Selenay looked out of a window in the Long Gallery on the way to her Lesser Audience Chamber, and sighed with regret. The garden was alive with color and movement against the snow—the brilliantly colored cloaks, coats, and hoods of the younger members of her Court as they chased one another, flung snowballs, and generally forgot any pretense of dignity. Young men who had lately fought the Tedrels had cast aside their adulthood for a few hours as they fired snowballs at pages safely ensconced behind the sturdy walls of a snow-fort. Young ladies giggled and joined the pages in flinging missles back at their suitors. Selenay would have given a year of her life to be down there with them.

Alas. The Queen had an audience with the ambassador from Hardorn, and there was no time for frolicking.

Curse it.

She nodded to the guards on either side of the door of the Lesser Audience Chamber, and went inside. The Ambassador and his entourage were already waiting, as was Talamir. Bless him. It was clear he had been keeping the Ambassador properly entertained; although such gentlemen were notable for being able to conceal any evidence of impatience, the smile Ambassador Werenton turned on her was quite genuine and warm, and his eyes were relaxed.

She gave him her hand; he bowed over it, and she was pleased to note that his hand was warm and dry, not cold or clammy. She took her place on the small throne on the sketchy dias, and motioned to him to sit. This was a room meant to welcome rather than awe; the warm ochre of the leather-covered panneling and the aspect of it, situated so that it looked out into a sheltered courtyard, made it surprisingly comfortable for a formal room. The furnishings were all upholstered in leather that matched the paneling, and the floor carpeted; there was a fine fire in the fireplace, and servants with mulled, spiced wine to serve. Everything that could have been done to relax the Ambassador and his entourage had been—more of Talamir's work, no doubt.

"Ambassador Werenton, it is good to see you again," she said warmly. "And I am glad that you were able to reach our court before this snow closed us in."

"As am I, Majesty," he replied. "And my King wishes me to first, tender his sympathies for your loss, and second, his apologies that he was not able to send me sooner."

She smiled at him. "Please, Werenton—the message of condolence arrived with the usual promptitude of our friends and allies, and I can certainly understand how your King would be otherwise too occuppied with his own defensive preparations to think about sending you."

"If Valdemar had fallen—or even been pushed back—" Werenton said, apologetically, and shrugged. "We share a border with Karse, also. The King was prepared, at need, to unite our force with you if it had come to that. As it was, the defeated Tedrels spread into our land, and we were forced to deal with them as one would any other plague."

"And your King was right to concern himself first with them," Selenay agreed. "I am glad it never came to the point of asking our allies for help."

She knew, and probably the Ambassador did, too, that the reason her father hadn't asked Hardorn for troops was precisely because there was no telling what the Tedrels were going to do for certain. Yes, Karse had hired them to take Valdemar. But if Hardorn's border-troops had been removed to bolster Valdemaran forces, leaving that border unguarded, the Tedrels would probably have taken southern Hardorn and come at Valdemar from the eastern flank. The King of Hardorn was a good man, and served his people well—but he was not a very good strategist, nor were any of his military advisors, sad to say. All of them were old men, and more accustomed to dealing with the odd bandit-force than a real campagn. Karse's long-standing and increasingly hostile feud with Valdemar had ensured that Hardorn had been very little troubled over the past two reigns. Her father had deemed it wise not to distract Hardorn's king with conflicting needs.

"And am I to understand that congratulations will shortly be in order?" Selenay continued, with a slight smile.

"We do expect the birth of an heir before spring, yes," Werenton admitted. He did not mention that the young Queen was only a little older than Selenay, nor that the King was older than Sendar had been. Nor did Selenay make anything of it. She was just grateful that the King of Hardorn had married before the death of her own father. Now at least there was one old man who was out-of-the-running as a potential suitor. Had he still been single—his previous wife having died without producing a living heir—there soon would have been advisors on both sides of the Border clamoring for a match between them.

"I will have to rack my brain to find a unique birth-gift, then," Selenay replied. "I'm sure that by now His Majesty has an entire room given over to silver rattles and ivory teething-rings."

The Ambassador smiled.

