The City of the Swan Goddess: The Islands of the Sixteen Gods, #4

By Stephen Symons

http://www.writers-exchange.com

The Islands of the Sixteen Gods, Book 4: The City of the Swan Goddess

Copyright 2016 Stephen Symons

Writers Exchange E-Publishing

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ATHERTON  QLD  4883

Cover Art by: GermanCreative

Published by Writers Exchange E-Publishing

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ISBN: 978-1-925191-73-8

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Never tell lies, Edrun, said Kemmel as he carefully cut a tissue-thin slice of cheese from the block. Only very stupid people tell lies. In fact, only one thing is even more stupid than telling lies, and that is telling the whole truth. Remember always that falsehood is not simply about telling lies but also about being selective with the truth, and truth is a heady wine, Edrun. You should always serve it sparingly.

Kemmel KeiUzvath Kel Chernugo Ordicad, Soldier, Sage, Cheese-parer.

Unanswered Questions

Very, very carefully, very, very quietly, Edrun leaned across to fill his mug in the brook. Beside him Jina stirred slightly in her sleep. Instantly he froze, trying not to disturb her. As he stretched out his left hand to dip the mug in the water, his right hand, the one supporting all his weight, slipped on the damp grass. With a gasp he checked himself just as he was about to fall face first into the water. Again Jina stirred at the sudden movement, sighed and rolled over. Edrun remained perfectly still.

His right hand supporting his weight, his left hand stretched out to fill the mug, he was suspended no more than a couple of hands' breadth above the clear waters of the little brook. He stared down onto the mirror-like surface. A face stared back at him, clean-shaven, the angular features dominated by deep-set, intense black eyes, topped by short cropped black hair. The seven interwoven tendrils of the tattoo on the left jaw line spoke of one who had led men into victory in a major battle. The little stag's head tattooed between his eyes told all who saw it that here was one who revered above all the Divine Shegadin, Bowman of the Heavens, Master of the Wild Wood, Lord of the Hunt.

Edrunaraugiscal Jaranacad Sulandax, that is who I am, he mused. The Abundant Rain of Spring, Son of Jaran, the Beloved of the River Goddess. My name is my story, my story is my name. And what a story I am become! Look at me now! How in all the world did this happen to me?

All I ever wanted was a quiet life!

Carefully, carefully, he dipped the wooden mug into the brook to drink deeply of the cool, delicious water. Raising the mug in a toast, he silently praised the Lady Thambai, the Guardian of the Sacred Pool, Protectress of the Kalalutorm, She who kept the sweet life-giving waters rising up from the unfathomable depths of the Womb of the World where the waters of creation were eternally refreshed, She who had defended the Rock of Amron down through the ages.

Carefully, carefully, Edrun raised himself to a sitting position the better to look down on Jina, stretched out on the lush grass, her upper body shaded by the overhanging foliage, her lower body, with the barely perceptible bump on the abdomen, warmed by the afternoon sun. Edrun shook his head in wonderment, looking up from Jina to the little brook, and beyond to the River Kaen into which it flowed only twenty paces distant.

Was it really only two years since that fateful day when Jina had been swept into the raging Nogoldhere River, a river very much like the one in front of him, dragged to her death in the lairs of the River Demons--or so everyone had thought?

Their quiet, ordered lives had ended in that moment. The hands of the Gods had torn them from their cosy home in sleepy little Chernugo, hurling them half way across the great island of Kalion, to the Cities of Threeriversmeet, Keninulu, Hazek and Sulahan, across the bleak Ryna Hills and over the snow-clad Agonalukin Mountains, onto the Great Western Plains, then up the broad Vale of DrummGrissa. Instead of quietly mending harness and repairing wagons in his Father's workshop, as he had always intended that his days should be spent, he had ended up fighting in pitched battles and in individual duels to the death. He had been pursued across the high moors, hunted by savage men and even more savage dogs. He had been incarcerated in dungeons, swept down a storm drain, and the invisible hand of Detanié alone had saved him from being tossed over a cliff face in an avalanche.

And he continually found himself in the middle of some river fighting for his life!

