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  We made our way to the stone house at the back of the yard. The blackness inside the sha’um house was complete. We couldn’t see or touch them, and we had only to “look” with our minds to know they slept, but Tarani seemed to share my impulse to be close to the sha’um for a moment. We leaned on the wall of the house.

  Keeshah’s presence came to me, large and warm and somnolent. The two cubs were there, too—each a lighter presence, as if weight in body and experience were reflected in a kind of mental mass. I was pervaded with a sense of family, and felt so full and rich that I couldn’t catch my breath.

  Tarani felt it, too, and came into my arms as I reached for her. “I see from Antonia’s memory,” Tarani whispered, “that dancing is different in your world. I wish to learn.”

  In spite of the fatigue in my legs, I drew her out into a clear area of the garden, caught her hand, pulled her close against me, and hummed. The tune had silly romantic lyrics that ran through my head as we swayed together. The tune and dancing together, bodies touching, had been unknown in Gandalara until that moment, yet sharing them with Tarani, combined with the comforting awareness of the sha’um made me feel, for the first time, totally and entirely a part of Gandalara. The feeling shimmered while we danced, then faded back from the force of its natural consequence: a renewed commitment to the task I had accepted.

  In my mind, Keeshah’s presence stirred, then slipped back into sleep. Tarani stopped dancing; I pulled away to look into her face.

  “I cannot read your thoughts,” she explained, “but I am learning to know your moods. I am ready to leave Raithskar as early as tomorrow.” I could barely see her face well enough to notice her smile. “I agreed to see Illia this evening, for a conference on dress design.”

  “The cubs are ready to travel?”

  “Can you not tell that better than I?” she asked, a little sharply.

  “The cubs are ready for anything,” I said. “They have no way of knowing what they can do until they try.”

  “Of course, I should have realized that,” she said. “I apologize, Rikardon. I have no right to envy your link with the children, when the forging of that link probably saved their lives.”

  “I guess the big question is, will Yayshah leave?”

  Tarani nodded. “I think so. She is fretful. The house is the closest thing she has seen to a suitable den and she loves it, but the garden lacks room for them to run. I sense a need in her to train the cubs, yet an awareness that it is unnecessary when food is provided without effort.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” I said. “We’ll go back the way we came, along the edge of the Morkadahls. Most of the time, the sha’um will be able to hunt their own food.”

  Tarani peered at me through the gloom. “I hear no eagerness in your voice, Rikardon. Yet you wish to go, I know that well. Please tell me what troubles you.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, and it was largely true.

  “Is it leaving your home?” she asked gently.

  “My home,” I said, pulling her close again, “will be going with me.”

  After dinner that evening, Tarani left for Illia’s house. Milda went with her, intending to visit a friend who lived in the same area. Thanasset and I were settled in the sitting room with tiny glasses of barut when someone knocked at the door.

  “I’ll get it,” I said, setting my glass down on the table and trying to heave my dinner-sated body out of the armchair.

  “Stay there,” Thanasset said, laughing. “You ate as if you never expected another meal. I shall answer the door.”

  He left the room. I heard laughter out in the midhall and Thanasset returned with a small man who looked frail and old. I tried to stand up again, but the old man smiled, wreathing his face in wrinkles, and waved me back.

  “Sit, Rikardon, sit,” he said, and looked me up and down. “Thanasset said you have been doing Milda’s cooking justice since you returned. As thin as you still are, I am just as glad I did not see you immediately.” The smile faded. “I would have grieved heavily for your suffering on our behalf.”

  He lowered himself into a chair.

  “I shall not try to be subtle, my friends,” the old man said. “I have come to ask you bluntly, Rikardon, whether the Council should make preparations to fight Eddartans, as well as vineh.”

  Thanasset looked startled and confused. I understood how he felt.

  “Surely, Chief Supervisor, you don’t think—your letter—Tarani wishes only—”

  It was Ferrathyn’s turn to look shocked, then he laughed.

