Umber

For the first time in seventeen years, the Blasingdell children take time to rest.

Outside of Blasingdell one early morning, an older man and an adolescent boy traveled with a well-worn wagon and a well-kept horse, just another trader and his assistant on their way to ply their wares. “Stop looking as if your eyes are going to pop out of your sockets,” the man scolded. “It makes you conspicuous.”

“But sir,” the boy protested. “That eagle that’s tailing us. I’ve never seen one even half so big – a quarter, even.”

“You’re just a merchant’s boy. You shouldn’t even notice the eagle’s there.”

“But how could anyone not notice – ”

“And if it smells your fear,” the man interrupted with a grim expression, “it will snatch you up in its claws and carry you away. And I may or may not be able to stop it. If, that is,” he added with the smallest hint of mirth, “it weren’t a celestial, who isn’t prone to such behavior. Unless you’ve been disobeying my orders again. They don’t like that.”

“A celestial?” the adolescent breathed.

“Why do you think it’s so large?” He took a moment to explain the characteristics distinguishing the usual sort of eagle from its celestial variant, adding a minor dissertation on familiars as an aside, then said, “This changes our plans a bit.”

The lad looked puzzled for a moment, then whispered, “They’re here, aren’t they? That’s his eagle.”

“Celestials aren’t in the habit of belonging to anyone,” the trader said calmly. “As for who is or isn’t here, that is officially none of your business, and you aren’t to discuss it with anyone. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When we arrive, I want you to ask Haissha whether our business will keep until tomorrow.”

“And report back to you?” He failed miserably at an attempt to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He’d caught a glimpse of Dryden, Vayel and Ammitai a few weeks earlier before he was sent out to scrub the stables, and was hoping for a look at the rest of the man’s extraordinary friends.

“And tell her to find me if she wants me,” he corrected him sternly. “Then I want you to go to Stephan and tell him I said to make you useful for the day.”

The boy’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, but he dutifully obeyed the man’s instructions. The trader went in search of the individuals known as the Storm Riders and spent the day, unusually for all of them, doing nothing in particular. Brin was absent, at the manor they said, although none of them were sure what she was doing there. When ten o’clock in the evening came and went and there was still no sign of her, he sought her out. Lord Berrick invited him in, responding to his query with a bemused smile. “She’s in the music room – still.”

He paused outside the door, listening to the sounds of a piano within. It was a simple air, played with reasonable competence, and he wondered who was with her. He knocked twice, and when there was no answer entered quietly. Willie perched atop the instrument, the only creature in the room save Brin herself, who sat with her back to the door picking her way through a piece with near-total absorption. The weasel’s tiny round ears swiveled forward, and she stopped playing and turned in her seat. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of her visitor, and she hastily tucked her right arm out of sight. “Hadrack!” she exclaimed. “No one told me you were here.” She looked a little sheepish. “Although I think Lord Berrick tried once or twice.”

He leaned forward, trying to see around to her right side. “I didn’t realize you were so fond of the piano. I didn’t even know you played.”

“I – well – uh – don’t – didn’t -” Willie chittered something to her. When she frowned but showed no signs of translating, Hadrack cast a spell. Willie repeated himself.

“I agree,” he said. “I’d like to see it.”

“That’s cheating,” she said, glaring resentfully at both of them, but she rose and held out her new right hand to the ranger.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said. “I was afraid you might be contemplating some kind of undead graft.”

She sighed in exasperation. “What is with the undead grafts? Corwin thought the same thing. He even asked me to promise I wouldn’t. Not that it was much of a promise – I’d never seriously considered it.” At his faint smile, she waved the hand in the air. It moved as fluidly as her real hand. “This was not about power.” She grinned ruefully. “It was about ego. Anyone with enough money and the inclination can have an undead graft. This is unique.”

