I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao

© 2012 Onyx Tao

I, Dacien by Onyx Tao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://onyx-tao.sofurry.com.

Chapter Twenty: Displacement

_ Author's Note: _ This is a rewritten version of Chapter Twenty, because the first one contained a serious continuity error. Specifically, General Morgan, and therefore Lord Doze, were aware from teh first that Teodor was Cresphontes' successor. Somehow, that slipped the Author's mind in the first version of this chapter. Thue, it starts out much the same, but diverges significantly toward the end. I have decided to retain both versions online. This is the canonical version of events.

---

Chelm regained awareness, and he crushed his first reaction -- to leap up and continue battle. Since the last thing he remembered was the strangely painless cold sensation of a sword sliding through his chest, he could no longer be in battle. He forced his eyes open, feeling the lids pull off stickily, and he wondered how long he'd been here. The dark quiet of the room, broken by the occasion caw of a bird, and the low ceiling told him nothing, so with effort -- far more effort than he'd expected -- he turned his head. A cot lay next to him, with another bull -- Charos, one of Lord Doze's guards. Another one of Lord Doze's guards; he had that honor himself. No, not honor -- duty. Chelm wondered how well he'd shouldered it. He didn't close his eyes then, so much as let them fall shut on their own.

His chest no longer hurt, at least and ... the other bruises and cuts he recalled receiving in that desperate battle ... even while he remembered the battle, Chelm realized just how poor his battle-training had been. No, not poor. Defective. Warriors were taught to fight together, but warlords fought alone. The thought was that a warlord should fight at the highest ratio he could, and that coordinating attacks between warlords at different speeds was simply too difficult. But his attackers had managed it, working smoothly and ferociously together at an impossibly high ratio, at least thirty-to-one, and maybe higher. Grandmasters did not fight together; it was a ridiculous conceit. Except ... it turned out to be surprisingly effective.

That must change, he thought, to cement the insight into his memory. Whatever else, wherever he was, grandmasters would need to train together. If he and Hector and Bryant and even Milos had been able to synchronize faster than their attackers ... events might have gone more favorably. Might. Possibly. And perhaps not, but it would have been yet another tool. Chelm felt a slow flush of shame, then. Milos would have been the perfect bull to share his throwing trick with, to find out if a Master could do it, or if was a Grandmaster technique. But he had wanted to show it -- show it off, Chelm corrected himself instantly -- to Kanail.

"I am a fool," he said, or at least meant to, but it was nothing more than a mumble that somehow that resulted in water -- no, water sweetened with honey, no, some tincture sweetened with honey, being dribbled into his mouth. The sound vanished under the burble, but it didn't matter.

Instead of lifting his arm to wipe his face off, he managed to twitch his arm, and then, making a more serious effort, forced it nearly an inch up off the bed -- cot -- whatever he was laying on. Cot, most likely, in some chirurgical recovery room. Which suggested that the herbal flavor of basil from the dribble was, in fact, a strengthening tonic. Which in turn suggested they were at the House of the Lost, since any other place would use a meat broth as a carrier. The House of the Lost, however, had foresworn meat. Which in turn suggested ... victory? Loss?

Chelm forced his eyes open again, and a Brother was watching him, with concern. "Sleep, friend. You are safe."

Reassuring, but it wasn't the reassurance Chelm required. He concentrated, and although 'Lord Doze' was out of his reach, he managed to say, "Sash ..."

"Your Master Sasha Lord Doze is well. Although he was injured, his wounds were minor. Unlike yours, Warrior Chelm, or those of Hector. All of whom live. As far as I know, all your party survived the ... attack."

As far as I know. What wasn't this Brother saying? "Who ..."

"I am Brother Remillard, and I am Learned in the arts of healing, although by no means the most adept at such. Brother Chirurgeon has treated you while you rested in a healing trance, imposed by Brother Magician. Both are abed, as is your Master, Lord Doze. Only you and one other remain in trance; you were expected to awaken a day or so from now, but of course we had someone stationed here against the event, if it were to come early. As it has.

"And the needful thing is for you to eat -- drink, really. And then return to a natural sleep, and when you awaken, you will be stronger and, I hope, ready to rise. I will need to help you drink -- you are weak from your enforced trance, that is normal ..."

Which Chelm knew perfectly well.

"... and you will regain your strength rapidly." Brother Remillard paused for a breath. "If, of course, you are sufficiently sensible to cooperate and let your strength return, rather than attempt that which is beyond your current powers, and set your recovery back. I trust you are wiser than that."

Chelm tried to nod, and hoped Brother Remillard would take the resulting twitch as accord. But there was one more thing he needed to know. All he could say, though, was "acieah," which sounded nothing like Dacien, and Brother Remillard's frown indicated that he had been unable to interpret it.

"Drink. Perhaps we will talk after," and the Brother lifted his head up, and held a cleverly-shaped bowl to his mouth. He didn't so much drink as allow the cool liquid to flow down into him, but he was able, with effort and concentration, to swallow, and let the fluid ease the roughness of his throat.

Probably from a tube, he thought. Chelm mentally sounded out the word brother, and thought he might be able to say that, although he wasn't sure if Brother Remillard would realize he wanted to know about Dacien. He was growing heavier, it seemed, as he drank, and he realized that Brother Remillard's concoction was undoubtedly drugged to help him sleep just as he faded back into unconsciousness with a faint sense of irritation.

* * *

Nestor sat restlessly in Lord Doze's chamber in the House of the Lost, and thought. He didn't have much else to do. Apparently there were no other humans in the House, and Lord Doze didn't want to call attention to him. "Stay here and out of sight," the minotaur had said, and not answered any questions about the ambush they'd walked into returning from Xarbydis.

Nestor shuddered at the recollection of that poisoned land. Small wonder the minotaurs were so emphatic about not using magic in battle, although getting actual answers out of them remained as difficult as ever. None of his subtle -- or blunt -- questioning had revealed any of the history behind the disaster other than the names of the clans, and a horrible description of exactly what would happen to anyone unlucky enough to contract Xarbydis poisoning. Even with minotaur's superior mastery of magic, it seemed, a cure was possible only in the earliest stages. Once it had advanced to visible symptoms, the only thing even minotaurs had to offer was a quick and merciful death. Sasha and the Brother guide had been explicitly graphic on the extended and painful death that awaited a victim.

So then, why would an expedition of this sort be so obviously targeted by a magic attack? Nestor wasn't a mage, and didn't pretend to understand the subject well, but even he could tell that the sleeping minotaurs were the victim of magic -- and if he'd understood what he'd been told, absolutely a violation of these supposedly sacred Truces of Xarbydis. And why had they taken Mage Dacien and his guard, Bryant? Although, Nestor thought to himself, it could well be that even Lord Doze wasn't sure. None of the minotaurs seemed to understand the reasoning behind the attack, and, interestingly, that seemed to upset them almost as much as the attack itself.

Minotaurs liked things explainable. Understandable. Comprehensible. Regimented. Predictable. In many ways, thought Nestor, the perfect military mindset, but the unexpected certainly upset them. It was an insight to be treasured, and it explained many things. Although ... never enough. Never enough. Nestor turned back to the books that Sasha, the mage whom the minotaurs called Lord Doze, had left in the room. They were, unsurprisingly, in Greek, and although he spoke it reasonably well, it used a completely different alphabet and was tediously difficult for Nestor to read. And most of the books seemed to focus on plants. How to grow them. What they looked like. What they tasted like, and how to cook them. Books! On cooking! Once, Nestor would have laughed at such wasted effort, but now ... now he just had to wonder what sort of alien and inhuman thinking went into creating books on such trivialities.

Most of the books. Nestor picked up one titled, in impossibly small lettering, A Hitsory of the War and underneath that, in even smaller lettering, Flius Scylla.

Now this had potential.

* * *

Chelm woke to daylight, and another Brother sitting by him. He blinked his eyes to clear them, and a cloth wetted with lavender-water sponged his eyes off. He blinked again, and a third time, and the room resolved itself into a pleasant enough room. Six beds, all but two empty -- Charos was, sleeping, or more likely, in an induced trance. Fresh and dried bunches of lavender about the room dispersed their fresh, pleasing scent. Two windows hung open, although they were covered with a heavy stretched gauze that impeded the flow of air. Odd.

"Better?"

"Much," Chelm said, reveling in the power of speech once again. "I thank you. Brother ..."

"Brother Apothecary," the bull said softly. "Brother will do."

"Thank you, Brother," Chelm said. "Brother ..." he paused, and the name came to him. "Remillard, was good enough to tell me nearly everything I needed to set my heart at ease."

"Nearly?"

"Tell me my own brother, the Mage Dacien Lycaili, is safe, and I assure you I will be the most compliant of patients."

"I am..." and the cry of a raven cut him off. "Birds. A flock of ravens has descended on us. Pardon me, Warrior," and Brother Apothecary rose and shut the window. "They will peck their way through the screen if they are permitted to."

"My brother?" He wondered if the Brother were attempting to distract him.