  “Oh, no, my boy—as you trust the lady Tarani’s motives, I can do no less. My concern is with the Ra’ira and its present danger to us. I have heard something of Eddarta and its rulers in my lifetime, and nothing good of Pylomel or his son. Indomel has the Ra’ira, yes?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but there’s no need to be concerned about danger from Eddarta, for two reasons: First, Indomel hadn’t figured out how to use the Ra’ira by the time Tarani and I left Eddarta. Second, he’s greedy, but fairly practical. Only a raving madman would consider trying to rebuild the Kingdom with the world as it is today.”

  Ferrathyn’s head snapped up at that, and he seemed to start to say something, then think better of it.

  “I know,” I assured him, “Gharlas was that kind of a madman. If he had lived and kept the Ra’ira, Raithskar would have cause to worry about an attack from Eddarta.”

  “Then there is no danger from Indomel?”

  I shook my head. “For one thing,” I said, “as far as I know, he hasn’t yet learned the trick of using the Ra’ira. For another, he has small ambitions. All he wants is more power over the other Lords.”

  Thanasset stepped in, sounding anxious. “There is no trick to using the Ra’ira,” he said. “New Supervisors learn it quickly.”

  “New Supervisors,” Ferrathyn reminded him, “have someone to teach them.”

  “Indomel wanted Tarani to help him learn,” I said. “I think it was the main reason he let her stay alive.”

  “Then the lady Tarani can use the stone’s power?” Ferrathyn asked quietly.

  “We’re not sure of that,” I told him. “She was able to read the inscription on the Bronze while she was holding the Ra’ira, but she can’t say whether it was her natural ability, the stone’s power, or her training as a Recorder that let her do it so easily.”

  Ferrathyn looked at Thanasset with mock seriousness. “This detail of her being a Recorder—you failed to tell me that, my friend.”

  Thanasset smiled. “I warned you the story would be clearer from Rikardon. Yet you chose to take my secondhand account—”

  “Thanasset told me your joints were troubling you,” I said to Ferrathyn, smiling at the interplay between the old friends. “I’m glad you felt well enough to come this evening. Should your trouble return on the next occasion, Tarani and I would be honored to come to you.”

  “The honor would be mine,” the old man said. “I regret that I have missed meeting the next High Lord of Eddarta, yet again. Do you see any difficulty in her enforcing her claim?”

  I opened my mouth, closed it again, and then laughed.

  “I see no difficulty,” I said. “We have the King’s sword, and her mother’s support, and the weight of the other Lords’ dislike for Indomel on our side. But if difficulties could be anticipated, they would cease to be difficulties, wouldn’t they?”

  Both men laughed with me, but I could see their hearts weren’t in it. Ferrathyn, in fact, looked a little ill. A slight tremor stirred the long sleeves of his tunic, where his wrists lay along the arms of the chair.

  “It will be several moons before we can bring the Ra’ira back,” I said. “I think I ought to tell you that I took it on myself to tell Zaddorn the truth about—”

  “You what?” Ferrathyn interrupted, snapping forward in his chair. The trembling in his arms was more noticeable as he clutched the arm of the chair, and his eyes were flashing. “Rikardon, you had no right�
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  I felt myself growing angry. “I had as much right as anyone else who knows,” I said, “and far more reason. You forget, I have faced the vineh; I know what Zaddorn is up against. And I don’t mean to criticize, but I think keeping the truth from him this long was not only unfair, but dangerous to the citizens of Raithskar he is bound to protect.”

  Thanasset had stood up, and now he came between Ferrathyn and me, holding a raised hand toward each of us.

  “There is no reason for anger in this,” he said. “Each of you has done what he believed right, has he not?”

  The tension lasted a moment longer, then Ferrathyn took a deep breath and relaxed back into his chair. I realized I was leaning forward, too, and made myself sit back.

  “You are right as always, my good friend,” Ferrathyn said, reaching out to touch Thanasset’s arm. “It seems you were right to begin with, when you urged taking Zaddorn into the confidence of the Council. I would apologize for opposing you, but the issue seems inconsequential now.”