He turned the prosthetic over in his hands. Rather than being formed from any kind of flesh, dead or undead, it was fashioned from very finely worked metal. “The craftsmanship looks familiar somehow,” he mused. Then he looked up in recognition. “Glom made this for you.” She nodded. “I’m a little surprised that he – ” he trailed off.

“He didn’t,” she said firmly. “I can – don’t ask me why – play a little music.”

“He was never good at that,” he mused. “Perhaps that’s why.”

“But as for the rest – I spent days of my training learning how to attack and cast with my left hand. This one won’t do it. Most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

She looked out the window, noticing for the first time that it was quite dark. “It must be late,” she said. “Lord Berrick and Haissha probably want me out of here. Shall we take a walk?”

“So what did you mean, ‘most of the time?’” he asked when they were outside.

“At the final fitting, something unexpected happened. The hand vanished for a moment. It returned almost immediately, but in the interval Dryden saw something – the image of a ghostly paw.”

“Svengali,” Hadrack murmured. “What was his contribution?”

She concentrated for a moment, and the hand lost its solidity, becoming almost spectral. “I can’t do it for very long, but long enough to give some shadow or wraith a nasty surprise.”

“But I thought Glom – ”

“Perhaps he doesn’t care,” she said. “In any case, in a test of wills between those two, who do you think would win?”

“Svengali override?” he asked thoughtfully. They walked on in silence for a while, then Hadrack remarked, “I think you’re more relaxed than I’ve ever seen you.”

“A month off hasn’t hurt. There are piles of things we should be doing, of course, but we’ve been training, and Dinadel has been upgrading our weapons and armor, and – ”

“You don’t need to justify anything to me. If anyone deserves a break, it’s you. You’ve all been at this for almost two decades. And half of you were barely born two decades ago.”

“I wouldn’t have traded it, though,” she said. “Not any of it.” She looked up at the sliver of a moon in the sky.

“A pretty night.”

“Yes. Although with Vayel and Corwin around, I don’t think I’ll ever look at it the same way again. I never used to know the moon’s phases. Now it’s a new religion.”

“More so for them?”

“They’re learning to control their more – instinctual – impulses,” she laughed. “And growing comfortable with their new natures. Shadows almost cling to Vayel as she walks.”

“And Corwin?”

She returned her attention to the sky. “You should see the moon in Fanjyr. It just seems – closer – somehow.”

“How is Xaod?” he asked, moving away from what seemed to be uncomfortable ground.

She looked thoughtful. “I think he’s going to be all right. He was meditating with Dryden.” Hadrack glanced at her in surprise. “Achomed came through while we were gone. He must have seen something worthwhile in Xaod.” A fond light came to her eyes. “If anyone could show him the path of discipline, it would be Achomed. In that regrettably weak new body of his, the mental strength of the kensai is a good fit – as well as being good for him in other ways. It helps that he feels a sense of purpose – the protection of Fanjyr and, by extension, Tikka Ti’Jarra and the aaracokra. They both see more than their usual share of travelers now, of course.”

“Of course?” he asked, puzzled.

“Didn’t anyone tell you about the pilgrimage?”

“What pilgrimage?”

“Oh, I guess they didn’t.” He waited. She stopped mid-stride, shuffling her feet. “Well, when Xaod thought we were dead – the shadow incursions had stopped, he said, so he knew that something had happened with Moloch but then we didn’t come back and – ”

“What pilgrimage?” he asked, more warily this time.

“He started telling visitors to Fanjyr what we’d tried to accomplish. Because he was worried, I think, more than anything else. Xaod never was good at suffering alone. And he talked about the Alpha, and the Omega, and – well, word got around. So now for a lot of people the pilgrimage starts in Khundrakar – except they can’t find it, of course, so they chase Scald for a little while then go to Blasingdell to see the Tree. Then to Greyhawk, where the Alpha was – uh – you know. And it follows our route – a route – to Fanjyr and for a very few on to Tikka Ti’Jarra…” He held a hand to his forehead. “You go by an alias anyway,” she said defensively. “What do you care? Anyway, it’s not like we started it.” She sighed. “Although some of us mind the notoriety less than others.”