Never in his wildest imaginings would he have dreamed that his life would become so chaotic. Yet it had become so. Never in his most fantastical of daydreams would he have conceived of his elevation into the Gathering, the hereditary nobility of the People of the Sea. Yet here he was, publicly hailed as Edrun, Lord Sulandax, and accepted as an equal by the Lords of DrummGrissa, welcomed into their halls, offered the hero's portion at feasts! His own personal banner, now acknowledged by and recorded in the archives of the Keeper of the King's Arms in Kalion Ulu, fluttered proudly beside those of the Kalalutorm, the Kalarndu, the Mailaranarad, the Jemegaidi, and the other clans of the DrummGrissa.

Slowly he stood, looking out across the River Kaen to the broad fields of the fief of the Kalalutorm, then downstream towards the docks and the vast Rock of Amron upon which sat the town of Amronulu, home of the Kalalutorm Clan.

Where would it all end? he wondered. Where to from here? Will we ever find peace, or are we to spend all of our lives running, fighting, chasing, being chased. Will we ever be able to build a home, settle down, raise our children and worship the Gods without the threat of danger hanging over their heads all the time?

He looked down at Jina, sleeping peacefully in the warm afternoon sun. She slept a lot these days. Drugged almost into a state of mindlessness by the flesh-merchant Halgar Rassvorea, she had slowly, with good medical attention and the constant care and love of friends, drawn back from the abyss. She was alert and cheerful, loving life and all that was in it. But she was not the same.

Firajinaudun Kadicath Vaso Sulandax, ca'oula ca'Okilafirdais. She who is like the dancing of flowers in the wind, daughter of Kadi, beloved Lady Wife of Edrun, most treasured Windflower. Her name is her story also, but her story has changed. And will it ever return to its former path?

Once so full of energy and enthusiasm, she no longer had the stamina of old. She tired quickly, needing frequent rests. Never since early childhood had she slept during the day, but nowadays she needed a good long nap in the afternoons. She laughed and was cheerful, but the mischievous sense of humour that so set her apart from others had quietly vanished into nothingness. Once upon a time, when they had walked together, she would often run ahead for a few paces, skipping and dancing. Now she walked sedately at all times, frequently taking Edrun's arm to steady herself. Her eyes shone with happiness when she looked at him, and especially when they talked about the baby that was slowly growing within her, but they no longer sparkled.

Edrun slowly sank down by her side, watching the slow rising and falling of her breasts, smiling in his turn at the little half-smile on her sleeping lips. He straightened up her jacket where it had become rucked up behind her, admiring its quality as he did so. It had been a gift from the Lady Meraima, their hostess and the mother of his good friend Adaraic Kalalutorm. It was obviously expensive, being made of one of the finest woollen fabrics that Edrun had ever seen, soft and smooth. Jina loved it, particularly the embroidered flowers across the front panels, and the little wooden toggles that closed it. There were eight of them, exquisitely carved from some hard wood, into whimsical little figures of animals; a rooster waving a beer mug, a hen wearing an apron and mixing something in a bowl, a rabbit armed with a bow and arrow.

He chuckled as he looked closely at them, admiring the handiwork of a master carver, tickled by the humour of the little faces. By all the Gods, anything that set him to laughing these days had to be worth pure gold! Never one given to displays of emotion, Edrun was painfully aware that since he had rescued Jina from her ordeal at the hands of Halgar Rassvorea and his cohorts he had become even more withdrawn, almost grim. His friends tried hard to jolly him out of his moods, and frequently they succeeded. There had been some great times over the last few days, pleasant days riding across the Kalalutorm estates, wonderful evenings before the roaring fires, with song and dance, good food and lively conversation.

But always the merriment faded at last into sombre silence. More and more he found himself lost in thought, content to sit by Jina's side as she slept, thinking, thinking. Asking questions of himself, questions to which he could find no answers. Looking back over time, thinking of faces that had come and gone again, it seemed that everything that he had learned since childhood, everything that he had taken for granted, had come apart. The faces kept confusing everything in his mind, mixing everything up until he barely knew who he was, let alone who anyone else might be.