"I ... Warrior Chelm, your brother and his second guard, Bryant, were abducted." The brother paused. "I know this is unpleasant news ..."

"Several days old, I imagine," Chelm said, as a wave of helpless anger washed through him.

"Nearly twelve days have passed, Warrior..."

"Please, Brother, I am your patient, and merely Chelm."

"As you wish, Chelm. An abuscade was set at your return from Xarbydis ..."

"I recall. Those guards who preceded me had been put to sleep."

"Yes, apparently it was ineffective on you."

"I recognized the sensation, and threw myself out of phase," Chelm said, remembering the cool seductive languor that he'd recognized as a spell of sleep. "My father, on occasion, would spell me to sleep similarly, although of course his intent was not hostile."

"It seemed to throw off your attackers."

"Assassins," said Chelm.

"Perhaps," the Brother said. "I do not know. A general melee ensued, in which a number of them were injured, as well a number of your party."

"Did we recover any of them? Have they any explanation of themselves?"

"All of the attackers who were injured, died. Perhaps some self-inflicted poison, because the wounds were not lethal," Brother Remillard said with a sigh. "Seven of them, and Lord Doze seemed to consider that they were ebon marque blanc to be significant. We built a pyre for them."

Considerably more generous than he himself would be, Chelm thought, but he nodded. "I understand. One, at least, was pristine. He was standing away from the battle, with a small guard around him. I attempted to engage him but ... I was unable. These ... attackers," assassins, he would have said, but Chelm had no wish to argue with the Brother, "were tempus practitioners of great skill."

"Lord Doze insists they were ninja," Brother Apothecary said.

"My Lord is almost certainly correct," Chelm said grimly. "Has there been any demand?"

"Demand?" the Brother repeated, clearly not understanding.

"A ransom," Chelm said. "Have they offered to trade us ..." he stopped as he saw the look on the Brother's face, and did not need his next words to understand that there had been no such offer.

"No," Brother Apothecary said. "But ... ah. There is ... other news. In response to a message sent by Lord Doze -- he dispatched his Master of Time with it -- a troop of Lycaili soldiers is stationed outside our walls, led by General Morgan. General Morgan brought ... well. Your Patriarch, Lord Cresphontes, was attacked, as near as we can make out, on the same day you yourself were ambushed. General Morgan says the attack was by these same ebon marque blanc ninja."

"Lord Cresphontes ... is he ..."

"He was slain," Brother Apothecary said carefully. "Apparently the mage, Xavien Lord Green, is also a General?"

"Yes," said Chelm.

"He became acting Regent, and was confirmed as Regent. General Morgan arrived two days ago, and brought dispatches to Lord Doze."

Chelm took a breath. It seemed to much to absorb. Cresphontes, dead. Dacien and Bryant, abducted. But why? Was it because he was a mage? Then why hadn't they stolen Lord Doze, as well? And Bryant? Why take Bryant, and leave Hector ... unless ... "How wounded were Lord Doze and Hector?"

"Badly, although they managed to avoid a punctured lung," Brother Apothecary said. "Primarily cuts, blood loss. They are both recovered, I assure you."

"When can I see them?"

"When ..." the Brother shook his head. "Chelm, they will come see you, soon, I imagine. They have inquired -- repeatedly. The next time they ask, we will let them in. If only so that Lord Doze may confirm his orders to you to rest and recover," the Brother added.

"I understand, Brother Apothecary," Chelm said. "But now that I am awake, I should like to get up, and undertake some light activity. Nothing more strenuous than making use of a water closet, and perhaps a shower. Although I expect I will need some assistance, even with that."

"That is right," Brother Apothecary said slowly. "That is exactly the next step."

"And, if you would permit it, I should like to move to one of the hostelry rooms. Perhaps ... one shared with one of the bulls who were uninjured? To assist me, when I need it?"

"If you undertake to be careful, and not to push yourself, not yet."

"I will not push," Chelm promised. "I assure you, I am aware of the protocols for recovery from a healing trance, and will follow them."

"They are guidelines," the Brother said. "And your recovery may well be slower."

"Brother Apothecary," Chelm said patiently, "I understand these things. I myself am Learned in the apothecary's arts. I have the training of a warlord, and I am an armsmaster, and I have achieved the accolade of grandmaster in tempus. I understand that recovery requires discipline, and I assure you I will apply that discipline, neither to push myself too hard, nor falter in recovering my full health."

"Warlord?" the Brother sounded surprised. "But ... Lord Doze called you ..."

"I am third to Lord Doze's Master of Time, Milos, who has not completed warlord training. It would be disrespectful to him to claim an achievement he lacks."

"But why ..."

"Am I not senior? Because I am not senior," Chelm said. "Milos is. And it is an honor to serve under him."

"I ... I fear my background does not include such a thing. Where I am from, a warlord would never be the inferior of a warrior, and certainly never count it an honor to serve under one." The Brother paused, thoughtfully. "That may be at least in part why I am from there."

"I was told," Chelm said carefully, "that it was impolite to inquire about such things."

"To inquire, yes. Many ... many of us have come to ... leave previous ... events ... behind."

Chelm listened carefully to the pauses in the statement, before responding carefully. "I am thankful you were here, and are here, to aid my recovery. It is a gift, and I will respect it." He smiled again, hoping he was making a good impression. "But I do know how to respect it."

"It appears you do," Brother Apothecary said. "And I beg your forgiveness if I have assumed otherwise."

"There is nothing to forgive," Chelm answered. "And I anticipate exactly the opposite if you can but find someone to help me with that shower?"

The shower had been taxing; Chelm had struggled to stand upright as a Brother washed him, but being truly clean was worth it, and Chelm had simply imagined Zebra doing the washing. Dressing had consisted merely of a bathing robe. Afterward, the Brother had helped him into a surprisingly comfortable chair, and even brought a book on, of all things, the many preparations the Brothers made with lavender, perhaps because he'd claimed to be a Learned Apothecary. Regardless, Chelm found the book fascinating in the way the Brothers had developed pure herbal variants of some familiar recipes.

He was pondering an unusual lavender-verbena pickling process for fruit when a rap came on the door, followed by Lord Doze's mellow tenor. "Chelm? May I come in?"

"Of course, My Lord," Chelm said. "The door is not secured. Pardon my not rising."

The smaller brown minotaur came inside, followed by his guards, Milos and Priam, and he just shook his head. "Not rising? Chelm, you saved us."

"Not all of us," Chelm said, closing the book and setting on the floor in the sparsely furnished room. "I understand that Mage Dacien and Warlord Bryant were taken."

"Yes," said Lord Doze, bitterly. "I did not see the thing myself. I thought ... but you did not, either, did you?"

"No, My Lord. I don't even know how the battle ended."

"We were losing," Lord Doze said calmly. "But the Brothers arrived, and that caused our attackers to flee. I don't know if that was because the Brothers outnumbered them, or they didn't wish to attack the Brothers --"

"That would set a host of clans directly against them," Chelm muttered to himself.

"It would," agreed Lord Doze.

"I beg your forgiveness," Chelm said, abashed. "I must be more tired than I thought, to interrupt you, My Lord."

"Quite under..." and Lord Doze paused, and stared at the window, and then back at Chelm. Three ravens stood there, staring in, and, as Chelm looked, another one fluttered down to the sill. The window looked out on the lavender fields outside, and Chelm could see other birds, out in the fields. "Intriguing," said the mage.

"How so, My Lord?"

"Just ... Sasha, for now," the brown minotaur murmured. "They showed up about five days ago, just a few at first, and now we seem to have more." He turned back to Chelm. "Chelm, this may seem like an odd question, but ... how many birds are there?"

"My Lord?" At first, Chelm wasn't even certain he'd heard the question correctly.

"Sasha," the mage said. "How many birds ... do you think are out there?"

"How should I know?" This made no sense at all.

"Yet another intriguing question," murmured Sasha, "but not the one I requested an answer to. It may help to close your eyes."

"My Lord--", Chelm said, puzzled, but he was interrupted.

"Sasha," corrected the brown minotaur. "Call me Sasha."

"Sasha, I don't understand..."

"I am not asking you to understand!" Sasha said firmly. "Close your eyes!"

"Very well," Chelm said, grimacing at the absurd request, and let his eyes close.

"Now, how many birds do you ... see. Perceive. And before you say none, take a moment. Look, even though your eyes are closed."

"Yes, Sasha," Chelm said, deciding it was just easier to do what the mage requested. He closed his eyes, and turned toward the window. He could see the birds -- five ravens, three on the sill, and two perched ... he opened his eyes. Two perched below the window. And ... he looked up, and he could see a flock on the roof. In fact ... he didn't have to turn his head. He could see them regardless of where he was facing. "Sasha ..."

"Yes?"

"I see them," Chelm said, trying to keep his voice controlled.

"How many?"

"I ... more than I can count easily," Chelm replied, starting to feel panic. "Two hundreds, or thereabout." And as he thought about it, he could feel ... more. Further away, and ... oh Creators no ... coming this way. "And ... more. Coming." Outside, the ravens started calling.