After a moment’s pained reflection, he laughed weakly. “Why not? You did accomplish something remarkable. Just don’t let it go to your heads,” he added in a scolding tone.

“Oh, we all have someone to keep us in line, I think. I heard you had Dryden doing dishes when he, Vayel and Ammitai came to the Three Feathers to see you.”

“It’s the next step up the duty ladder from the stables,” he replied with a studied blankness. “One of these years, he might work his way to cooking a meal.”

She shook her head. “I don’t really understand. It seems very confusing. Sometimes there is this rigidly enforced hierarchy, but on the other hand there are those odd titles. Promoted to just Griffon and Lammasu? Then there was that dwarf dragging them down into the bowels of Spinecastle to complain about the Dispatch monument – listing them among the honored dead – the actual dead this time – when they turned out not to be dead at all. He looked ready to kill them himself rather than deface the stone. But then the monument itself is in a place virtually no one can see?”

He patted her on the shoulder. “That, my dear Jasian, is why you are a Knight of Dunthrane rather than the Dispatch.”

She was clearly dissatisfied with his reply, but distracted by his reference to Dunthrane. “Still under Clement’s command,” she murmured.

“You had doubts?” he asked in surprise.

“He does have Hextorian lieutenants,” she shrugged. “Heck, he has an arrangement with the assassins’ guild in Rastor.”

“So you’ve heard about that. Have you been there recently?” She nodded, with some reluctance. “I’ve seen strange reports about the town.” He looked at her expectantly.

“Anyway,” she went on, “I suppose I wondered what would happen when Heironeous returned. But it turned out all right. Did you hear about it?”

“Any number of times,” he laughed wryly. “It caused quite a stir. But about Rastor – ”

“What did you hear?” she interrupted. “People at Spinecastle were either not forthcoming, or not particularly clear.”

He let her redirect the conversation, for the moment. “Clement was apparently in his study. Heironeous appeared with a pair of scales. There was some weight on either side,” he said tactfully, “but the balance tipped in the king’s favor.”

“They’re not always entirely complementary duties, being a paladin and a king,” she observed.

“No. The one is by nature unyielding, the other – unless one wishes to preside over a reign of terror – defined by restraint and compromise. Serving Heironeous’ aims and safeguarding the welfare of a diverse people – well, I’m glad I don’t have those responsibilities in tandem.”

“I don’t really understand that, either,” she mused. “Why he chose to expose the king’s judgment to the entire castle the way he did – rendering all of the walls transparent.”

“It was important for the people to see Clement’s course through the years of darkness vindicated by his god.”

“I can appreciate that, but he could have assembled everyone in the courtyard.”

A Heironian himself, the ranger thought he understood the intent well enough. “The manner of the king’s re-knighting was as important as the act,” he explained. “People saw everything, but heard nothing. It served, I think, as a reminder to us all that many things are private, but nothing is secret.”

“That’s precisely the opposite of our way,” the Jasian said, “but I see what you mean.”

They had been ambling at a slow pace, and were just now nearing the center of town. The Tree stood before them, gathering in moonlight and starlight, reflecting a soft, luminous silver. Brin looked at it with distaste. “You still haven’t made your peace with it?” Hadrack asked. “Even now that it has taken on a benign aspect?”

“Benign?” she snapped. “Bahamut forever trying to steal people away – ”

He bent down and casually picked up a fallen leaf. “Is that why you keep changing the subject any time anything related to Corwin comes up?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sat down, back against the trunk, and patted the ground next to him. “Come on,” he cajoled. “Time for you to stop thinking that this tree – or Bahamut, for that matter, saps you or anyone else of their will.”

“I never said – ”

His face had a certain knowing cast, and she sighed and sat down beside him, although she was unnaturally stiff. “Now,” he said, “tell me about Rastor.”