Selenay spent the better part of two candlemarks with the Ambassador, mostly taking her lead from Talamir or the Ambassador himself as to when subjects currently under negotiation needed to be mentioned. There were some, of course. Hardorn badly wanted to take back some land that Karse had overrun half a century ago, but if they did, the King wanted to be sure that Valdemar wouldn't take it amiss. Valdemar wanted warning if this was going to happen, so that when Karse reacted (though given how unsettled things were there at the moment, Karse might not even notice for a year or two) there would be extra guards on the Border again. Hardorn wanted to know what Valdemar was going to do with all those "Tedrel" children. Valdemar politely told Hardorn it was none of Hardorn's business, but that, in fact, the children were more than halfway to being Valdemaran by now. There were some matters of trade to discuss, some concessions that both of them wanted. No few of these would have to go before the Council, and, presumably, an equivalent body in Hardorn, but in a simple, convivial discussion like this one, it was possible to get a feel for how such overtures would be met when presented formally.

Finally—and none too soon, in Selenay's opinion—the Ambassador gave signs that he had said all he needed to, and she politely decreed the audience was at an end. He withdrew; she turned to Talamir as soon as the doors had closed behind him and his entourage. Talamir shrugged.

"No hidden agendas, I think, Majesty," he said judiciously.

"Other than the obvious; that the King waited to see if I'd survive six months on the throne on my own before sending a formal envoy," she said, with a feeling of resignation.

"Well, you could have wedded immediately," Talamir pointed out. From his point of view there was no harm in seeing if you did."

"Or I could have been toppled by one of my own nobles, or assassinated by a left-over Tedrel." She did not add after all, I'm only a woman, but the

unspoken words hung in the air between them.

"Well, you weren't," Talamir replied, unexpectedly. "And those of us who knew you, also knew you wouldn't be. And if some foreign monarch is foolish enough to think that your youth and sex means that you are weak or foolish, well, I pity him. He'll take a beating at the negotiation tables."

She flushed, feeling suddenly warm with pleasure. "Thank you for that, Talamir," she replied.

He gave a little bow. "Credit where credit is due," he said simply. "And by this point, I'm sure the Throne Room is full with impatient petitioners—"

"So on to the next chore." She thought longingly of the fresh snow outside, and ruthlessly pushed the longing away. "Time to get to it; the sooner we clear the work out, the less likely it is I'll incur the wrath of the cooks by delaying luncheon." She rose, and shook out her skirts, still startled, even after all this time, to note the trimming of black on her Royal Whites where the gold of the Heir or the Monarch should be. "Speaking of wrath," she continued, as Talamir went to hold the doors of the chamber open for her, "What's the outcome of that little disaster down at the salle?"

Talamir coughed. "Alberich has escorted the two miscreants down to the glassworks just after breakfast," he told her. "They will be spending from now until—we're thinking—Vernal Equinox pumping the glassworks' bellows every free moment that they have. We're loathe to keep them down there once the weather begins to get significantly warmer, as work switches to the night-time once it becomes hellish to keep the furnaces going in the heat of the day. But we also want them to feel they're really being punished when the weather turns and all their friends are enjoying themselves outdoors again."

"Poor things!" she said, feeling rather sorry for them, seeing as she was in a similar situation with no hope for a reprieve.

Talamir coughed again; this time it sounded a bit disapproving. "Selenay, do you have any notion how much the Crown's treasury is going to have to pay the glassworkers for a new mirror? Personally, I think they're getting off lightly."

"If those mirrors cost so much, how on earth did the Crown manage to pay for all of them when they were first installed?" she asked, as the two of them, flanked by a couple of guards, made their way down the gallery that overlooked the snow-covered gardens.

"If the legends are correct, no one paid for them at all," Talamir replied. "The Herald-Mages made them, supposedly. Just as whenever one was broken, the Herald-Mages fixed them."

"How very convenient," she said dryly. "Did the Herald-Mages fix plumbing, too? I've had an artificer in my bathing room twice now, and that drip still isn't fixed. When I was trying to sleep last night, that was all I could hear."

"Sendar used to say he found it soothing," Talamir said quietly.

I am not my father, Selenay thought. But she was not going to say it. "Just have someone send a different artificer, please," she replied instead. "If I have to move into my old rooms for a few days until it's fixed, I've no objections."

#

With classes canceled for the day, Alberich found himself unexpectedly with free time on his hands, and after he took some thought, he decided he had a good idea of how to fill some of it.

It was with a distinct feeling of pleasure that he noted that Kantor had followed his thought, and had altered his course, heading, not for the Collegia, but for the Companion's Bell, a prosperous tavern that played host to Heralds quite regularly—and to Alberich quite a bit more often than to most, although, if you had asked the staff, they would have said, truthfully, that they didn't see him there very often.