"More?" At last, Chelm thought, Lord Doze sounded surprised. "How many more?"

"I ..." It was a ridiculous question, Chelm thought, except for the undeniable fact he could answer it. "More hundreds." His voice sounded oddly flat to him. "Lor -- Sasha, what's happening?" Chelm was listening to himself carefully, and he congratulated himself since couldn't hear even a hint of panic.

"Nothing worth panic," Sasha said, and Chelm realized just how pointless it was to attempt to keep his emotions hidden from an air mage. "May I touch your mind?"

"Yes," Chelm said tightly, and almost instantly, the panic drained away. The awareness of the birds faded, too.

"Well, none of us expected this," the brown mage said softly.

Which of course raised an obvious question. "Sasha -- what did you expect? Why do I have the feeling you understand this."

"Understand? Well, perhaps a little better than you do ..."

Chelm carefully unclenched his fist and spoke. "Sasha My Lord Doze Lycaili, I cannot begin to tell you how very much I do not wish to have a discussion along the lines of the tens, hundreds, no, no, thousands, that I have had with my father at this time, or at any time. I would ask, as your guard who is sworn to defend you with his life, that you just tell me what you know, think or suspect."

"I beg your forgiveness."

"And I am sure you will have it," said Chelm. "Probably as soon as you have finished explaining."

Sasha lifted his hands. "The birds are part of the manifestation of your mage-signature."

Chelm blinked. "I am a mage?"

"As of about, five days ago, I think, yes," said Sasha. "I had hoped to work up to telling you."

"Allow me to express my gratitude that you did not," Chelm said. "My father does that, and he is careful to hide the one connecting tidbit of information until his big reveal, and it is irritating beyond measure."

"Or, perhaps, you're overly sensitive."

"Or, perhaps, I have been sensitized," Chelm said tightly. "And thus I do not wish to play that game."

"It is a standard teaching technique, and you will have to endure it."

"Then I will not ..." Chelm paused as a memory came to him. Teodor, asking if he would choose to be a mage. "How did my father do this?"

"You think he did?" asked Sasha.

"I am nearly certain," Chelm said, his eyes narrowing. "You do not deny it."

"How would I know?" asked Sasha.

"You do not deny it," Chelm said. "I am certain, now. And I think I have a right to know. I am ... perturbed at these ..." and then he paused. "He tested the process on Dacien, didn't he. And then on me."

"Ah ..." said Sasha with a frown. "No."

Chelm looked at the brown mage. "My Lord. I protest this treatment. I am not a child, and I have a right to know what has been done to me, with or without my permission."

Sasha nodded. "You do, and I will back you up when you ask Teodor to explain. We knew you would be a mage, this journey was not merely for Dacien's benefit, but yours as well."

"And you said nothing," Chelm said.

"Correct," Sasha answered. "Because although we knew you would be a mage, we had no way of knowing when. Most of us thought that event far in the future, those of us who considered the matter at all. We believe that being near an active mage speeds the process."

"And that is why I have been guarding mages?"

"No," said Sasha. "You have been guarding us because it is clear that only a grandmaster has any hope of repelling the ninjas who have been stalking us. Had it not been for that, yes, we would have found some reason to keep you in proximity to a mage, but that was the reason for your assignment to me."

"Aside from the trip to Xarbydis."

Sasha nodded. "That ... probably fed into Chresphonte's thoughts, yes. But adding you was his decision."

"I see," Chelm said. "And what, precisely, did you do to me just now?"

"Your signature appears to be related to birds, and your anxiety was calling them to you," Sasha said. "By making you less anxious, it seems to have ... relaxed them. Exactly what the connection is I do not know, other than that some part of your signature is air magic, and that you are at least in part an air mage."

"Only air?" asked Chelm, trying to understand just what was happening.

Sasha shook his head. "I am blind to any other magic," he said. "Your air-magics may be secondary or even tertiary to fire or water."

"Then ... then we need to return to Lycaili, as soon as possible."

"Which," Sasha said, "was true this morning. It is simply more true now."

"I would have thought," Chelm said slowly, "that there would be some pursuit of the ninjas who abducted Dacien and Bryant."

"No," said Sasha carefully. "The Brothers did not pursue them. They were unaware that they had been taken, and in the confusion, with so many injured and under a magical compulsion of slumber -- a spell that required lengthy ritual work to lift -- their absence went unremarked. And once they had, it was deemed that their lead would be too great to make any hope of recovery possible."

"I do not share that opinion even now."

"I ... am not far from agreeing with you," Sasha said, "but," and the brown mage paused, clearly thinking about something, "we are commanded to present ourselves in the Lycaili Maze at the earliest possible moment. Once Charos is ready to travel -- and I will have him carried in a litter if need be -- we will submit to those commands."

Chelm stared aghast. "And leave Dacien? And Bryant?"

Sasha met his eyes, and nodded. "Such are our orders."

"You may countermand it, Lord Doze," Chelm said urgently. "You are a Lord and the master of this expedition, and if in your judgment the order is not well-given, you have the ability ..." he trailed off at Sasha's expression.

"The orders are painful," Sasha said regretfully. "But they were given with a reasonable knowledge of the situation. If, perhaps, I had some imminent expectation of retrieving them, if I were in pursuit, if I had a hot trail rather than this cold one long gone stale ... then perhaps the orders would have differed. And if they had not, perhaps I would have received them differently. But as matters stand I cannot disagree with them -- indeed, I feel the urgency of the summons -- and we will obey. Is that clear, Mage Chelm?"

"Bitterly," said Chelm.

"And you will obey?"

"As I am sworn to, I will obey."

Sasha fixed him with a knowing stare that might have been copied from his father, but Chelm simply looked back. "I hear some ambiguity in that response."

"I meant none," Chelm said, truthfully. "I am sworn to obey as a warrior, as a warlord, as a grandmaster of Lycaili, and as your sworn guard. I have done my duty in pointing out these orders are foolish, and contrary to good sense, but if you will have them obeyed -- then my duty is to carry them out to the best of my power."

"Perhaps ... yes. I beg your forgiveness, Chelm. I am so used to parsing sentences closely that I misunderstood."

"There is nothing to forgive. It was ambiguous, in precisely the way you perceived," Chelm said. "I have promised Brother Apothecary that I would hew to the standard recovery schedule, and travel -- even light travel ..."

"When Charos comes out of his trance, we leave," Sasha said. "If you are not up to travel, than you will share a litter with Charos."

"I would be shamed to do such a thing," Chelm said. "I can walk."

Sasha shook his head. "The shame would be in refusing it, should you need it. Your alertness led to our survival. Your skill in tempus and battle provided the time the Brothers needed to drive off our attackers. You were wounded in our defense. Think of the warriors who fell to that shameful spell of sleep, in whose defense you and Charos took those wounds. Would you deny them the right to, in turn, defend your health and recovery?"

Chelm blinked. "I had not thought of it that way."

"Then adjust your thinking," Sasha said calmly. "None of us stand alone. We are commanded in our Master's name to Maze, at the earliest possible moment. Where is the honor in refusing the assistance to make that possible?"

"You ... you are right," Chelm said, abashed. "You are exactly right. I beg your forgiveness for my hubris."

"It is not my forgiveness you need," Sasha said softly. "Remember to thank your bearers, should you need them."

"Thank you, My Lord. I will endeavor to do my duty, and let others do theirs."

"I trust that was plain enough speaking for you?" the brown mage asked with a smile.

"It was, and I appreciate it more than I can express."

"Then I will let you alone. I hope this conversation has not taxed you unduly."

"No, my mind is well -- or at least, as well as it has ever been. It is simply the body that is weak, at the moment. The conversation was stimulating, and," Chelm bowed his head, "instructive."

"Then I am glad you are recovering," Sasha said. "I was -- we were all -- concerned about you."

"Thank you," Chelm said, with a smile, and then it vanished. "Lord Doze, I must ask, if you sent word to the Regent, then ... what did you say of my condition? And of Dacien? What news could reach my -- our father?"

Sasha sighed. "That Dacien had been taken. That you were gravely injured, and ... we were hopeful of your recovery."

"Hopeful," Chelm said grimly, thinking of how his father would have reacted to that news.

"Both you and Charos owe your lives to the skill and determination of Brother Apothecary, Brother Chirurgeon, and Brother Magician," Sasha said. "My own training in ritual magic is very basic, enough to follow a simple ritual from a grimoire, no more than that. I am an air mage, not a magician. I could not have saved you. I do not know how your own magic skills stand ..."

"Basic," admitted Chelm. "Yours is the basic training any warrior receives, is it not?"

"Yes, and that was long ago. Reconsidering, I'm not sure I still could perform even a simple ritual."

"Well, I have no more than that, either, although my training was more recent. Why do you ask? Is there some need?"

Sasha's nostrils flared. "You are as deep as your father, do you know that? Yes, I am looking for someone who can minister to Charos."