  “Everything is inconsequential,” Thanasset said, “except getting back the Ra’ira.” He looked at me. “I hesitate to ask, son—having you and Tarani and the sha’um here these few days has been a memorable joy—but …”

  “You were gone when I woke,” I said. “This is the first chance I’ve had to tell you—we have decided to start the journey back to Eddarta tomorrow.”

  Thanasset’s expression flickered between relief and sadness.

  “Milda will be upset,” he said. “She spends hours with those cubs.” He sat down. “You will all be missed.”

  “Are you taking the young sha’um with you?” Ferrathyn asked, surprised. “Will that not slow your journey?”

  “Better a slow journey than none at all,” I said. “Neither of the sha’um would go without the cubs.” I leaned over and slapped Thanasset’s knee lightly. “I know for a fact that Milda hasn’t been out there playing with the cubs all alone,” I said. “They love you both, you know. They will miss you.”

  “I expect you will want an early start,” Ferrathyn said, and stood up. I felt glad to see that he did move easily now. Standing, he was barely taller than my head while I was sitting. “I shall not keep you longer.”

  Thanasset was up again, protesting. “But it is your first visit in so long,” he said. “Stay a while, and talk.”

  “About what?” the old man asked, raising an eyebrow. “The vineh? The Ra’ira? They are the only things worth discussing these days, old friend, and I for one hear enough about them both during the Council meetings.” He turned to me, and pressed my shoulder. “I suspect that telling Zaddorn the truth about the Ra’ira belongs on the long list of good things you have done for our city, Rikardon. I apologize for my outburst. I will inform the Council of his knowledge tomorrow and I—um—”

  “I’m sure Zaddorn understands why he wasn’t told at the beginning,” I said.

  The old man smiled. “Thank you for trying,” he said, “but I see no way out of it. I shall have to apologize to Zaddorn.” His eyes twinkled. “I find it hard to predict whether I shall choke on the words, or Zaddorn will die of shock. If your mission were not so urgent, I would invite you to stay and watch.”

  After Ferrathyn left, Thanasset and I returned to the sitting room and our glasses of barut.

  “Zaddorn told me that Ferrathyn had changed,” I said. “I see it, too—he looks older, and that flash of anger was unlike him.”

  “The crisis has put him under great strain,” Thanasset said. “And Zaddorn has not helped the situation. He knew the story about vineh illness was a lie the moment he heard it, and he has been pressing Council members at every opportunity for the truth.”

  “Challenging Ferrathyn’s leadership,” I said, “just when he felt it had to be strongest, and just when the theft of the Ra’ira had weakened it. Keeping Zaddorn ignorant probably has been a symbol to Ferrathyn, a confirmation of his position as Chief Supervisor. I pulled that symbol away from him by telling Zaddorn the truth.” I shook my head. “No wonder he blew up at me. Apologize for me, the next time you see him, will you?”

  “I will not,” Thanasset said. “You were right. Even Ferrathyn saw that, as soon as he calmed down. Not only have you given Zaddorn help in the defense of the city, but you have, I hope, put that symbol to rest, so that Zaddorn and the Council can begin to work together again.”

  “What is the Council doing, now that the duty of watching the vineh with the Ra’ira is nonexistent?” I asked.

  Thanasset laughed bitterly. “We are paying the price of luxury,” he said. “Organizing work crews to do the cleaning and repairing the vineh used to do. Spending hours each day answering the complaints of people who are impatient with dirty streets, outraged by the idea of cleaning out their own bath filters, or afraid for their safety. Trying to teach people the value of their own labor.”

  He sighed.

  “It would be a thousand times easier with the Ra’ira,” he said. “I believe I understand how sorely the Kings were tempted.”

  The look of shock on my face brought a real laugh from him.

  “I am joking,” he assured me. “The Council has reached unanimous agreement: When the Ra’ira is returned, the vineh will be guided westward, to an area where other vineh colonies are located. Then the Ra’ira will be destroyed.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “How? Smashed, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

  “Because Serkajon threw it into the rakor forge, and it wasn’t harmed,” I said.