There was a secret room in the back of the stables where Herald Alberich would retire, and someone else would emerge, by way of a door that no more than a handful of people knew existed. In that room was a chest of disguises, which were apparantly tended to by someone in the Bell, for no matter what state they were in when Alberich left them there, the next time he returned they would be clean—or cleaner, since the dirt and stains were an integral and important part of some of them—repaired, and neatly put away, back in the chest.

He'd inherited that room and that chest from Herald Dethor, his predecessor as Weaponsmaster, and he'd put quite a bit of wear on the disguises he'd found there. Enough that it was time to do something about the situation, before he found himself literally without anything to wear.

He'd have to do it in disguise, though. Even though he flatly refused to wear Herald's Whites, his own gray leathers were distinctive enough to mark him as the Collegium Weaponsmaster. If the Weaponsmaster was noted visting the used-clothing merchants, it would be a short step for anyone keeping an eye on him to determine that he was purchasing disguises.

So, after leaving Kantor tucked into an out-of-the-way stall in the section of the stables reserved for Companions, Herald Alberich retired into that room, and a persona he had never used until now emerged into the alley behind the inn.

His clothing was well-made, of good materials, but a little out of style, as befitting a prosperous merchant or craftsman from one of the farther or more rustic reaches of the kingdom. Good thick boots with a significant amount of wear to the tops suggested that he was used to doing a great deal of walking. Leather breeches with little wear on the seat but a great deal to the legs and knees added to that impression. His heavy wool cape with an attached hood was significantly old-fashioned, though the material was very good, and it was lined with wool plush. Beneath the cape was a knit woolen tunic that went down to his calves—also significantly out of fashion, for it should have been, but was not, worn with a sleeveless jerkin if he'd been living in Haven for any length of time. All of this gear looked home-made rather than tailor-made, and every bit of it made him look rustic.

If he spoke slowly and took care with his syntax, despite the odd accent he still had, he'd be taken for a farmer or craftsman—or, just possibly, a country squire—from some agrarian part of Valdemar with its own regional accent. It was a fine guise, and very useful for what he was about to do—which was, to buy used clothing.

Such was easy enough to aquire, and it was easier to put wear, mending and patching onto clothing than it was to repair clothing that was getting far past its useful lifespan. It was easier to put on stains than remove them. That so-helpful, completely invisible accomplice at the Companion's Bell was quite literate, as Alberich had proved to himself by leaving some instructions with one of those disguises, and returning to find that those instructions had been carried out to the letter. So he would buy appropriate outfits, and leave instructions on how the items were to be abused if they looked insufficiently used.

And finally he would have things that fit him, rather than Dethor.

He spent a very profitable morning, going from shop to stall to barrow, examining items with all the care that any thrifty fellow from the hinterland would use, exhibiting all the suspicion that he was being cheated by a city-sharper that any Haven merchant would expect from a shrewd bumpkin, eager to get his money's worth. He never bought more than one piece from any one place at the same time—though he did come back, later, if he'd seen more than one item that he wanted. In this persona, Alberich was not particularly notable. There were several men like him, engaged in similar errands, up and down the quarter where used clothing was sold. Most were alone, though a few had wives or older children with them. Whenever he had a collection of three or four items, he

went back to the Bell, and left them, so that he was never observed carrying great piles of clothing.

By doing this, he was able to aquire disguises for a good dozen personae, including one or two that were just a touch above his current character; good, solid citizens who would be welcome in any decent house or tavern in the city. Anything else, he'd get from the Palace; he had a notion he'd like to have a set of Palace livery, perhaps a Guard uniform, and clothing appropriate for the lower ranks of the highborn.

And, under the guise of purchasing something for his wife, he bought some women's clothing as well. Not that he'd ever tried to impersonate a woman, but—well, he might need to.

:You'll never pull it off,: Kantor said critically, as he stowed these last purchases away, hanging them up, rather than putting them in the chest, as even with all of the old guises taken out and left with a note to get rid of them, there was no more room in that chest. :You'd need a wig. And how would you hide that face of yours?:

:I've seen plenty of ugly women in this city,: he objected.