"What happened to him? Why is he still in trance?"

"He was dropped by that sleeping-spell. And I can tell you it was a mage who inflicted it," Sasha added. "An air mage, accomplished and strong, although I think myself more skilled. But ... Charos fell and was trampled, repeatedly. His legs and arms were fractured in several places, and there was considerable internal bruising and bleeding. His survival amazes me."

"Then I must add that thanks to the consideration I owe the Brothers," Chelm said. "But -- despite your skillful attempt at distraction -- I understand that my father will know that one son is abducted, and the other may die of his injuries?"

Sasha nodded.

Chelm let out a sigh. The thought of his father Teodor with that report turned his stomach. "I ask for no favors, Lord Doze, but ... are we sending any couriers? Is there any way to get an update to Maze, to let them know our casualties are limited to the abductions?"

"No," Sasha said. "General Morgan's instructions are to return us to Maze. We must risk no courier, but gather our strength. At some point Lord Chimes will be able to reach me again, but not until we're halfway through Venrir."

"I understand," Chelm said. "Thank you, Lord Doze. Have the good Brothers given us their expectation for Charos' awakening?"

"They thought perhaps tomorrow night," Lord Doze said. "And once Charos is stable enough to move, we will leave."

"It is a shame we cannot make a matched march," Chelm said.

"A matched march? What do you mean?" asked Lord Doze. "What advantage ..."

"Where everyone reaches a matched tempus ratio," Chelm said. "It's difficult to reach the higher ratios -- and I doubt that, even if everyone were trained for it, we could manage anything above five to three, but still that would be five to three."

"We cannot?"

Chelm shook his head. "No, My Lord. Such a group effort is constrained to the weakest practitioner, and mismatches are prone to cause tempburn. Milos would need months to train every member of the guard in the skill of matching ratios. But it's not a common skill, and quite honestly, the effort spent would be better used to improve your guard's overall tempus skills."

"I suppose Milos would say the same," Sasha said. "Well. It is late, and I have imposed on you long enough."

"Your visit was welcome, My Lord," Chelm said. "And ... I would like to discuss this apprenticing. I trust it will not be with Lord Fog."

"Oh, I am certain it will not," Sasha said with a grimace. "Nor myself, as I ..." and the brown minotaur broke off. "Lord Winter, it will have to be Ianthos."

"Have to be?"

"He is the only other air mage. Your father cannot train you, and I cannot either."

"And you are ruled out because..."

"Either I am already Master to Dacien, or I lost my last apprentice. Regardless, I have a definite desire not to take on another," Sasha said dryly.

"Ah. Yes. I take the point. But ... you think he's lost?"

"I do not know," Sasha said after a pause. "I do not know what to think. I will admit to you, Chelm, that I feel blindsided by this. I cannot imagine why they would take him, or Bryant, for that matter. If they were after mages, well, they could have taken you."

"Could they? I was badly injured."

Sasha paused, then nodded. "But ... ah. I simply don't know. I feel unbalanced. In any case, Chelm, I will give you your very first magic lesson. Don't do anything. Do stretch your perceptions, if you can, but don't do anything."

"I was planning on finishing this recipe book the Brothers loaned me, and then bed," Chelm said. "Correct me if I am mistaken, but my impression was that the working of magic tired my father, however he tried to hide it. I do not think I am in any state to attempt work."

"That is correct," Sasha said. "Even stretching your perceptions in that way expends your energies. But as long as you are merely looking, the worst that can happen is that you'll tire yourself out and fall asleep. That might even be a good thing."

"I admit to curiosity on the subject," Chelm said with a yawn. "But I also admit to being tired." He paused. "Surprisingly so, now that I consider it. May I ask one of your guards to assist me to the bed?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "Of course. I have kept you too long."

"I ..." said Chelm. "No, but I have reached the limit of my endurance for the day." Priam glanced at Milos, who nodded, and then helped pull Chelm out of the chair, and over to the bed. "Thank you, Priam."

"You are welcome, Mage Chelm," the guard said, and Chelm was asleep even before he could correct the Mage Chelm.

"Mage Chelm," a voice said. "Mage Chelm!"

Who? was Chelm's first groggy thought, followed quickly by a view of the room; a detailed, precise and exacting view of the room. A strange view of the room; it included no less than six ravens, three perched precariously on a candelabra, another on the base of the small bed, and two more on unlit wall sconces. It was not the birds that made it strange; what made it strange was that he could see everything. The room, and all of its corners. He could see the top of his head against the soft rough-woven sheets. The birds. The tips of his own horns. His own eyelids. Chelm started when he realized his eyes were closed. It was as if the room were just there, sitting in his mind as well ... no, Chelm realized. He couldn't see under the bed, and for a moment that seemed more important than even the gruff voice waking him.

"Mage Chelm?" The speaker was Lorne, a white bull of Sasha's Guard. "Are you awake?"

"I think so," Chelm said, with his eyes still closed. Could this still be a dream? How was he seeing this? He opened his eyes experimentally, but it didn't seem to change much, except that suddenly it was much darker in addition to being perfectly clear and visible. That ... made no sense. He let his eyes close again, and the sensation of vision-permeable darkness faded away, slowly. One of the black ravens fluttered down to the floor.

Chelm realized he could see under the bed now. "Ah," he said, with realization. It was the birds; somehow, instead of just knowing they were there, he was seeing through their eyes. Only theirs? He probed; he could feel more birds -- hundreds, all circling the House of the Lost, but he was only seeing what these few birds saw. A good thing, given how confusing even such a small slice of ... of ... what?

The word omniscience leapt to mind.

"Mage Chelm! My Lord Doze is preparing to leave!" Lorne said, more emphatically. "We must get you ready to travel. I do not think you can march ..."

"No," said Chelm, sitting up with difficulty. "I can move, but ..."

"A litter is readied for you and Charos," Lorne said. "We need only get you down to it."

Chelm felt a half-chuckle escape his lips. "Is Lord Doze down there?"

"I ... I suppose he is, Mage Chelm."

"Then," said Chelm, "that sounds perfect." He used Lorne's arm to help pull himself off the bed, still keeping his eyes closed. "I'm going to have to lean on you."

"Yes, Mage Chelm." The smaller white minotaur paused. "Mage Chelm? Is ... are your eyes all right?"

"It's just easier with them shut at the moment, Lorne," Chelm said. "Although I do hope to speak with Lord Doze about the matter."

"Ah ... I'll let him know? After I have you in the litter?"

"Yes, thank you."

Chelm lay back in the litter, exhausted from the simple matter of a few stairs, and watched the preparations in amazement. He had not once bothered to open his eyes as slowly the whole panorama extended itself around him. The key, he had realized quickly, was physical contact with one of the ravens. Just the brush of a wing, and he saw through their eyes, and heard through their ears, and he seemed to attract them -- they flew down, watched him for a few minutes, and bobbed over to him to tap him with a feathered head, or extend a foot, and then the bird would fly away, expanding his awareness.

He knew where every sentry was stationed, and could see, in that strange view, out farther and farther as the ravens, having fulfilled whatever strange geas brought them to him, returned, but his vision and awareness went with them. So strange; Chelm simply lay back, and marveled at it. If only he'd had this awareness earlier. If only he'd known of the ambush that had awaited them.

If only he hadn't failed his brother. Chelm gritted his teeth in fury, both at the thought and his own current incapacity. He could see the ambush site so clearly now, as he could not then. There was where they'd lain in wait; he could see the lavender bushes, broken and crushed from the ambush.

He could see the broken lavender bushes, the crushed tips standing out in strange vision that the birds gave him.

He could see the broken lavender bushes.

And like that, he could see the trail, or rather, now that he thought to look for it, it was there, obvious to his vision. No, not to his vision -- to the vision of the ravens. Every snapped branch, every crushed plant, and his awareness simply looked up the trail, to a stone boulder, at the bottom of a small depression, and stopped. A border, Chelm realized.

"Priam? Iapheth?"

"Mage Chelm?" answered Iapheth.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Chelm said. "I need to speak with Lord Doze. Immediately."

"Sir, Lord Doze was quite specific, and..."

"Please, Iapheth, bring him," said Chelm. "I cannot go to him myself." The smaller minotaur looked at him, concerned, but finally hurried off.

"Mage Chelm?"

"I know where they went, Lord Doze," Chelm said. "Our attackers."

The brown minotaur looked surprised. "I'm sorry?"

"I can see their trail, Lord Doze."

"That's interesting, but ... how ..."

"The birds. The ravens, I see through their eyes, and I can see where they went! The trail is not cold! I can track them!"

"Oh?" said Lord Doze, "I don't understand ... may I touch you? Mentally? Magically?"

"Yes," said Chelm. "Do it. Now."

Lord Doze reached out a hand, and a moment later, "Ah. Huh. Interesting. A fascinating signature, to be sure ... but when did this vision start, Chelm?"

"When the birds touch me, Lord ... Sasha. Then I can see what they do, in this ... overview. Can ... you see it, too?"