Arandis, the Priestess of the Fire Goddess who seemed to know more about him than he did himself. Arandis, so beautiful that she did not so much attract him as intimidate him. Lanis, gentle, docile Lanis, who had cared for him when he had thought Jina was lost forever, who had meekly stepped back when Jina, beyond all hope, was returned to him and had served both faithfully. Lanis, who had stabbed another woman to death because she thought that the woman was about to come between Edrun and Jina.

Mardo of the nimble fingers, Mardo who could barely speak, Mardo who would not have harmed a mouse, yet had died in a ditch, transfixed by a javelin. Numa the slippery, sleazy hired informer who had become a model servant, Zan the young man who had an uncanny ability to find his way anywhere and who had, in large part, replaced Mardo. Kelto, a swaggering, drunken lout who nevertheless was one of the few whom Edrun would trust to protect his back when battle loomed.

Ordron Mailaranarad, haughty, disdainful, brutal, yet a man of stern resolve and high courage when the need arose. Adeta with the haunting laugh and the courage of a warrior who had flashed across his life like a shooting star, coming out of nowhere and vanishing back into the night from which she came before he had even realised what she meant to him. And others, so many others.

Amongst them the face of a woman called--what had been her name? Tala! Yes, that was it. Tala. Baltalauith, The Wings of Summer. That had been her name. He had met her briefly in the City of Sulahan, for no more than a couple of hands of the sun. He had not even seen her in daylight, only by the muted glow of a candle or a cheap lamp, yet her face had stayed in his mind. Buried under layers of cares and immediate anxieties, nevertheless her image had begun to emerge at times during the quiet of the night, or in the reveries of long afternoons. Who was she? What was she doing in his head? Why her and not the dozens, hundreds of other women with whom he had had a fleeting acquaintanceship over the years? They had swum into his ken and out of it again, never more to be seen much less to trouble him. Why her?

Who are all these ghosts?

And then there was all that nonsense about him being some sort of special person with some special fate, or without any fate at all except that which he made for himself. The Priestess called Carhinalié had called him the Free One, whatever that really meant, as she lay mortally wounded in the Stone Ring of Rabti. What was that all about any way? Had that been a genuinely divine revelation, a message from the Gods themselves, or the final ravings of a dying woman? So much had been happening at the time, so much had happened immediately afterwards, that it had gone completely out of his head. Later, back at Amronulu with time to think, his mind had been so full of Jina and of their child as yet unborn that he had quite forgotten about it.

What was that all about? What did she mean? Where was he going? Where were they going? And who are all these people?

What people? murmured Jina, her eyes still closed. I thought that we were alone. And Edrun realised that he had spoken these last words aloud.

Jina, I am so sorry, he whispered, immediately contrite. I did not mean to wake you. She smiled lazily. Drawing his face down to hers, she kissed him lightly.

I have slept long enough, I think. Who were you talking to? Sitting up, she looked about them but, seeing no-one else, looked back quizzically at Edrun.

Myself, laughed Edrun. I was talking to myself. I must be getting old. My Great Uncle Kemmel used to talk to himself a lot. He said it was easier to do that than to have to explain everything to people who were too young to understand any way. She laughed with him at the memory of the feisty old man, settling back into Edrun's arms. Her smile faded as she reached up to stroke his face.

You laughed, she said softly. I like it when you laugh. And you laugh so seldom these days, Edrun. He sighed, burying his nose in her hair, inhaling the delicious scent of her.

I know, my dearest. I know only too well, and I try to be cheerful. But it is not always very easy. There are too many questions in our life, and too few answers. I keep searching for them. The answers, that is. But all too often they escape me. For some reason the complicated questions seem easy to answer. It is the simple ones that prove most difficult.

Like what, for example?

Like where are we going?

We do not have to go anywhere at the moment, smiled Jina, leaning back luxuriously into the cool, moist grass. And there is no hurry to do anything.

Edrun took her hand, stroking it. But we have to go somewhere eventually, he said, kissing her fingertips one after the other. We cannot stay in Amronulu forever, nice as that might be. We have to find somewhere of our own.