:I'm sure you have, but none that looked as if they'd been through a fire then fought in a dozen bars and a war,: Kantor argued. :And you don't act like a woman; you don't know how to act like a woman. If you need to find out something only a woman can, then get a woman to do it. Myste would probably fit those skirts.:

:But—: he started to argue—then stopped. Myste would fit those skirts. And she was a native of Haven. And she'd come into the Heraldic Circle as an adult, which meant that she was used to being a civilian, acting like a civilian, and she had all the knowledge that an ordinary citizen of Haven had. He wouldn't want to take her down into the area around Exile's Gate, but—

:But she'd go if you asked her to. Think about it, anyway. There's Herald Keren, too. She'd go, and she'd fit in anywhere that was rough, including around Exile's Gate. Good gods, some of those fishers'-taverns in the ports of Evendim would frighten the loungers in the Broken Arms!: Kantor sounded very sure of himself, but Alberich saw no reason to doubt that he was right. Keren was a tear-away of the first order, and back in the day, if the Sunsguard had permitted women to take up arms, he'd have had no objection to her in his cavalry-unit. She made a fearless bodyguard for Selenay.

:I'd have to find a way to persuade Ylsa to stay away, though. The two of them together would be a dead giveaway to anyone who knows anything about the Heralds.:

:Pointing that out ought to be enough to persuade Ylsa,: Kantor replied with a hint of humor. :Wild they might be, stupid, they aren't.:

Well. Two excellent ideas in one morning, one from his own mind, and one from Kantor!

:And didn't I tell you, back when we first came here, that you and I were a good match?: Kantor asked smugly.

:So you did. And you were correct. So very correct that I don't even mind hearing you say `I told you so.':

Kantor's only reply was a sort of mental snicker.

Alberich finished writing notes on what he wanted done—or not—to each of the new disguises, left them piled atop the chest or hung up on pegs around the room, went to the stable-side door and blew out the lamp.

:No one here but us Companions,: Kantor told him, and he slipped the catch, moved out into the stable, and shut the door carefully behind himself. It locked itself with a soft click.

There were, indeed, two other Companions in stalls with Kantor. One was partnered with Herald Mirilin, who was one of the two Heralds assigned permanently to dispense justice within Haven. The other was Jadus, who, since losing his leg, could not ride for very long or very far—but whose insight and

understanding of human nature made him very suitable for this job. Jadus's Companion was not here, though; the third Companion was not one he recognized.

:Not a Herald you know, either. Someone just in off circuit, and an old friend of Mirilin's.: And something about the tone of Kantor's Mindvoice told Alberich that the "old friend" was female and that neither Mirilin nor the newcomer would be found in the common-room.

Heh. So Mirilin was human, after all.

:I believe,: he said, as Kantor turned his head to wink one blue eye at him, :That I will have one of the Bell's delicious pigeon-pies. And I believe I will linger over it.:

It would do him no end of good to see the expression on Mirilin's face when the Herald finally did emerge....

Kantor snickered. There was no other word for it. The sound wasn't even remotely horselike.

:I'll see to it that their Companions "forget" to mention you're here.:

#

Mirilin and the stranger strolled into the smaller common room—the one usually used by Heralds—with a careless and casual air, as of people who expect to find a room empty. And since Alberich had deliberately set himself in the most secluded corner of the room—which happened to be right beside the cheerful fire—it probably looked quite empty to them.

"Heyla, Mirilin," he said, calmly, and was rewarded when Mirilin actually jumped a little, startled. The other Herald, an attractive little redhead, didn't jump, but did look surprised.

The Herald peered at his corner, and to Alberich's further pleasure, flushed. "Ah. Herald Alberich? What are you doing in Haven?"

"Delivering our miscreants, to their place of punishment," he replied, "Heard of the incident in the salle, I presume you have?"

"A broken mirror, wasn't it?" Mirilin said, after a moment. "And a couple of Trainees with more enthusiasm than sense?" Mirilin was regaining his composure, which made Alberich smile a little. After all, he only wanted to discomfit the fellow a little, not humiliate him.

Alberich uttered a dry chuckle. "Well put. And no more free time, in which to devise more such mischief, will they have until well into spring. Pumping the bellows at the glassworks, Dean Elcarth has decreed, is to be their task."

Mirilin smiled and winced at the same time. "Well—at the least, they'll have stout muscles when Spring comes."

"Make the punishment fit the crime—I like that," said the woman—not as young as Alberich had first thought. She wasn't as old as Mirilin, but she was older than Alberich. "Are you the new Weaponsmaster, then?" She left Mirilin and approached Alberich, her hand extended, somewhat to Mirilin's consternation. "Sorry I haven't met you before this; I've been on one circuit or another for almost six years, and when I come in, I usually stay here rather than at the Collegium. I'm Ravinia. Mindspeech and Animal Mindspeech."

Alberich rose, took her hand, and bowed slightly over it. "And I am Alberich," he told her, releasing it. "ForeSight, for whatever good it does."