"Yes," said the brown minotaur. "If I am touching you. Chelm, I ... we did track them back to this border. And there we stopped, because we had no way to pass it; it was sealed. I don't know if it's a natural border that simply needs some minor ritual to pass, or if it's constructed and needs a key, and I have no way to tell. I am not an earth-mage, and neither are any of the Brothers. All I can tell you is that when the Brothers reached it, it was closed. Brother Magician and two of his juniors came out, and sealed the border from this side, as well."

"But you said ..." started Chelm.

"I did not want to distress you. I know what I said, and now I speak as Lord Doze, and your superior. We have our orders. We do not have the skills and forces to break through that barrier, and frankly, you and I are not to be in combat."

"I am trained ..." started Chelm, but Lord Doze shook his head.

"No. You are a budding mage, and as such, invaluable. You cannot be risked any more than I can. Do you understand, Mage Chelm? You and I cannot, cannot, cannot be risked. Do you understand?"

"And Dacien is not just as valuable, irreplaceable, and not to be risked?" asked Chelm.

Sasha sighed. "He is. This is a disaster of ... I have failed my Master and my Clan more profoundly than I can say. It was critical that you and he see Xarbydis, and our thoughts -- Cresphontes' and mine -- was the trip would only become less and less safe, especially once Dacien's powers became rumored."

"His powers?"

The brown minotaur grimaced. "I cannot tell you more. We cannot chase Dacien and the others. We do not have the forces, nor the right mix of skills to chase an unknown but potentially large number of warriors with Grandmaster tempus skills. I am not effective in combat, even if I wished to be. I cannot touch a mind that is not in phase with me, I lack the tempus potential to match phase, and for that matter I have minimal training as a warrior. You are untrained as a mage. We have -- not counting you, because your place is no longer that of combatant -- only Hector who functions at a Grandmaster level. Milos has that level of skill, but he lacks the potential. Bryant ... was close, but, frankly, was not as focused as you or Milos. We -- Cresphontes and I -- were hoping that Bryant might take some inspiration on this trip, from Xarbydis, or you, or perhaps even Dacien.

"We cannot go after him right this minute," Sasha continued. "We cannot. Even if our orders were other than they are, we cannot do anything other than return to Lycaili."

Chelm stared at the brown mage for a moment. "So we cannot even try?"

"And risk you and myself?"

"We could ..." and then Chelm stopped.

"Send everyone else, you mean?" Sasha asked. "Was that what you were going to suggest?"

"I did not suggest such a thing."

"These bulls are here, Chelm, to protect us. You and me, and yes, Dacien. They failed Dacien. I failed Dacien."

"And I did not?"

"No, actually," said Sasha. "You did not. Your responsibility was -- is -- to me. I am certain you will not feel that way, but that does not change the matter. I failed my apprentice; Hector failed his duty -- but not you."

"My Lord, we did not fail; we were defeated. There is a difference."

Lord Doze considered that for a moment. "I can accept most of that. Hector was defeated. I failed."

"My Lord --"

"No. My responsibilities were wider than Hector's, or Milos', and my failure there led to this ... defeat."

"I don't see how --"

"You will simply have to accept my word for it, for now," said Sasha. "At this point, lacking the power to retrieve Dacien, my goal has to be to get you and myself back. I've spoken with General Morgan, and we are in agreement." Sasha paused. "I assure you, we will follow that lead, but ... we will also have the right forces. Lord Green, I suspect, and his Guard will be closely involved. He, Lukas, and Havel spent a great deal of effort to put together a tempus-trained force."

"I'm aware of it," Chelm said.

Lord Doze smiled briefly. "I would expect that. I assure you, we are not abandoning Dacien."

"Our new Regent did not strike me as one of his great supporters, Lord Doze."

"I cannot imagine Lord Xavien abandoning anyone, ever, for any reason," and Sasha's voice turned a little cooler.

"That is so; he is an honorable bull." said Chelm after a moment. "It just infuriates me to see someone -- anyone -- simply walk off with my brother!"

"It infuriates me to see someone walk off with my apprentice," Sasha said tiredly. "And Hector is doubly enraged, since his cousin and his charge were abducted. But we are out of position and vulnerable here. You are a warlord, Chelm -- look at the situation. What would you do if you were General Morgan?"

"I'd go after ..." and then Chelm paused. "No. I'd get my charges back to Maze."

"I don't like it either," the brown mage said. "But ..."

"You and General Morgan are correct. Our duty is to return," Chelm said heavily. "I hate it, but hating it does not change the facts or our responsibilities."

"I know," said Sasha. "I appreciate that you understand." The brown mage paused. "Chelm ... there is ... another matter. A sensitive matter. It may ..." and the mage paused. "No. I equivocate. It will distress you, I think, to no purpose, and that ... while you are recovering is not the right time."

"But now I will wonder."

"That is ... unavoidable," sighed Sasha. "If I say nothing, you will task me, and rightly, when I tell you. If I tell you, I fear you will be so upset that it will set your recovery back."

"And the curiosity and sense of impending doom will not?"

"It may, I suppose. It is your choice."

Chelm sighed. "I reject ignorance, Lord Doze, so please tell me." He paused. "Or was this your clever way of preparing me for this disturbance?"

"You have found me out," Sasha admitted. "You said you dislike guessing games ..."

"I do. I am ready for this distressing news. Please proceed."

"General Morgan came not at Regent Xavien's command, but that of our new Patriarch." Sasha looked at Chelm to gauge how the other bull was taking the news. "I admit I was more than a little disturbed not to have a voice in the selection but ... well, the long and the short of it is that your father was confirmed Patriarch a few hours before Milos arrived."

Chelm stared up at Sasha in stunned disbelief as the brown mage continued. "He is now Lord Teodor, and it is ... by his direct command we return to Lycaili."

"I ..." started Chelm, and then he closed his eyes for a moment. His father was now the Master of Lycaili. "How could ..." His father was now the Master of Lycaili. "Why would they ..." His father was now the Master of Lycaili. "Lord Doze? What ... what can this mean?"

"I very much do not know," said the brown minotaur heavily. "And I am afraid I will not like the answers."

Fortunately for Chelm's state of mind, his strength returned quickly, and he was able to leave the litter on the third day -- although Lord Doze was emphatic that Chelm was no longer a member of his guard, but an apprentice mage. That chafed him, but ... again, unfortunately, Lord Doze was correct. No matter what he thought, when he analyzed the situation, when he considered his military training, the result was that the right decision was to leave.

However much he wanted that decision to be wrong.

This ... argh! This was his father's fault! If Teodor hadn't meddled, hadn't had to add that one little perfecting touch, of making Dacien a mage as well as a minotaur, if Teodor hadn't done it to him, as if nothing and no one could be useful to the clan without being a mage, as if a clan needed no Generals to direct it, Warlords to oversee it, Warriors to carry out the thousand tasks that a clan needed, no Learned to remember and apply the lessons they'd learned and discover things anew, no Grandmasters to push the bounds of tempus, not even humans.

Chelm wondered for a minute just what some putative society formed purely of mages might even look like, how would it work, how would it run, how could that mad vision every play out? And with that last thought, he knew with a gut-cramping certainty just how that would end. The only way it could end.

And now, that arrogant self-certain minotaur who, apparently, possessed the power to do that was Patriarch. Master of Lycaili. Lord of the Clan. How could that have happened? The only thing that made sense was mindbending ... except that didn't make sense, either. Chelm knew his father; knew that he wouldn't do that. But that just brought the impossibility back around again: somehow, the Generals of Lycaili and the Council of Mages and the Circle of Guilds had all, simultaneously, committed an act of nonsanity that Chelm couldn't fathom.

It would end where he'd just come from. It would be Scylla and Xarbydis, sparked from a disagreement over some point of contention, over some triviality -- and compared to the wastelands, every disagreement was a triviality. Why had that war started? What had pushed the Patriarchs of Scylla and Xarbydis into that mutual annihilation? Chelm couldn't imagine anything, anything at all, that could even come close to justifying that disaster. Nothing. Ever. Small wonder that every Patriarch and every General was required to see this, and they required every mage to see it, too. This was the ultimate destination of every conflict. Not the inevitable destination, but the ultimate one. This is why a Warrior had to learn to lose. That painful lesson, from long ago and the first days of his training, came back to Chelm. He'd misunderstood it.

Of course.

Without seeing poisoned Xarbydis, how could he understand it, what it meant, truly? He'd thought that losing, surviving, was simply the first step to the next contest. That the point was to learn from your loss, to gain experience, to master the skills and talents and potentials, to win. But that wasn't the point, Chelm realized now. It was never the point. The point was to accept loss, to move on. Because if you couldn't, then you would find yourself in your own personal Xarbydis, and even the Creators couldn't know how many bulls you would take with you. Chelm realized with a growing horror that although his father had seen Xarbydis, he didn't think Teodor had ever been taught to lose. Had his father ever lost? When he had apologized, against all tradition, had that been a loss? Was that ... no, Chelm thought coldly. Teodor had gotten exactly what he'd wanted. A strategic retreat leading to ambush, perhaps, but Teodor had gotten what he'd wanted. And so had he, Chelm admitted to himself.

