” She smiled, but could tell he was not in a mood for humor. She stroked his hair. “What, Blue?” He lowered his eyes again. “I have told him a lot. I have not told him everything.” “So, what does he know?” “He knows I’m a unicorn. He even knows…I’m a female unicorn.” The Moonhound sat back. “Female.” “Yes, female. This body is a forced illusion, a costume I cannot remove. Believe me, I have tried.” She grinned. “So that’s the missing piece of the puzzle. I always wondered why Misty was with you, when he’s always insisted he prefers women. So, he has decided that, since your outer form does not match your inner self, then it does not matter if you look like a man.” “Something like that,” said Blue. “However, he seems to have completely glossed over the fact that I am also not human.” He smiled, then muttered to himself, “Every species of intelligent life on Dargoth.” “Beg your pardon?” “Nothing. Back to my tale. Most of my roaming was traveling one end of Dargoth to the other, trying to find a way to escape this body. I never did. Sometimes, I would run into another like myself, and we would journey together. But we never found any answers. Finally, I made my way back to this area. I kept an eye on Misty and the rest of you, from a distance, trying to make up my mind as to whether I should come back. Then, when I heard of what was occurring with Berengar, I knew that it was time to come home. So I began making my way here to the Palace.

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Then, about three weeks ago, I got sidetracked.” “Sidetracked?” Blue nodded, not looking at her. “I met…another. A Guedelph in human form. I thought he was like me, that he had been forced into mortal form. But he was not. It was simply the secondary form he chose, that he could shift into and would use to go traveling. And, unlike me, he really was male. We both knew what the other was. He asked me to go for a walk. I agreed.” Blue smiled. “I really don’t know what came over me. As I said, I’m no more male than I am mortal. I’m a unicorn mare. Maybe I was in heat, I do not know. I do know we spent a great deal of time making love in a meadow.” He pushed his long hair back and looked into the Moonhound’s eyes. “I have made love before. I know what it feels like to have a male inside me. This was different. He…didn’t just penetrate me, he penetrated the illusion. For the first time, I actually had someone in me. It must be because he was also a unicorn; that is the only thing I can think of. I almost…stayed with him. But…later, we were talking. He asked me why I chose to mate in this particular form. I said I did not choose to mate in this form; I could not get out of it.” Blue’s eyes became wet, and his voice became rough. “He called me a freak. He turned into his unicorn form and tried to kill me. Pounded on me with his hooves until I couldn’t breathe, and my ribs were broken. Then he stabbed me with his horn, and left me bleeding in the meadow.” The Moonhound was horrified. She reached out and took his hand. “Blue, I’m so sorry! Why would he do such a thing?” “Other Guedelph fear ones like myself. It’s not our fault, but if left around youngsters, we can accidentally corrupt them, force them into other forms before they have a chance to master their shape-shifting skills—or so they say. Condemn them to a life of being neither one nor the other. Some Guedelph simply run us off. Some try to kill us. I think…he was disgusted that he had lain with me. He became very violent. It was the work of the Creator that a priestess of the Moon Goddess came by. Without her, I would have died. She cared for me, then we went our separate ways. And I knew that I had to come here. Home to the only people who had ever shown me true kindness.” The Moonhound pulled him close, holding him tightly, her heart breaking at the thought of what Blue had been going through. She stroked his hair. “Oh, Blue, I am so sorry.” He moved onto the chair with her, putting his head on her shoulder. She sighed, then said quietly, “So you’re pregnant.” “Yes. The priestess told me I was.” “Then you can’t come to the Palaklais with us.” “No, I have to go!” Blue sat up and looked at her. “I have eleven months and one week to learn how to shape-shift, otherwise I am going to have to figure out how to birth a foal using the body

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of a human male. That is not an experience I am looking forward to.”

“I can see your point,” she said. “Can Blackbird help?”

He shook his head. “No. As powerful as he is, his magic cannot affect me or any other Guedelph.

I am hoping the Dream-Magic of the Mountains can help me. I have wanted to go to there many times, but you know how dangerous those Mountains are. I did not dare. If we all go, maybe we not only can find the Crystal Mages, but I can learn to change as well.” She nodded. “All right. It’s as we have been saying, ‘We all go or none of us go.’” She held him tightly, then kissed his brow. “So does Misty know you are pregnant?”

Blue raised his head and looked at the Moonhound. “I was hoping you would hold my hand

while I went to tell him.”

She laughed quietly. “You don’t think he will be angry, do you?”

“No. But I am a little nervous about telling him he’s going to be the step-father of a small blue

pony with a horn.”

“You could really mess with his mind and tell him it’s his.”

“We could mess with everyone’s mind and tell them it’s yours.”

She laughed. “Come along, Blue. Let us go talk to your husband.”

Blue nodded, then rose to his feet. His arm linked through the Moonhound’s, the pair left the

chamber.

*** Misty was in his room and frantic at Blue’s absence. He sagged with relief at the sight of him. “Blue! I was beginning to think you had changed your mind and left!” He gave the Moonhound a puzzled look as he saw her enter the room behind Blue. “Oh! Hello. What are you doing here?” Blue smiled nervously. “I asked her to come…hold my hand, as it were. I have something to tell you.” Now it was Misty’s turn to look nervous. Blue and the Moonhound watched as he looked from one to the other as the wheels in his mind worked. Then Misty looked square at Blue.

“You’re pregnant,” he said.

“How did you know that?” the Moonhound asked.

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“Why else would he go for you? You’re a priestess of a warrior fertility goddess; I didn’t think this was about warfare. Blue…you’re really..? How? Okay, I know how but…” “Another unicorn,” said Blue. Misty threw his arms around Blue and held him tightly, saying nothing. Quietly, the Moonhound left.

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