She poked rather viciously at the leaves on the ground. “Corwin wanted to go alone. I didn’t precisely want to insist on tagging along – it’s his private business, after all – but given what we’d heard from the king…”

“And what did you see?”

“Rastor has gone from a grimy rathole to a pristine village. The residents live in near-perfect harmony. No one locks their doors, not even at the inn. It was a little disconcerting – not because I disliked it, far from it, but because it never happens. Not anywhere that I’ve ever seen.”

The ranger looked concerned. “Enchantment? Compulsion? Domination?”

“None of the above,” she replied, adding at his skeptical look, “Corwin and I are both convinced of it. The people live there by choice, and value the life they have.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”

“You have to fit in, or you don’t live there. And you can take that more than one way, I think.” He frowned. “They’re very open about the rules – there are no surprises. I don’t think we’d stay at the inn, for example – we keep odd hours, and there’s a strictly enforced curfew. Likewise, if you want to become a permanent resident, the tenets of the community are explained quite clearly. You must subscribe to them, or you’re free to leave right then. And if you stay and violate them, well…” she trailed off.

“How did you find this out?”

“From the head of the assassins’ guild. Like I said, they’re very open. They maintain order, locally, with a little help from what is known as the Assembly if something gets too out of hand.”

“And the connection between this Assembly and the nearby monastery – ?”

“Is quite intimate.”

“So you’re telling me that Rastor’s well-being is ultimately overseen by – ”

“The vampire Pendegast? I suppose so.” Hadrack looked revulsed. “I know how you feel about the undead, but he isn’t your run-of-the-mill vampire. All of those years cut off from the pith of his power taught him extraordinary discipline. Even led to a kind of enlightenment, I think. No, I’m serious,” she insisted over the ranger’s sardonic laugh. “He’s not interested in spending his – unlife – on the run, hidden and hunted. In fact, if we happen across any rogue vampires he’d like them brought to him, so he can see them properly destroyed.”

“And suppose he’s just biding his time?” Hadrack demanded. “Consolidating his power? Nursing his strength while we sit idly by, breeding disciples in that monastery of his? Have you thought of that?”

“Of course I’ve thought of that,” she said irritably. “But I for one am not willing to pick a quarrel with someone who seems content – for now – to mind his own business, just because of his – heritage. And they’re no friend to the Crater Ridge cultists, which in and of itself would be good enough for me.”

“The enemy of my enemy…” he murmured. After a long pause he said, “But we’ve strayed afield of what took Corwin to Rastor in the first place.”

Still clearly reluctant to speak, she nonetheless seemed resigned. “He’d had a message – years ago, now, but he still wanted to follow it up.”

“And was it still relevant?”

She nodded. “They offered him leadership of the guild. He turned it down.”

“And you’re upset with him over that?”

“I’m not – of course not. Corwin said, and rightly so, that the Rastor guild leader had to be in Rastor to function effectively. I wouldn’t have liked him to stay. We need him – there’s so much still left to do.”

“Then I don’t understand what the problem – ”

“We should never have gone to Khundrakar!” she burst out, staring at her mechanical hand with something like loathing. “We were in the forest, and Scald appeared. I thought he was going to show us the way to – but instead he – ” she glared at Hadrack, as if the transpired events were somehow his fault. “He took us to a pool. He parted the water with his horn, and it revealed another body of water, the color of wine, under a starry sky, and nearby the slopes of a mountain – ”

“Celestia,” he murmured.

“Scald told Corwin that Bahamut was waiting for him, that he had made a powerful enemy in Tiamat and could use an equally powerful friend.”

Hadrack looked taken aback. “And he stepped through?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t understand – ”

“But he was thinking about it!” she exclaimed. “I could tell he was thinking about it. Scald closed the gate, but said it would be waiting for him if he changed his mind. Later Corwin told me that he thought he’d have to give up too much – but he didn’t just reject it out of hand.”