He would have to take the matter up with ... with ... with whom? Who could take the new Patriarch of Lycaili to task?

Eight days later, the thought remained at the back of his mind, but Chelm had since moved on to other, more pressing problems -- such as the flocks of birds that his signature drew. He had hoped it was merely ravens, and then perhaps that it was restricted to corvids as crows started showing up, but other birds were drawn to him, too. Drawn and released, as once the bird had gotten close enough, it seemed to escape his fascination -- but a thread of his own awareness seemed to follow it out, as well. At first, he'd needed to touch the bird, but soon, it was easier than that -- the bird needed to come within a few feet of him, and then he could use its senses.

No, not could use, that implied some active decision on his part. Instead, he acquired its senses; what it saw and heard became part of his awareness, with no awareness of how it happened, or even that it happened -- he just became aware of more, more space, more land. His field of view enlarged itself, quietly, silently, in the back of his mind. He was aware of the birds, of course, but not in any special way. He wasn't aware of any particular bird, or any particular field of view, it all just merged into a single ... understanding. Perception. Like he had a thousand eyes, everywhere, seeing ... everything.

Chelm had asked Sasha about it, but the brown mage had just said ... wait and see. Wait and see. Oh, yes, very funny indeed -- Sasha might put on an act of a simple brown bull, seem confused and perplexed, but it hadn't taken Chelm long to see through that at all. Wait and see. Droll. Hilarious. Chelm understood exactly why Sasha and Teodor got along so well, trading cryptic catch-it-if-you-can quips with a blandly serious expressions.

Despite the strangeness of it, Chelm had to admit it was ... useful. Minotaur vision was a constant trade between field-of-vision and detail; he could stare at a tree two hundred feet off, and count the leaves on it, if he wanted -- but that's the only thing he would see. Or he could watch a field of nearly two-thirds of a circle -- but he would lose some distance perception and detail. He'd never really considered it before; that was just the way it was. But no longer. Now he saw everything with an alien sharpness and an almost exaggerated perception of distance. He could see ... not through things, but beyond things. He could see that same tree from every angle, sacrificing neither detail nor depth of perception nor field of vision. And his perception had been getting better, and better, improving even over that first impossibly good vision when he'd woken up to find ravens in his room.

I can guess, Sasha had said. It might be that this signature is ... stabilizing. Pouring out until it finds its limit. Or it might be that you are adapting, your mind only seeing what it is prepared to handle. But at the best, those are guesses, based on nothing. The truth is, I do not know. We will have to wait and see.

And in the normal course of events, Chelm supposed, the huge force of nearly ... two-hundred and sixteen minotaur concealed in a depression would have gone unnoticed until they were much closer, and perhaps longer than that, if the unarmed blue minotaur to the side was the mage Chelm suspected he was. The uniforms and sigils proclaimed them to be Venrir -- and that army might well be within claimed Venrir territory, at that.

"Lord ..." started Chelm, and then corrected himself. This was a matter of magic, after all. "Sasha. Are you aware of the army ahead of us?"

That got the attention of Milos and Hector, who immediately turned and came closer to Lord Doze.

"No ..." the brown mage said after a moment. "I sense nothing. How far?"

"About ... forgive me, it's hard to ..." Chelm paused. He knew exactly how far it was, but that didn't help him measure the distance. "I know exactly," he said slowly, "but I don't seem to be able to give an estimate. Perhaps ... twelve miles. Or four. Or twenty."

Hector tilted his head. "You know exactly, you say?"

"Yes," said Chelm. "I simply don't know how far a mile is. It's ... I beg your forgiveness. I am not sure what words to wrap around the perception."

"Not at all," said Sasha. "You are getting used to it, and your ability to judge and relate will improve. Still ... may I touch your mind?"

"Who is this force, first," asked Milos, injecting his own form of practically.

"Unless they are disguised, Venrir," said Chelm. "I believe Lord Hunt is with them."

"Which would explain why I cannot sense them," said Sasha. "You believe?"

"I have never met Lord Hunt, but there is a blue with them who has authority, and they have all the markings of Venrir."

"It would be helpful if you would permit me to share your perception, Chelm."

"Yes, of course ..." said Chelm, and something winkled over him, and then the faint tickle was gone.

"Your perception shows Lord Hunt, and he is with General Liulfr and General Brokk," Sasha said a moment later. "And ... Lord Hunt must be blocking my perception, because I should be able to feel them and I cannot."

"He can do that?" asked Milos.

"He or someone else," said Sasha absently. "And I do understand what you mean by relation of distance. This is a most remarkable way of perceiving the world. However, I have an advantage in that I recognize a number of landmarks, and I judge Lord Hunt and his army is just under sixteen miles ahead of us, waiting in ambush at a creek. We stopped there, on the rise, on the way in -- do you recall the place?"

"Yes," said Chelm. "We did."

"I think so," said Milos. "My Lord, could you share a vision of that place with myself and Hector?"

"Hector?"

"Please, Lord Doze."

"As you wish," the brown minotaur murmured.

"Ah," said Hector. "Yes. There. I thought so. An excellent place to stage an ambush. But, why would Venrir wish to ambush us?"

"I think they merely want to catch us unprepared," said Sasha. "Dagr -- Lord Hunt -- is somewhat competitive. He's a cousin, isn't he, Hector?"

"Distant," said Hector thoughtfully. "Bryant's closer, although ... still distant."

"They are definitely keeping an eye on us," said Sasha. "Now that I'm looking for it, I can feel the hint of it. Dagr is pleasingly subtle, I must say."

"Can we avoid them?" asked Milos.

"No," answered Chelm. "Not if they can track us. I suspect they can move faster than we can, and I am sure they know the land better than we do, although ... my signature provides us with a potential advantage there. And we are vastly outnumbered."

"By how many?" said Milos.

"Counting Lord Hunt, there are two hundreds and sixteen minotaurs."

"Are they camped, ready for action, ready to depart?" Milos said.

"Camped. In readiness. Not staged, not yet, but there is no need -- we're probably ..." and Chelm's voice faded. "I suspect we'd camp for the night before we reached that point. And then they could take us at night. Lord Hunt could hide their presence, right?"

"Yes, but unless he's working with a lens, he can't shield his force from my magic, and shield his force from ordinary senses at the same time. Both are active ..." and Sasha trailed off. "He doesn't have an apprentice, last I knew. Do you see any humans there, Chelm? If he has a lens, it would be a human."

"No," said Chelm almost immediately. "No humans. A pure war force."

"Then Lord Hunt is unsupported," said Sasha thoughtfully. "Unless one of their other mages ... no, that is unlikely."

"If we sped our march, we could reach them tonight," Hector said. "An ambush gone wrong is ... an opportunity."

"Yes ... Chelm, do they have scouts out? Tracking us? Or are they relying on Lord Hunt?"

"There are no scouts," Chelm said disapprovingly. "Unless they are lurking, but I ... I would want to test it, Sasha, but I believe that I would notice signs of lurking. There are signs, but I know them, and hiding them from my perception ... would be difficult, at the very best, and I suspect it cannot be done."

"We will experiment at some later date. Still, it seems unlikely they would dispatch a grandmaster to spy on us."

"They would not," said Chelm. "Lurking is less effective than you might think. Lurking lags you behind events -- you are slowed. The world zips past you. Not a good way to cover a lot of territory, or to spy on moving opponents."

"The Grandmaster is correct," said Milos. "Entirely."

"I dislike being the butt of a joke, from Venrir or anyone," Chelm said. "Is it possible to, perhaps, play some trick on them?"

"Maybe," said Sasha thoughtfully. "Suppose, when we stopped for lunch, we seemed to make camp, perhaps to give Charos a rest. That would be ... believable, and I could easily present that illusion to Lord Hunt. But I would not be able to mask us from him at the same time."

"Would you need to? If Lord Hunt is focused on the illusion?"

"I ... maybe not," admitted Sasha. "If you were a little more advanced in your training, it wouldn't be an issue."

Probably most apprentice mages wouldn't understand that remark, but Chelm was all too familiar with lenses. "As a mage, it is part of my duties to act as a lens," Chelm said. He didn't want to, for any number of reasons, but that was hardly relevant. He'd have to do it sometime.

"Ah," said Sasha. "I suppose you would be familiar with that. But no. You're not trained for it, and there's no need to risk such a thing." The brown minotaur frowned.

"I wasn't aware training was required."

"Training is required to minimize the addiction," Sasha said softly. "And it is addictive. Extremely. There are ways to make it less so, that are often effective. Without some more pressing need, I see no need to rush that part of your training."

"With all due respect, a force of two-hundred warriors waiting in ambush for us seems like a pressing need, My Lord," said Milos. "I know you think Venrir is friendly, if not an ally, but that size of force has no need to hide itself."