She smiled at him. Mirilin was very clearly discomfited again. Perhaps because the lady he had come here to meet was being so very friendly to someone he—used to—not trust very much? "So you are the very famous Herald Alberich; it's a pleasure to meet you at last. Since I'm staying at least a moon this time, I expect you'll see me at the salle. I could use some sparring practice; can you find me partners at short notice?"

:Is she flirting with me?: he asked Kantor incredulously.

:No. She really does need sparring practice. Find some of the mid-level Guards from Selenay's bodyguard. Or Keren or Ylsa.: Kantor chuckled. :She's not flirting; she's being direct. And she doesn't mistrust you. She hasn't met

you at a time when you are under suspicion. You are not Alberich of Karse; you are Herald Alberich.:

"You will welcome be, and partners can be found," he replied, and decided to end Mirilin's discomfort by taking himself off. "Rude I do not wish to seem, but my task and meal both being over, returning I must be."

"Certainly," Ravinia agreed, "I expect we'll meet again in the next day or two."

"Excellent." He nodded at Mirilin. "And fare you well, in your afternoon's tasks, Mirilin. Perhaps the heavy snow will thin the plaintiffs."

Mirilin shrugged. "I wouldn't count on it, but I wouldn't be upset if you were right." But there was a change in Mirilin. A subtle one, but there it was. Perhaps because, for the first time, he saw Alberich through the eyes of someone he trusted. Herald Alberich.

Alberich took that as a dismissal, and took himself off, keeping his chuckle strictly internal. Well, well, well.

Of course, neither of them could know that he knew the two of them hadn't just accidentally arrived at the Bell at the same time—but Mirilin suspected Alberich knew. And Alberich was never going to let on one way or another.

:They let the stablehands take their Companions in,: Kantor told him. :They had a great deal of—catching up to do.:

:Indeed,: Alberich replied. It was interesting that Mirilin was clearly embarassed, but Ravinia was not.

:Shelteny says that Ravinia isn't embarassed by much,: Kantor observed dispassionately. :A very cool one, she says.:

:I can believe that.: Alberich paused at the door to swing his cloak over his shoulders, and pushed out into the stable-yard. Snow was still falling, but at least it was not much more than token flakes, and a single stable-boy with a broom was doing to reasonable job of keeping up with it. He crossed the yard and walked into the stables again, and a bay horse in the stall nearest the door peered over the side of the partition and snorted at him.

:I trust that the boys are already on their way back up to the Collegia?: he added.

:Halfway there, just in time for their classes,: Kantor confirmed, as he picked up saddle and blanket from the side of the stall, and heaved them onto Kantor's back. :Just about in the state of sore-muscled, worn-out wretchedness you'd hoped for. Not utterly miserable, certainly not feeling any desperation, but definitely feeling—chastized.:

:Good.: He didn't want them to be desperate, but he wanted them to feel, well and truly, that they were being punished for making not one, but several bad decisions. Not the least of which was that they made the choice to act recklessly in a place where mistakes would be magnified. Elcarth had made an excellent decision as to their punishment, and he and the Dean of Bardic had made it crystal clear that the boys were being punished by their Collegia, not by Alberich alone.

He finished putting on the last of the tack, and Kantor backed out into the aisle so that Alberich could mount. :What had you planned for this afternoon?:

:I believe I'll have a talk with Keren about that suggestion of yours,: he replied. :And perhaps with Myste—though I had rather speak to Keren furst.:

:Good. Mind you, I'd feel better if you had more than one set of hands and eyes helping you—:

:But the more people there are in on a secret, the harder it becomes to keep it.: He felt Kantor's sigh of resignation beneath his legs as they trotted out into the stable-yard, under the arched gate that led to the street, and onto the thoroughfare itself. Kantor didn't argue with him, though. The Companion knew just as well as anyone that if Alberich was going to do the covert part of his job effectively, it had to be kept secret. Heralds were humans—as witness

Mirilin!—and humans talked, gossiped, let things slip by accident. That was one of the reasons why Alberich needed to do his job in the first place.

The ride up to the Collegium was uneventful, and now that substantial inroads had been made on clearing the snow, it was a bit faster than the ride down had been. And Alberich noted as they rode that it wasn't only the Trainees that had been infected by a spirit of play—there were snow-fights and sliding, the building of snow-sculptures and castles, and he saw no few people going by with skates over their shoulders. As they came into the region of private houses, larger and representing more wealth, the closer they came to the Palace, there was even more sign of merry-making in the snow.