“But Brin,” he protested quietly, “perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad – ”

In a fit of pique, she snatched up a handful of gold and silver leaves and threw them at him. “You – you – people,” she spat. “You’re always hovering – lurking – trying to entice us into abandoning our principles. You’re no better than – than – a demon.”

He carefully brushed the leaves from his cloak. “I had a chance to spend some time with Corwin today,” he said calmly. “You’re the one who told me to view him with clear sight. Would you like to know what I saw?” She still looked sullen, but nodded. “He believes that Torment conceals what he is from the world. But I wonder whether – like your lenses, his old ring, and Dryden’s bow – whether Torment isn’t another device that veils from him the truth of what he already is, until such time as he’s willing to accept it. I’m not saying,” he added hurriedly at her horrified gaze, “that he’s leaping into the portal to Celestia even as we speak, or that he ever will. But you’ve seen the face of true evil. Do you find it a mask that fits Corwin well?”

She stared down at her feet, confused, unhappy, and pouting a little. “We don’t need two paladins,” she grumbled.

“Now I think that’s a little melodramatic, don’t you?” He risked teasing her gently. “Besides, I hear you’re the one responsible for the pegasus in the stable. They do come from Valarian, you know, who lives on Celes- ”

“I know, I know,” she cut him off. “But I would have summoned a winged mount from the Nine Hells, if there were any to be had.”

“On alternating years?” Willie’s fur bristled and he chattered something at Hadrack in his animal tongue that Brin didn’t understand; but the ranger did, and he looked momentarily chastened. “Of course not,” he murmured to Willie. He looked at Brin soberly. “You know I’d never belittle your concerns.”

A little embarrassed, she spoke a few reassuring words to the weasel. “Intellectually, yes,” she replied. “But that isn’t what Willie here responds to. Anyway,” she added, “Corwin is going to do what he’s going to do. Let’s just talk about something else.”

He nodded at her holy symbol, now plainly visible above her cloak. “That’s new. Does it have something to do with why you specifically traveled to the mausoleum in Greyhawk?”

“They’ve accepted me in training as an inquisitor,” she said, her eyes glowing with excitement. “I felt – well, my life is dedicated to truth now. Seeing through disguises, piercing illusions, penetrating the false faces people present to the world. How can I justify hiding what I am? There will be times, naturally, when discretion is necessary, but as a general matter of principle…”

“Do your parents know about your – career?”

“I had dinner with them last night, when we returned from Khundrakar. It’s the first they realized I was a Jasian, let alone an inquisitor.”

“How did that go?”

“All right, I guess. They wish I was a servant of Pelor, or another, cheerier deity. They wish I had Callie’s happy-go-lucky disposition, or Ammitai’s paladinly virtues. They wish a lot of things, none of which are likely to occur. The hand alarms them, the pegasus confuses them, the scars make them sad – ” She paused. “They’d probably be pleased that you were still my friend. Of course, they don’t know that you’re you, do they? To everyone except Lord Berrick and Haissha, and maybe Sister Alonsa, you’re Rolf the Innkeeper.”

“The Trader, around here.” He nudged her shoulder with his playfully. “I suppose I’m the sort of thing you’re being trained to ferret out and expose.”

“I guess I can let you keep your incognito,” she grinned. “As long as you don’t abuse it. In fact, should we be talking in the open like this?”

“If anyone asks,” he grimaced, “I’ll say I’m on the pilgrimage, and couldn’t resist the urge to speak with you.”

“Speaking of which, can you find your way to Khundrakar?” she asked. “Even Dryden and Corwin kept getting lost.” He smiled, but didn’t answer. “Nightwing finally showed up and directed us to the underwater tram. He’s very large, isn’t he?”

“And very bored, the last I talked to him.”