  Thanasset gaped at me. We had talked of the time I had spent in the All-Mind, and of what I had learned from the lifememories of Zanek, the first King, and Serkajon, the Sharith Captain who had brought about the end of the Kingdom. Somehow, the detail of Serkajon, while Zanek was Visiting in his body, trying and failing to destroy the blue gemstone, had been omitted.

  After a moment, Thanasset threw off his surprise. “A way will be found,” he assured me grimly. “The Council failed its charge by using the monstrous thing. The only way to make up for that is to destroy it. Just bring it here,” he said. “We will find a way to insure it will never be used again.”

  In Ricardo’s world, it would have been a tearful farewell. As it was, Milda shifted unpredictably from looking calm and brave to a tearless, desperate sobbing that was heartbreaking to hear. She smiled as she handed me the travel bags she had packed, and sobbed when she hugged me. Tarani hugged her, and they both broke down. Thanasset and I were quieter, but no less emotional than the women. He pounded my back and held me fiercely when I hugged him good-bye. The straight, firm line of his mouth softened and trembled when he bent to caress the cubs one more time.

  Thanasset, Keeshah, and I waited beside the double gate for the women to finish their farewells.

  “Your garden is ruined,” I said, waving toward the small hill that had been green and flowery only a few days ago, but was trampled and scarred now.

  “In the best possible cause,” he said. “I shall take great pleasure in rebuilding it with a large, a very large, open space around the sha’um house.”

  I laughed and slapped his back.

  “You’re sure you have enough coin?” he asked.

  “Plenty,” I assured him.

  For some time, I had been wearing a belt with commemorative gold coins sewn inside it. I had changed two of the coins for smaller denominations which were easier to spend, and had traded the rest for less distinctive gold coins of the same value—which were now resewn inside the same belt.

  Tarani broke away from Milda, who knelt to embrace the cubs as they ran up to her. Tarani and Yayshah joined us beside the gate. The girl extended her hand toward Thanasset. “You and Milda have been most gracious,” she said.

  As he had done when he greeted her, Thanasset took her hand, lifted it, and kissed the palm. “You are a part of us now, Tarani,” he said. “You leave behind an emptiness that we will mourn until you return.”

  “I—” she began, but
words failed her. The brief awkwardness ended when he opened his arms and she flew into them to hug him.

  There seemed to be no more reason to delay. Keeshah’s mind was pushing at me to get going. Yayshah was nudging Tarani from behind, betraying her eagerness to get out of the city. The cubs were alert and curious, not really comprehending what was happening, but ready for the adventure it promised.

  Beyond the gate, we could hear people moving about and talking quietly. “Word has spread of your leaving,” Thanasset said. “The people do not know of your mission, but your very presence here has offered them a target for their restless interest, a distraction from the danger. Many will be waiting to watch you leave. Do you see? It is an event for them.”

  “Yes, I see,” I said, then turned to Tarani. “Ask Yayshah if you may ride.”

  “She is willing, I know,” the girl answered. “But did you not tell me that tradition demands walking within the city?” She paused, looking from me to Thanasset, then she smiled her understanding. “I see too,” she said. “The distraction of the ‘event’ outweighs tradition in this case.”

  * Keeshah, I will ride* I told the big cat.

  He registered surprise, but crouched down to let me straddle his back. For now, I left the travel packs slung by their joining rope over my shoulder, and sat up straight. As Keeshah stood up, I could see over the fence. A crowd had indeed gathered, and a murmur traveled quickly down the street as the nearest people saw my head and shoulders appear above the fence.

  Yayshah crouched and Tarani mounted much more easily than had been possible when Yayshah had been hugely pregnant. Tarani adjusted her travel bag rope on her shoulder as Yayshah surged to her feet; she nodded. Thanasset opened the gate, and waved at me as Keeshah led the procession into and down the street, through a city packed with cheering people.

  The cubs walked between their parents, their energy and curiosity making them zigzag back and forth in the clear lane between lines of people. When the kittens got near the edge of the crowd, a curious twitch occurred in the sea of heads, as some people lunged forward to touch the kittens and an equal number flinched back in fear of the consequences.