:Well, it isn't often that Haven sees a snowfall as heavy as this one has been.:

:Personally I have never seen anything of the sort,: Alberich admitted. :There are snows in my hills, but they are thin and dry.:

:This is winter weather typical for the North of Valdemar, not so much here,: said Kantor. :I wonder—:

There was a long pause, as they wove their way among the houses of the highborn, and laughter and shrieks of pleasure and excitement echoed behind the walls and fences.

:You wonder—?: Alberich prompted his Companion.

:Well, it's dreadfully soon...and the court is technically still in mourning...but a snowfall like this doesn't come very often, and there's going to be a hard cold spell coming behind it.: Kantor gave the impression to Alberich that he was musing aloud, though Alberich wondered for a moment where he was getting his weather information. :The Terilee is going to freeze solid when that cold spell comes—that hasn't happened in fifty years. I just wonder if it's occurred to Selenay to decree a Snow Festival.:

Although Alberich had never heard of a Snow Festival before, the name pretty much told him everything he needed to know. :If the river freezes solid, isn't something like that bound to happen spontaneously anyway?: On the whole—well, it wouldn't be a bad thing for an official Festival to take place, official mourning be damned. The Wars had dragged on for years. Sendar's death had cast a pall over the entire country, but there was only so much grieving that you could do before you just wearied of it. Selenay's coronation had been a triumph, but it had been a shadowed triumph.

:Well, you can hear it for yourself,: Kantor agreed, tossing his head in the direction of yet more laughter. :If it were me, I'd go ahead and make the decree so that what is going to break out anyway gets some time-limits to it. And while we're at it, something like this would create a number of excellent opportunities for you to nose about and listen.:

:We really do think too much alike,: Alberich agreed, as they turned in at the gate, with a friendly nod to the Guardsman on duty. :So, to whom should be drop hints, and when?:

:Leave that to us,: said Kantor. :It's what we're good at.:

The area around the salle was extremely quiet without streams of Trainees coming and going. When Dethor had moved out, Alberich had gotten the carpenters to put in a good, stout, one-Companion "stable" up against that oven-wall for Kantor to stay in when he chose. It was immensely more convenient not to have to go all the way up to the Companions' stable in order to tack him up—and this way, he and Kantor could come and go without any fuss or anyone noticing. Kantor himself always went up there to eat and drink, and Companions being Companions and not horses, the interior didn't need to be cleaned. Alberich being Alberich, he saw to Kantor's tack himself, except for the fancy "show" or "parade" tack, so it wasn't really any inconvenience to the stable-hands, either, for Kantor to have his kit up here. Alberich dismounted at the door of the little lean-to addition, and Kantor followed him inside. It was pleasantly warm, thanks to that brick wall.

:I'm going up to the stable,: the Companion said, as Alberich took off his halter and he shook his head and neck vigorously. :I'm going to have some consultations.:

Alberich bent to unbuckle the girth. :I'll probably be here for the next mark or two. I want to think a few things over myself.:

Kantor tossed his head, and when Alberich had a good grip on the saddle and blanket, walked out from underneath them. :I'll let you know if anything gets started.:

And with that, the Companion trotted back out into the snow, leaving Alberich to wipe down the tack and hang it up to dry.

It was less quiet in the salle than Alberich had thought it would be—he'd forgotten that there was going to be a crew of cleaners making sure that there was not the tiniest bit of glass left behind, then setting the floor to rights again. The soft murmur of voices was rather pleasant. He slipped in without disturbing them and went back into his own quarters.

The glory of his window took him by surprise—a blaze of gold and blue, color in a room that had been pale and faded.

It was going to be a while before he got used to the change, but the shock was one of pleasure, and he found that he liked it. He sat down where he got the best possible view of the glass, and was bathed in the golden light coming from the Sun-In-Glory.

Ah.... It felt good. It felt right, to have the light of Vkandis about him. It felt like a blessing, and perhaps it was.

Now, the question was, should he take one or both women into his confidence? Myste had the better knowledge of Haven; Keren would fit into rougher places. As he weighed the abilities of one against the other, it became clear that if he was going to do this, it would, eventually, have to be both. Neither had the ability or the skills to move in all the places that he could. But he thought that he would approach Keren about this, first. It was, after all, the rougher places of Haven where most of his prowling was done.

That made him feel easier. Later, perhaps, he could ask Myste, if he thought he'd need her. He really didn't want to involve her if he didn't have to.

No matter how good a notion Kantor thought it was.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4