“Sounds like he still is. Although Vayel gave him a moment’s – I’m not sure that ‘amusement’ is exactly the right word. Actually, it’s rather complicated. You’ll have to bear with me.” She took a deep breath and began. “The first time we were in Fanjyr, we found a pair of rapiers, near the skeleton of a man who looked as if he’d been bricked up alive and left to die.” Hadrack’s mouth tightened in distaste. “Rather horrible, I know. Vayel has been carrying them. On our last visit to Fanjyr, we were poking around the impromptu crypt when some – I’m not sure what it was, maybe some kind of spectral essence, drifted into the swords.” Now the ranger began to look worried. “Wielded together, the blades do seem to have some dim empathic ability, but nothing more. Still, Corwin’s curiosity was piqued. While we were in Greyhawk, he tracked down a bard.”

He caught a glimpse of a passing discomfort on her face. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said with a shade too much innocence.

“Brin…”

“You’re not going to like it.”

He sighed. “Go on.”

“The bard wouldn’t tell us the story without one in trade. And Corwin, he – well, you remember I said some of us mind our notoriety less than others.”

“He didn’t – ”

“Connect us specifically with the tale? Of course not. But it was a very – colorful – telling.”

“An assassin bard,” Hadrack murmured. “Who could have predicted it?”

“I don’t think Corwin would find that amusing,” she remarked. “Anyway…the bard did know something about the blades. They were forged several centuries ago by a now-forgotten wizard of some repute for a now-forgotten noble who was also, at the time, of some repute as well. The rather foolish emissary from the wizard to the nobleman decided a pair of rapiers would look fine at his side and made off with them. He was hunted down, the weapons were taken away, and he was sealed alive into the tomb in which we found him.”

“But I thought you said you found the weapons – ”

“Curious little puzzle, isn’t it? We haven’t figured that one out. The other interesting bit of information was that the weapons required a final quenching to complete them – and this brings us back around to Nightwing – one bathed in the breath of an ancient red dragon, the other in the breath of an ancient white.”

“Vayel didn’t ask a bronze dragon if he had any chromatic acquaintances, did she?” he groaned.

“What can I say? Draconic lore isn’t her cup of tea. Fortunately Nightwing wasn’t too offended. But she is very keen to complete the blades. And not the sort to be deterred by the possibility that she won’t survive the process.”

“She never wanted for courage.”

“I wonder what she’d think of the result,” Brin mused.

“What do you mean?” Now it was the ranger’s turn to appear unnaturally innocent.

The cleric frowned. “A completed empathic weapon might not result in an intelligent weapon. But I wouldn’t take any bets.”

“Not a fan of the breed?”

“Jasians aren’t in the habit of wielding weapons with stronger wills than they have,” she replied coolly.

“I’ve never owned one. Certainly some individuals – if their goals and the weapon’s are allied – get along in perfect harmony. Others enjoy the challenge of possessing such an item, and – ”

“And others are warped to its desires.”

“True enough,” he conceded. His thoughts drifted to Serge, Magnus and Psydney, then to the years so recently passed. With an effort he pushed his dark memories away and said, “How was Greyhawk?”

“Swarming with wizards and sorcerers rebuilding: disintegrating the rubble, raising new walls, all by magic. The reconstruction is proceeding at a remarkable pace; the city is awash in glowing lines marking the boundaries of new buildings.”

“Old buildings!” Willie piped up. “Putting it back exactly as it was before.”

She regarded the weasel thoughtfully. “You have been there before, haven’t you?”

He nodded gravely. “Many times. And you have not.”

“No, I was still a toddler when it was – ” she trailed off, and the three sat in silence for some time.

“How is the commerce?” Hadrack finally asked.

“Not as robust as the construction. Corwin and Callie did some trading with the Rhennee. I couldn’t stand to occupy the same patch of ground with them – not even if one of us was above and the other six feet down. I went back to the mausoleum.”

“Tell him about the phantabulary,” Willie said.

Brin wrinkled her nose. “You tell him about the phantabulary. I’m not all that fond of the creature.”

“Creature?” the ranger repeated.

“A new magic shop in Greyhawk,” the weasel said.