"They have no need to hide themselves from us," said Hector, finally injecting himself into the conversation. "Therefore, it is reasonable to ask if they might not be hiding from someone else."

"Who?" asked Milos.

"Who attacked us?" said General Morgan, thoughtfully. "An air-mage, and a small force of tempus adepts. And how are they hiding? From an air-mage and casual scouting. Such attacks are not in anyone's interest. Perhaps they are seeking to ambush these ambushers, should they strike again."

"In other words, they are treating us as bait," said Hector.

"A possibility, but what would you have them do?" asked Lord Doze.

"Declare themselves," said Hector. "Lord Hunt is known to Lord Doze, so I would presume the opposite. And Lord Hunt could clearly contact Sasha at the very least. Or you, I believe, General Morgan."

"As I recall, Lord Fog discovered some means of overhearing the far-talking spell," said General Morgan. "Under these circumstances I can understand why he might choose to avoid it."

"Pardon me," said Chelm, "but this is speculation. There are reasons why a friendly force might conceal itself from us, but that does not mean we can assume they are friendly. Lord Doze, at what distance can you contact Lord Hunt?"

"Two or three miles. He's certainly outside of my ability to make myself heard."

"But he is within your range to sense," Chelm said, thinking.

"Yes."

"Then ... presumably his range to contact you mentally, rather than the earth-based spell, is similar to yours?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "That should be right."

"Correct me if I am wrong, but there is no way to overhear mental contact?"

"Not that I'm aware of," said Sasha. "But until Lord Fog's ... Lord Teodor's, I should say, no, he discovered as Lord Fog, so ... hmm. I'm not sure sure how to refer to him as the discoverer that the far-talking magics are insecure."

"Precedent suggests Lord Teodor," Chelm said with a grin. "Regardless, at two miles we should know if Lord Hunt's force is friendly -- or not."

"I can ask, yes," said Sasha.

"No," said Chelm. "If his force is friendly, he will contact us."

"Yes!" said Hector. "Although that still brings us closer to his force than I like."

"I doubt his force is unfriendly," said General Morgan.

"We cannot assume that where the safety of Lord Doze and Mage Chelm are concerned," said Milos. "And I consider a force that large laying in wait is by definition unfriendly."

"We will adopt Chelm's plan," said Lord Doze. "And if they do not respond as we would expect a friendly force to respond, we will consider them hostile and skirt them."

"But you cannot mask us from both mentally and physically," started Milos, but Lord Doze interrupted him.

"Under that circumstance, I will use Chelm as a lens," said Lord Doze. "I would like to avoid that. It is too early in his training, but ... if we must, then we must." He paused. "Chelm, can you find us a good, defensible campsite within two miles of the Venrir force? We'll make for that."

Chelm considered his perception. "Yes. A hill, with a creek nearby. High ground and water, although not together. Will that matter?"

"No," said Lord Doze. "We're not actually camping there, it will simply be our point of divergence."

"Our what?" asked General Morgan.

"The point at which I substitute an illusion of us camped and sleeping while we continue on, masked."

"Let it be so, then," said Hector.

They were nearly at the campsite when Lord Doze smiled. "A pleasure, Lord Hunt. Although ..."

Even as Chelm instinctively turned his attention to the Venrir force, and watched Lord Hunt speaking with the air, he was shocked to hear Lord Hunt's voice, odd and distorted, strangely shrill. We invite you to join us. We have a comfortable camp set up, not too far from you.

"Is that so? You will be in that little depression a mile or so to the west, yes?" Sasha was speaking normally, Chelm thought in confusion, so how was he hearing Lord Hunt so strangely?

Yes, an excellent guess. I didn't realize you knew this terrain so well. It makes for a fine campsite.

"I'd have thought it a little cramped, sharing it with, oh, two hundreds and, ah, fifteen others, but ..."

That's ... You knew we were here. Lord Hunt looked surprised, and the two other bulls with him reacted with surprise as well, Chelm noted.

"Yes, and I even admit that my guards were a little concerned that you hadn't contacted us. It lacked the neighborly concern we would have expected from our friends in Venrir."

We were thinking that if you were attacked again, we could surprise these brigands. And we thought that if you were unaware of us, that would help keep them unaware of us as well. I assure you, if anything had happened, we would have come to your assistance.

"That was the most likely explanation, but they couldn't assume ..."

I suppose not. I must congratulate your scouts. Perhaps the redoubtable Grandmaster Chelm or Grandmaster Hector? And ... how did you think to avoid us. I don't see how you could, coming this close to us.

"Oh, I had something in mind, but you needn't worry about it."

I am suitably impressed. Chelm watched the blue Venrir mage turn to the two bulls with him. Bit by bit, the Blue's voice was sounding more and more like a minotaur's, and less and less like some distorted mockery. "Lord Doze knew we were here, down to the last bull. They must have scouted us in tempus." Lord Hunt's voice was getting less and less peculiar, Chelm noticed. His perception must be adapting.

"I'm gratified," Sasha said, oblivious to the side comment, even as one of the bulls -- General Brokk, Chelm guessed, as he was golden, shook his head in rejection of the idea. That probably meant the other pristine was General Liulfr.

Lord Hunt resumed addressing Lord Doze, "I would like to know what gave us away."

"Ah, but that would spoil the trick, don't you think?" said Sasha lightly. "We should be there in ..." and Sasha looked at Chelm.

"Fifteen minutes or so," said Chelm, trying to follow the conversation here and in Venrir camp.

"Fifteen minutes, I estimate. Does that sound right to you?"

Lord Hunt looked confused and even a little angry, but he allowed none of that to color his voice. "Yes. We'll see you then. We'll have a meal ready, of course."

"That would be most welcome, Lord Hunt, and I thank you for your generosity on my behalf and that of my bulls."

"Certainly," said Lord Hunt smoothly, and then he turned to the golden minotaur Chelm assumed was General Brokk. "Thatcould have gone better."

"I don't see how they could have found us," the golden minotaur protested. "Could it have been a guess?"

"No," said Lord Hunt, and Chelm pulled his attention back to Lord Doze.

"I beg your forgiveness, Lord Doze," Chelm said. "I was ... I was hearing the conversation on both sides. It was ... extremely strange, and not a little confusing."

"You can hear, as well?" asked Lord Doze with a smile. "How marvelous!"

"It's confusing," said Chelm. "It seems like ... the more used to this I become, the more I perceive, and the more unused to it I become."

"That is often how such things work," said the brown mage slowly. "My own belief is that the magic works, and we adapt to its nature. So as you become more and more used to this, your skill and perception will improve." Sasha looked thoughtful. "What are they doing now?"

"Arguing. General Brokk is Or? Do I recall correctly?" asked Chelm.

"Yes," said Hector. "Liulfr is pristine, Lord Hunt -- Dagr -- is blue."

"General Brokk believes we snuck in a scout on them in tempus, probably myself or Hector. General Liulfr is adamant that we would have been detected. Lord Hunt is simply listening. I do hope ... ah, they're already set up for our arrival," Chelm said with a smile.

"Can you tell what they'll be serving? It might ..."

"I can't see inside their tents," said Chelm. "But they're roasting swine, there are clay-covered fish, greens, I think, and panbread. Soup, all cooking outside."

"What does it smell like?" asked Sasha.

"It smells ..." Chelm paused, trying to sort out the competing sensations. "Burned. Like fire. Very strange. It doesn't smell right."

"I think it will adjust," murmured Sasha. "Do you smell everything, or just what you pay attention to?"

"Mostly ... what I pay attention to," Chelm said. "Do you know something about this?"

"No, but I do know how minds work," the brown mage said. "So I can make some predictions about how yours will handle this. You will adjust; it will become normal for you. The strangeness is a matter of calibration, understanding what you sense."

"I hope so," Chelm said. "It's exceedingly strange."

"Are you hearing all of the conversations?"

"Yes ... no," corrected Chelm. "I am, but ... I only ... oh, this is ..." Chelm put a hand to his head. "This is ... I wish you hadn't asked that. I can hear what I pay attention to, otherwise, I'm just ... aware of it, not hearing it, really. Sounds, not words, unless I pay attention. Lord Doze, Sasha, it's ... a little overwhelming."

"Focus on here," Sasha said. "Focus on my voice. Can you hear me?"

"Perfectly."

"Good. I want your attention on me," Sasha said. "Can you do that?"

"I think so," Chelm said.

"Good. Stay focused on me."

"I ..." and Chelm paused. "Are you doing something? Magically?"

"A little," said Sasha. "Not much. It should help."

"I ... it has. Is. Helping. To be ... less ..."

"Focus on me," Sasha said. "That will keep your mind on what it can cope with, and as you become used to your new powers, that will expand, when it's ready to expand. Just keep focus on the here and the now."

"Yes," said Chelm gratefully. "I will."