We could go back to Chernugo, said Jina hopefully. I would love to see Mother and Dad again, and to tell them all about everything. And they would be overjoyed to meet a new grandson. Or granddaughter.

Edrun shook his head. My dear, we have been over this before. There is no going back. You know that.

Jina did not reply as Edrun pulled her upright. On her feet again, she brushed herself down then walked over to the bank of the River Kaen, where she stood amongst the reeds, looking out over the water. Silently, Edrun followed her. He bent down, selected a stone from the many at his feet and, taking careful aim at a branch floating in the middle of the river, threw it. He missed, but Jina clutched his arm, real terror in her eyes.

Edrun! You should not do that! You will waken the River Demons!

He drew her into his arms, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. My dearest one, he whispered, the River Demons cannot reach you, nor will they ever again. I am Sulandax, remember that. You, we are Sulandax. We are the Beloved of the River Goddess. She will protect us. I have made sacrifice and poured libations to Habeia, the Lady of the River Kaen, and I have prayed at her shrine most days that we have been here, while you slept. She will not allow the Demons to harm us.

They had me once before, and they could take me once again.

He could feel her slim form shiver in his arms. But Iana, the lady of the Nogoldhere, saved you then, Jina. She did not allow the Demons to keep you, as they keep so many.

Every time I come near a river now I feel their presence. Her voice was almost inaudible, buried in his shoulder. I know that even now, should I fall into the water I would become paralysed, unable to swim or even move, and they would have me once more.

I am here, Jina, said Edrun soothingly. While I am with you, not even the Demons of Zandar with their fiery breath, their wings of bronze and their talons of obsidian could come near you.

Jina straightened up, looking out over the river. They stood silently for a long time. At last she sighed. You are right, of course, my only beloved, she said softly. I could only wish that you were wrong, but you are not. There is no going back. Ever since I fell into the waters of the Nogoldhere I have felt that we have lost all control over our fate. I feel that the Gods have been tossing us back and forth, here and there, like children playing with a ball, throwing us around at random. We are in a whirlpool, being swept around and around, and we are helpless in its grip, doomed to swirl around forever. We seem to get caught up in webs of intrigue and violence that are not of our making and certainly none of our business, and we cannot extricate ourselves from their toils. And I cannot see any way out.

Where, then, are we going? Edrun asked.

Unless you have any better ideas, said a voice behind them, I would suggest the Poor Man's Bench.

The Poor Man's Bench

Edrun spun about, instinctively pushing Jina behind him with his left hand while his right strayed towards the short sword that was not there. The two young men who had come up behind them sprang back, hands up defensively.

Whoa! cried the older one. Stand down! We come in peace!

I am sorry, Heltekelainol! laughed Edrun, relaxing immediately. I really am sorry. I do not know why I should be so jumpy!

Adaraic Kalalutorm, known to his friends as Heltekelainol--Curly-locks--on account of his luxurious ringlets, clapped his friend on the shoulder. After all that you have been through in the last year or so, it is no surprise. But you are safe now, really you are. And, even more importantly, so is Jina.

And we have come to make sure that our lovely Cousine is being properly looked after, said the younger of the two men, Adaraic's brother Kolubal. If he is neglecting you, Jina, you can always come and live with me. I would look after you more carefully than a bucket of gold.

I am sure that you would, Kolubal, said Jina, taking his arm. But I shall put up with Edrun for a bit longer. She turned to Edrun. But be warned, Lord Sulandax. I have admirers in high places. If you misbehave I might have to seek comfort in the arms of another.

Kolubal grinned. I am at your service always, Cousine Jina. Let us walk together.

Keep your hands where I can see them, Kobbi, grunted Edrun, or I shall have to cut them off.

Kolubal grimaced. Adaraic sniggered.

Please do not address me by that silly name! groaned Kolubal. You are as bad as Mother!

Serves you right for calling me Rikki, jeered his brother.