“That’s not a magic shop,” Brin sniffed.

“What about the glasses that turned the wearer into an ogre?” he reminded her.

“And everyone else in sight,” she retorted. “The ‘proprietor’ almost fainted when we walked in the door. He forgot he’d put them on.”

“It was funny,” he insisted.

“It was silly.”

“It was funny.” Willie looked over at Hadrack. “It was Meepo.”

The ranger smiled. “Meepo has a magic shop in Greyhawk?”

“It is not a magic shop,” she reiterated.

“He sells staffs,” the weasel said in contradiction.

“Staves,” Hadrack corrected him reflexively.

“It was rubber!” Brin complained. “Do not,” she went on as Willie’s ears pricked up, “start talking about his custom spell.”

“What custom spell?” Hadrack asked. Willie looked inordinately pleased with himself.

The cleric sighed. “It’s supposed to be a sophisticated mimicry of any simpler spell you like.”

“For foiling spellcraft,” he nodded. “Sounds promising. What does it do instead?”

“Nothing!” she fumed. “It doesn’t do anything at all.”

“He hasn’t quite worked that out yet,” Willie said sympathetically. “He will.”

Sensing a little friction between the two, the ranger asked, “What is he doing there?”

“Besides magically compelling the locals and unfortunate passersby to dance as often as he can manage it?” she sniffed. Seeing Hadrack hiding a smile behind his hand she said, “I don’t see why it’s funny.”

“People don’t really mind,” Willie chided her. “You could see they didn’t.”

“Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “But if he had tried that on me…”

“He wouldn’t have, would he?” the weasel said, chittering as an aside to Hadrack, “Too stiff to dance, anyway.”

Hadrack shook a finger at him. “Be nice,” he replied in weaseltongue. “Sometimes I’m sure she doesn’t find you easy to live with either.” To Brin he added, “Did he and Tenser have another falling out?”

“He said something about breaking an orb. It sounded like Tenser had it well tucked away from harm. And Meepo, as usual, took that as an invitation. The way he told the story, he disarrayed nearly half the castle in the process of failing to obtain it.” She shook her head. “I have no idea how they managed together as long as they did.”

“And even so, someday Meepo will probably go back,” Hadrack said. “They’re two cantankerous old men with a love-hate relationship. And Meepo does have a certain undeniable charm.”

At her disdainful look, Willie announced unhelpfully, “You feel it too.” Then, sensing that he was trying her patience a little, he jumped over to Hadrack’s far shoulder, repeatedly peeking out at her and then hiding when she looked at him until at last she gave up and laughed.

“How is he set for customers?” Hadrack asked.

“I’m not sure. Greyhawk certainly isn’t fully repopulated.”

“What about the drow?” Willie asked. Seeing her grow suddenly tense, he hopped back to her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s not your fault.”

“Is Illune in Greyhawk?” Hadrack asked.

She rose abruptly. “I’m tired of sitting.” It didn’t escape his notice that she stayed to the shadows as they resumed walking, and kept her face turned away from him as much as possible. “Yes, she’s in Greyhawk,” she finally said. “With what’s left of her followers.”

“They encountered hostility in their wanderings?”

“They encountered Illune,” she said bitterly.

“It is – their way,” he said gently. “They are raised in treachery, and it would take a phenomenal act of will to overcome such an upbringing.”

“You don’t – you don’t understand. She didn’t just kill them. She has a staff,” she said in a low voice.

He stared at her with dawning horror. “She didn’t – ”

“She bound their souls within it. She uses them to – to fuel – oh, hell. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You could have broken the staff,” he said in a chill tone.

“If she were capturing souls other than her own followers, I surely would have. But it’s her only means of – ” She stared up at the sky, clenching her fists in helpless anger. “Why didn’t she listen to me? Why didn’t she turn to Cuthbert? She has no idea what she’s done.”

“What has she done?” he pressed.

Brin laughed a mirthless laugh. “She has become a priestess – of Wee Jas.”