* * *

They were treated graciously by the Venrir army, Chelm had to admit. They'd brought large tents -- pavilions, really -- and erected them for the small Lycaili force. There were even small portable baths, a luxury that General Morgan and Milos were pleased to dismiss their warriors to, even as they -- Milos, Hector, Chelm and Lord Doze stayed to carry out the formalities of greeting.

"I will see to your wounded once we are done, of course," Lord Hunt said. "Be welcome. We are preparing a small meal, and hope you will join us."

"Charos will benefit from your attention, and I thank you, on behalf of myself and my Master."

"You are welcome," said Lord Hunt. "May I congratulate you, Mage Chelm?"

Chelm didn't miss the small moment of surprise that flashed over the two Venrir generals, and gently slowed himself back down to normal time. Perhaps they would catch the ripple of disruption, and perhaps they wouldn't, but his movement, a short bow to Lord Hunt, would disguise it regardless. "I am not sure for what, Lord Hunt."

"On your new potential," said the blue.

"Well, that is no merit of mine," Chelm said, "but I thank you nonetheless."

"You are modest," Lord Hunt said. "Learned, a grandmaster, warlord, a mage, and a favored son of Lycaili? I cannot imagine that your opportunities and success will be less than your, ah, merit, promises."

"I doubt Lord Teodor will show me any special preference -- indeed, he will undertake to avoid even the appearance," Chelm said, "and that is the only special favor I would entreat from him."

"I do not doubt it," said Lord Hunt. "The rest of us, however, will entreat him on our behalf."

Lord Doze spoke. "I am afraid I do not understand you."

"Let us speak plainly, then," said General Brokk. "We found it ... amazing that Teodor's son Dacien is also a mage. That you, too, are a mage, is beyond coincidence."

"Must we discuss this now?" asked Lord Doze.

"Yes," said General Brokk. "We must. Understand that our Master has dispatched us to fetch your wayward pilgrims, and deliver a rebuke to those who took them. I have no doubt that Lord Teodor is organizing such an expedition himself, and waits on your intelligence to do so."

"I would expect he is, but would it make sense to join these expeditions?" asked Lord Doze.

"It would," said Lord Hunt, "but I would hate to lose the trail. It may already be too late."

"Yes," said Lord Doze, thinking.

Looking like he was thinking, Chelm corrected himself. Sasha was good at being underestimated; he did it deliberately. Even his father, Teodor, wasn't deliberately deceptive, but Sasha ... Chelm would have to think about Sasha.

"I can offer what we know," Lord Doze said, "little as it is."

"We already have your report to Lord Teodor," Lord Hunt said. "Is there anything ... more? That might help us?"

"We tracked the ninja back to a border, anchored to a dolmen about two miles from the House of the Lost," said Lord Doze. "The Brothers know where it is. It would not open; I imagine it was sealed on the far side."

"I can open it," said Lord Hunt. "Unless there is a mage actively holding it closed. What did the Brothers say about it?"

"They knew of it, but did not know it was a border. They thought it an abandoned dolmen."

"They know better now, I suppose."

"Yes. Brother Magician sealed it on their side, I might add."

"I'd assumed as much," said Lord Hunt, "good to be certain. Do they have a mage who can unseal it?"

"I wish I knew."

"Let me rephrase that," Lord Hunt said. "Can Dacien unseal it?"

"I ..." and Sasha paused again. "I think he has the potential to do so, but I do not know if he has the skill or techniques he would need to do so. I don't think he could recognize a border, although he might notice the seal."

"Interesting," said Lord Hunt. "What can Dacien do?"

"Little," said Sasha. "He has an unusual affinity for spells; he can sense them and use them, but he has no intuition for what they do. He reports they are simply patterns to him."

"What about his native magic?"

"It was ... subtly restrained," admitted Lord Doze. "Subtly. He can overcome the disinclination to use his magic. But ... his magic is not particularly useful."

"I've gathered that," said Lord Hunt. "From any number of inconclusive exchanges with Lord Teodor. But what is it?"

"If Lord Teodor hasn't told you ..."

"I will not risk my guard or the bulls of Venrir without information. Tell me, Sasha, what I need to know."

The brown minotaur sighed. "If our Patriarch wanted you to know, then he would have told you. And yet, I cannot dispute your reasoning -- if your hunt is to succeed, then you should know these things. And I very much hope for your success. May we have privacy, just ..." and Sasha paused, "the six of us? Brokk, Luilfr, yourself, myself, and Chelm?"

"An interesting selection, and done."

"I assume you would tell them, and I am certain you will tell your Master, but I beg you that this information go no further. It places Dacien in grave danger, if indeed it has not already."

"That sounds worrisome. Is his power uncontrolled, then?" asked Lord Hunt.

"Not as such, but Dacien's affinity is for magic," said the brown minotaur. "He senses spells. Can undo them, strengthen them, perhaps twist them -- but he has no sense of what he is doing beyond the sense of magic."

"That is unexpected," Lord Hunt said. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Nor we," said Sasha. "But in the circumstance, Lord Cresphontes felt it beyond urgent that Dacien understand the danger of magery, and so ... this journey. If that news got out, he thought the journey would become that much more dangerous, would make him more of a target -- and I fear that may be what happened."

"I had heard nothing of that," said Lord Hunt. "If that helps."

"I wish I could say it did, but ... ah. A warning. Dacien's magic is not dangerous as such, but it poses some dangers. He cannot be used as a lens; our first experiments in that direction were nearly disastrous."

"What? That's ... how is that possible?"

Sasha shrugged. "I do not know. I had meant to probe the matter on our return, but ... well. Teodor tried some initial lensing experiments. It left Teodor with burnout, and Dacien with exit shock. I think ..." and then he stopped. "That is speculation."

"Speculate," said Lord Hunt. "I am fascinated."

"I speculate that Dacien is somehow aware of his own functioning as a lens, and that awareness leads to the interaction. It's merely a guess. As I'd said, I'd wanted to probe it more carefully."

"Well, I won't use him as lens, then, not that I'd intended to do so. Anything else?" Lord Hunt looked at Sasha closely. "There is something, I sense."

"Yes. Extend your privacy to us alone."

Chelm watched the two talk for a short minute, and when the heavy blur around them lifted, Lord Hunt looked grim. "We will leave immediately. General Liulfr, we leave for the House of the Lost as soon as possible. Strike camp. We must make the best possible speed."

"Yes, Lord Hunt. We can be underway in three hours."

"So long?"

"Lord Hunt, we were prepared for an extended stay here, and we just prepared a welcoming banquet. It means all of the kitchen is spread out and requires cleaning."

"Leave anything that is not essential and would cost us time."

"As you command," and General Luilfr turned and left.

"General Brokk. Establish a security screen for our march."

"Yes, Lord Hunt. Is there more?"

"If there is, I will contact you."

"As you command, Lord Hunt," and Brokk left as well.

"I had hoped to talk to you about Lord Teodor," Lord Hunt said to Lord Doze. "My Master and I are alarmed at some of his actions. You know, I trust, that he has made a limited repudiation of the Truces of Xarbydis?"

"I did not know that," said Lord Doze. "Limited, how?"

"He says that since these so-called Scyllans are not signatory, and have violated the Truces, he is readying defenses against them, and he as he cannot assume these so-called Scyllans will respect the Truces, he cannot in good conscience limit his defenses to those permitted by the Truces."

"I assure you, I am amazed, and do not understand it," Lord Doze said.

"Neither do I. Neither does my Master. I have it on good authority that most of the other clans do not understand the meaning of this position, either. When you reach him, Sasha, I beg you to make clear to him the absolute importance of clarifying his stance. He alarms us, Sasha." The blue minotaur took a deep breath. "Make him understand that he must not do that if he do not seek to precipitate conflict."

"I will relay your position with all the vigor my own conviction can provide," said Lord Doze. "I understand your meaning. I understand the importance of your words. I will convey both."

"I wish I could say I was relieved at your words. I do not think you can overemphasize just how alarming Lord Teodor has become, with his arrest of Xavien and ..."

"What?" said Lord Doze, shocked. "He arrested Lord Green?"

"Yes. Did you not know?"

"No, our dispatches said nothing ... General Morgan, did you know of this?"

"I did, Lord Doze. Lord Teodor informed me that I was not to mention it. He felt it would affect your judgment."

"It most ..." and Lord Doze fell silent. "Xavien arrested, the Truces repudiated ... do you have any other amazements to report?"

"His offer of amnesty to any defecting Scyllans?" asked Lord Hunt. "Although I think I see the logic behind that."

"His offer ..." breathed Lord Doze. "I am amazed. I am ... Lord Hunt, I beg you, how much further must we go into Venrir before I can expect Lord Chimes to reach me?"

"Perhaps a day's travel. You think he's trying to reach you?"

"I am sure of it," said Lord Doze. "I beg you again, Lord Hunt, to see quickly to Charos's injuries. I must reach Lord Teodor quickly; I must understand these things."

"You do not, then?"

"I do not understand them," Lord Doze said quietly. "I confess, Lord Hunt, that your news fills me with amazement and terror."