I like Kobbi, said Jina, drawing him closer to her. It is a nice name, a friendly name. It is a strong name. Please, let me call you Kobbi.

Kolubal squeezed her arm. You, my delicious one, may call me anything you like, he simpered.

Then let us repair to the Poor Man's Bench, suggested Edrun, where we can sit in the sun and call each other names all afternoon, but where we can have something other than water to drink. And I see that Cousin Rik has arranged a conveyance for your convenience.

Oh, Rik, sighed Jina, there was no need for this. I am not a cripple, and I feel awful riding in one of those things. And it is not that far back into town.

At Adaraic's wave four muscular young men had emerged from the trees bearing a carrying chair which they set down in front of Jina.

You have walked quite a bit already today, Jina, said Adaraic seriously. You must not overtax yourself. So far as your healing is concerned, you have come a very long way, but you still have a long way to go. Please. He waved her to the chair.

Jina looked plaintively at her husband. Edrun!

He is right, my sweet. And you know it. Allow us to care for you, and your healing will proceed all the faster.

Reluctantly, she allowed him to help her into the chair. As soon as she was settled, the bearers raised the litter smoothly and surely, then, at Adaraic's command, stepped across the little brook and along the river bank. Very soon they came to a path that they followed, deliberately out of step to avoid any swaying or rocking, maintaining as even a movement as possible. Before long the path led them into the docks where porters and bargemen rubbed shoulders with merchants and traders as goods were loaded or unloaded from the many boats tied up along the bustling quayside. All paused to stare at Jina and her party as they passed, saluting respectfully, for a litter borne by four bearers could only mean the presence of a most eminent person.

At the docks they turned away from the river, wending their way past shops and warehouses to the sloping road that led up the Rock of Amron and into the town of Amronulu proper. Along winding streets they walked, keeping up a brisk pace as all were now eager to sample the wares of the Poor Man's Bench, a favourite meeting place for the younger generation of the Kalalutorm Clan and their friends.

At last the bearers set the chair down under the shady tree just by the door of the little tavern. The innkeeper, having been alerted to their approach by keen-eyed urchins whom he employed to keep him informed of who was coming and going and what was doing and where, was already on his doorstep to welcome them. Their favourite table under the tree had been cleared of other patrons and wiped down, bowls of krob and clean drinking vessels set upon it, with a pot-boy standing by with an enormous jug of freshly drawn ale ready to attend them.

They had not been seated long when they were joined by other friends. Vaided Mailaranarad and his sister Ala, Karion Kalalutorm, the younger sister of Kolubal and Adaraic, and her betrothed, a father foppish young man by the name of Shoma Kalarndu, all ambled over to the table. Others arrived as time passed, family and friends who joined in with a will. The pot-boy was kept busy both with jugs of ale and with bowls of krob, the deep fried chunks of bread much favoured by the Kalionali as snack food. As the warm autumn shadows lengthened across the streets, the party became more and more animated.

Edrun found himself sitting with Jina, Adaraic and one of Adaraic's cousins on his Mother's side, a pleasant young man by the name of Karn Sugaidian who had only arrived the previous evening, and was agog to hear all the tales of the adventures of the fabled Edrun Sulandax first hand. The conversation rambled across many subjects, but as time passed it was obvious to the other three that Edrun was becoming distracted.

What is the matter, Cousin Edrun? asked Karn solicitously. Here we have been talking about the pleasures of the hunt and the dance, and you look like your mind is drifting somewhere out over the endless waters of Indarial. Are you troubled?

Not at all, lied Edrun, coming back to Amronulu with a jerk. I was simply wool gathering.

None of them were fooled by this.

Come on, my dearest, said Jina, snuggling up closer to him. I know when something is wrong. Tell us about it.

Edrun shook his head.

You can trust us, Mound-brother, said Adaraic gently. If you are troubled, tell us and we may be able to ease your burden.

Edrun studied the beer in his mug for a while. My trouble, he said at last, has a name. And the name is Halgar Rassvorea.

I thought that that might be what was on your mind, murmured Jina.

That is a worry to be sure, agreed Adaraic gravely.