He looked astonished. “Has she changed so much?”

“She has barely changed at all. And the Lady has granted her very little power. The clerics and mages in the mausoleum treat her as a kind of pet cat – and she and her little band do keep the nasty Underdark vermin at bay. As for the Lady – it must, somehow, amuse her. Illune uses the souls within the staff – as fuel for healing – she can’t do it any other way.” She bowed her head. “I offered her atonement, but she said her followers would kill her on the spot if she accepted. She won’t change, she won’t leave, she won’t abandon this foolish worship of a deity whom she can’t possibly serve as she should. I couldn’t punish her as a heretic, because she has never been in a true position of grace to begin with. I couldn’t even bring myself to punish her abuse of the Alpha. I kept wondering, what would I have been like – alone, friendless, understanding only pain? What would I have become if I hadn’t known you? She tried to reach out to me. Perhaps I was the one who failed, not her.”

The look of irritation on Hadrack’s face softened to sympathy. “People have to be receptive to what you are saying to them,” he reminded her. “Her subsequent actions suggest that she was not.”

“Corwin seemed to think it was an impossible situation. He shrugged and tried to hurry us on our way. Callie lingered, desperately wanting to do something to help. I suppose I did too. Several of them were disfigured from their long exposure to the sun, and I healed that. But I am bound by the laws of my faith, and even by the Alpha. There is only so far I can bend.” She sighed dispiritedly. “You tried to tell me.”

He squeezed her hand. “I would have been pleased if it had turned out differently. And perhaps it may yet.”

“Perhaps. As we were leaving, Callie found the emblem of an evil deity abandoned in the trash. It’s not much, but it’s something.” They walked on in silence for a while, then Brin said a little regretfully, “I should tend to my devotions soon.”

“You’re all leaving tomorrow?” She nodded. “Where are you headed?”

“To Hommlet, first. We need to show Canoness Y’Deh our research for purging psionic parasites from a wound without a psicrystal component.”

“That was you, then. I’d received word that such an ability was available to those of us serving Heironeous now.”

“And to the Jasians, of course, and the Cuthbertians once we’re finished with the Canoness. Callie wanted to distribute the skill freely to everyone, but it wasn’t my decision to make, or hers. I asked the Inquisitor, and those were the sects he would permit.”

“Not the Pelorites?” Hadrack asked in surprise.

“They are somewhat undisciplined, and their security is poor. His primary concern was that knowledge of the cure would also spread knowledge of the affliction. The Jasians are not always easily found, but clerics of Heironeous and Cuthbert should be readily available in sufficient numbers.”

“How are the psions powering this effect, now that the supply of soulstuff is gone?”

Brin’s response was clipped and formal. “Sufficiently malleable souls from the living will do as a substitute. They are sacrificing children.”

Hadrack shuddered. “Even with the archdevil gone, evil forever presses.”

“And of course, there is the splinter of Tharizdun we saw fall from the sky, in a moment of confusion before the gods could force him back to his prison.”

He looked at her soberly. “Even that splinter of personality is a very dangerous foe.”

“Dryden delivered your warning to be even more careful at Crater Ridge.”

“He is not like other deities. He will not necessarily be seeking to restore himself to himself. Not if he can achieve his aim of annihilation without the fullness of his power. Remember always that he cares for nothing save the blackness of oblivion.”

“I’ll remember it, even if I can’t comprehend it.”

He gave her a gentle push. “Now off with you. I wouldn’t want to incur the Witch Goddess’ wrath by keeping you from your prayers. And my assistant is probably half-dead on his feet, if I know Stephan.”

“Keeping him away from the poor role models?” she laughed.

“The last thing I need is him thinking he’ll be able to wield your kind of power in five years’ time. No, I’m afraid your impact on youth would lead to a flurry of untimely deaths.”

“Then we’ll be off to Crater Ridge mustering a flurry of timely ones,” she grinned. “Goodnight, Hadrack.”