Karn's ears pricked up as he sensed a tale was about to be told. Halgar Rassvorea? he asked.

Edrun hesitated for a moment.

Tell him, Edrun, said Jina.

Edrun nodded, swigged his beer, took a deep breath, and began his tale. Between them, he and Jina told of Jina's disappearance in the flooded Nogoldhere River, of her capture by Halgar Rassvorea and his crew of cut-throats, and of her enforced journey to Keninulu. They told how Edrun had rescued her, and of their escape and subsequent refuge in Hamanorslin, of Jina's recapture in Sulahan, and of the fight at Kalasula that saw Jina restored to Edrun. Karn was about to congratulate them on the happy ending of their adventure but Edrun cut him short. The tale was not yet over.

Edrun and Jina then told of their journey to Chailam Dratzi, their encounter with Ordron Mailaranarad, of Jina's recapture yet again by Halgar Rassvorea, of the pursuits and battles back and forth across DrummGrissa, of Jina's drugging and her eventual rescue. By this time others had joined them at their end of the table, and Vaided Mailaranarad took up the tale of the hunt in the Forest of Rabti, the encounter with Halgar at Chailam Alu and their flight across the Veianja High Moors, ending with the disappearance of Halgar into the trees and the siege of the Stone Ring in the forest. When all was done the flares and lamps had been lit, for the sun had long set.

Karn sat back, open-mouthed. That is the most amazing tale I have ever heard! What a saga! I have heard bits and pieces of this tale, of course--word is running up and down DrummGrissa and beyond--but never all in one coherent narrative. Cousin Edrun, Cousine Jina, this is the stuff of legends! And the tale is not yet done, it seems. Where is this Halgar Rassvorea now?

Which brings us back to your first question, smiled Edrun. You ask me if I am troubled, and the answer is; yes. I am. Deeply. And I am troubled because I cannot answer your next question.

Karn's handsome features dropped. You mean--you do not know where this man is?

Edrun nodded. I have not the slightest idea. No idea at all. He could be a thousand namaserin away. Or sitting on the latrine out back.

Then surely we should spend as much effort as is needed to find this fellow and start pulling him apart?

If only it was so easy, muttered Adaraic.

I have no idea where to so much as start, said Edrun bitterly, then stopped, looking around at the faces of his audience. His brow puckered in thought. Or perhaps I speak too quickly. Perhaps I do know where we could at least begin. Which brings us to the matter of Alumeida Mailaranarad.

Which we might talk about later, said Vaided quickly. But not now. Not here.

What is going on down there? said Adaraic, standing the better to look down the street towards the port. Several people were hurrying in that direction, from which there came a faint but rapidly growing commotion. Edrun, Jina and the rest rose likewise to follow his gaze. Adaraic grabbed a man who happened to be heading down to the lower town. What is happening?

A trade caravan is arriving, my Lord. A very big one, too. The biggest I have seen in many years. My house looks right down onto the Great Yard of the Trading Inn, and I can tell you that it is nearly full, with more wagons coming along the Ryna Road. It is a mass of lights down there.

Adaraic flicked his cloak back across his shoulders, the better to display the topaz-studded silver pectoral of a high-ranking member of his clan. Well, well. Such excitement has not stirred up our sleepy little town in a long time. Come along, Ladies and Gentlemen! We must investigate this event!

His companions immediately likewise brushed themselves down, ready to walk back to the Trading Inn by the port, but Edrun put up his hand, forestalling them.

Wait, he said, looking down the street where a group of people bearing torches was approaching them, walking purposefully. Frowning, he peered into the darkness. One of those approaching was of very distinctive, and of a very familiar, appearance. The short, stocky man with a neatly trimmed beard and curly hair, was accompanied by an aristocratic-looking young woman and a portly, middle-aged man both of whom wore the vestments of the Temple of Luté. Behind them came a troop of porters carrying a variety of bags and boxes. As the stocky man's features became clearer, Edrun stepped forward with a cry of amazement.

By all the Gods! Master Kadus! Of all people I would have least expected to see you here! Welcome and thrice welcome!

The stocky man stepped forward to clasp Edrun warmly. Master Edrun! No, no longer are you Master Edrun, of course! I most humbly beg your pardon, Lord Sulandax. Greetings to you, most noble one! I guessed that I might find you here.

Edrun shook his head in astonishment. You knew that I was here?

Oh, yes!

But, how? Kadus laughed.

I do not reveal my sources, my friend. Suffice that I have followed your career with interest, and I make a point of keeping myself as well informed as possible on matters that interest me. As I am interested in almost everything, that means a lot of information. But of that more anon. This, I gather, would be none other than Lord Adaraic of Kalalutorm, a man whom I have been eager to meet since first I heard of him.

Adaraic had approached as Edrun and Kadus greeted each other, a broad smile on his face, having instructed the link-boys to raise their torches on high. All around murmured in wonder at the sight of two curly-haired people in the same place.

Greetings, Brother Heltekelainol, son of the wise Lord Orté! cried Adaraic, bowing low to Kadus.

Well met, Brother Heltekelainol, son of Lord Orté the wise! cried Kadus in reply. Then all watched in bewildered fascination as the two men ruffled each other's hair, clapped their hands, backed away from each other a pace or two, and did a little shuffling dance. Then they bowed solemnly and shook hands.

Brother Heltekelainol, said Kadus, I am Kadus Paenusacad Tantanmethi. My name is yours to speak.

Brother Heltekelainol, said Adaraic, I am Adaraic Adaraicad Kalalutorm. My name be spoken with yours. He turned to the others. I will tell you all about it later. Meanwhile, we have other guests.

The young Priestess, after all the various introductions had been made, they discovered to be Harané Ancaludan, while her companion was Ancar Luteic, Ancar of Luté, a high-ranking Priest of the Swan Goddess. As he was introduced to Harané, Adaraic bowed deeply.

Welcome and thrice welcome, Adinié. My home is yours.

Thank you, Cousin Adaraic, but here I am no Adinié of Ancaludan. For now I am but a humble Keeper of the Gate of Luté, travelling with my teacher and mentor, the Lord Ancar, Chanter of Luté. We are on pilgrimage to Hazek, where I am looking forward to continuing my studies, and we shall be here in Amronulu for but two or three nights while the worthy Master Kadus conducts his business. Then we shall travel on with him to Hazek.

Adaraic bowed. I shall have rooms prepared for you both in the Chailam of my ancestors. I cannot but wish that word had been sent ahead that we might have prepared a more appropriate welcome for you. It is many years that we have had the honour of the company of one of the Ancaludan. He signalled to one of the servants, but Harané smiled, putting her hand over his.

You are most generous, Lord Adaraic, but we shall be staying in the shrine of Luté, which I understand is just beyond this place in the Town Square.

My Lady..., began Adaraic, but Harané cut him off short.

It would be more appropriate for us to stay at the shrine, my Lord. As I said, we are on pilgrimage.

Then at least allow us the honour of your presence in the Great Hall this night, my Lady. My father, Lord Adaraic of Ryna, will be most eager to pay his respects. Grant us that at least.

Harané inclined her head in assent. I would be delighted to meet the mighty Lord of Ryna, Lord Adaraic.

Come, then, My Lady. My brother Kolubal and I shall escort you to your lodgings then on to the Chailam.

And I shall bid you good-night, Flame, said Kadus, and leave you in the very capable hands of the Lords of the Kalalutorm. By your leave, I shall remain here as I have much to discuss with Lord Sulandax.

Then let us repair thence, smiled Adaraic. Come, Kolubal. Kolubal?

His younger brother was standing next to Jina, staring at Harané as if mesmerised. Jina prodded him.

Down, boy! she whispered out of the side of her mouth. Take a deep breath.

Ergff, mumbled Kolubal.

Harané smiled at him.

Let us go, Kolubal, said Adaraic deliberately, glaring at him.

Glurfft, said Kolubal as he stepped, stiff-legged, to Harané's side. Kadus watched as Adaraic and Harané, accompanied by Kolubal and the troop of porters, proceeded up the