Jundag: The Cornerstones Trilogy, #3

Pantheon

deity~domain~area of influence~symbol

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The Gods of Light

The Seven Heavens

~The plane of Paradise above all~

Eos All Father (The Maker)~Nimbus~maker of all~circle of gold

Demia (Keeper of the Slain)~Eroe~usher of souls~feather

Oris (The Overseer)~Librum~knowledge~crossed scrolls

Tem (The Balancer)~Ordrin~justice~silver scales

Eloss (The Defender)~Refuge~warriors~a silver shield

Koss Godslayer~Korr~champions, knights~sword-point up

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The Heavens are separated from all by Purgatory

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The Gods of Earth and Sky

Earth Mother (Lady of the Forest)~life, earth~tree or gem

Thotris~beauty, fertility, vanity~a hand mirror

Puc (The Trickster)~luck, trickery~any coin

Bofuli~wine, meriment~a goblet

Odea~the sea, storms~the scimitar moon

Dorin (The Delver)~greed, wealth, gold, gems~crossed picks

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The Hells are separated by Limbo and the River Oblivion

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The Gods of Darkness

The Nine Hells

Pergamon (The Punisher)~Agonia~pain, torture~thorned chain

Seth (The Defiler)~Malorea~decay, poison, serpents~Ouroboros

Xakra (The Tangler)~Discord~plotting, deceit, chaos~spider

Mortas (The Deathless One)~Necrol~death~interlocking crescents

Phekkar (The Flaming One)~Hades~fire~a burning sun

The Lower Hells

Grund~Lair~orcs, ogres and trolls~clenched fist

~The Void~

Draco~Pytt~dragons~reptilian eye

~The Abyss~

PRELUDE

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The mediator of Xerro Kensho gazed up into The Void.

As always, the view awed her: a sky blacker than the deepest cavern, more impenetrable than a wall of the hardest granite.  A sky that reflected the emotions in her heart.  A sky that would allow the Dark Five—Pergamon, Seth, Xakra, Mortas, and Phekkar—to reign supreme in all their terrible glory.

Dropping her gaze, she stared out from the balcony on which she stood, through the clear, chill air to the faint glimmer of the shield that surrounded and protected the citadel.  She caught her breath as a huge shape loomed beyond the shield, great leathery wings billowing.  It spewed forth flames, but they splashed harmlessly against the citadel's protective barrier.  The draconic residents of Pytt resented the intrusion represented by the citadel, but she cared not.  She dismissed the impotent display and drank in the majesty of the view, dreaming of a dark future.

A cruel smile drew the mediator's lips apart and her tongue darted out to run over her even, white teeth; she could nearly taste their victory.  This sky—The Void—was to be the salvation of her people.  For so long they had been shunned like vermin, forced to dwell in the confines of the deep caverns of the world while the surface dwellers luxuriated in more space than they could ever hope to occupy.  But in a few short weeks that would change.  With the power of The Void, they would purge the surface world, clearing it for conquest.  The plan had been hundreds of years in the making, and she would see its culmination.  She closed her eyes as she praised the gods who had granted her this opportunity.

Mediator Koyrull.

The grating voice shattered the mediator's reverie, stiffening her shoulders with tense distaste, erasing her smile, leaving upon her features only the cruelty that was the core of her being.  She turned slowly toward the master of the voice, Ngeryl, Mediator of Toff Zyr, another of the Dark Gods' greatest cities.

We are ready to continue, Mediator Koyrull, if you would deign to lend us your attention.

It was neither Ngeryl's snide manner nor his condescending tone that grated on her nerves.  What irritated Koyrull was the sound of her proper name.  Part of becoming a mediator was, after all, the severing of all personal ties to name and clan.  After passing the rites of ascension, a mediator was known only as Mediator, a title that commanded respect and fear.  The use of her name brought back memories of impotence and subservience that stoked the fires of her rage.

Koyrull bit back a retort as she returned to the room, glancing at the other occupants.  Unspeakable power smoldered behind the six pairs of eyes that met her scrutiny, power even to rival her own, for here sat the rulers of the cities that were participating in this project with Xerro Kensho.  Mediators all, they were her peers and, as such, merited a certain level of tolerance.  They had all agreed to the use of personal names to avoid the confusion of a conversation between seven mediators, and although no truce could stay Koyrull's rage at being addressed by a name she had not used in nearly two centuries, she knew it was the will of the Dark Five that they cooperate.

"Have all the progress reports finally been submitted, Ngeryl?" Koyrull asked, allowing herself a bit of verbal sparring.  It was the fault of this presumptuous twit that the meeting was delayed in the first place!  How dare he take me to task, she seethed inwardly.

As I said they would be, Koyrull, the delinquent mediator fumed back, his black, serrated armor rustling like metallic leaves on the wind with his every movement.

Excellent, Koyrull said.  Like a true authoritarian, she shook off her murderous thoughts and returned her concentration to the problem at hand.  Now that we are ready, I would like to propose that each city donate one hundred slaves to the efforts of Trokk Nour and Zerrokesh.  Their progress has fallen well behind and must be brought up to pace.

The delay is no fault of mine! the mediator of Zerrokesh snapped as he surged to his feet in anger, his dark, nomadic features clouding dangerously.  El-Jumm had only recently passed the rites of ascension, and was yet untempered.  We lost a hundred seventy of our best slaves during the last flux in the shield!

It was not my intent to assess blame for the drop in performance, El-Juum, Koyrull explained as she returned to the septagonal table strewn with plans and papers.  I was merely trying to rectify the setback.  Additional slave laborers will be brought in as soon as the present instability in the portal is repaired.  Once progress in all seven sectors is comparable, the loaned labor will be returned.  If there is no opposition to this plan, I would like to see it put into effect immediately.

Silence reigned around the table.

Excellent! she grinned genuinely, her teeth glowing white between her thin lips.  Now, please continue with the reports.

As the tedious and long-winded presentations of the progress on the citadel resumed, Koyrull found her mind wandering back to the thrilling view that still raged outside.

Soon, almighty Dark Ones, she thought victoriously, very soon indeed...

CHAPTER 1

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He opened his eyes to a curious sense of déjà vu.  Although the darkness before him was as deep as that behind his eyelids, he stared intently, striving to recall the dim and unpleasant memories that lurked in the gloom.

Jundag, he thought hesitantly, then more strongly as the name resonated; it felt right.  I am Jundag.

He tested his bonds, but already knew that they were secured to the stone.  He started to rise, then stopped, remembering that the ceiling was too low for him to stand upright.  He heard a skittering noise and instantly knew it was a rat, and that if he was not vigilant, the rodents would feast on him while he slept.  Additional memories began to seep into his tortured mind as rainwater seeps through a leaky roof, first a drop or two, then a torrent.  He remembered hours spent in back-breaking labor, and hours more in blessed solitude.  He remembered the jeering roar of a crowd, and the peal of cruel laughter.

But most of all, he remembered pain.

He felt again the lash of a whip, the burn of hot coals, the searing cut of a knife parting his flesh.  He felt a heavy weight smash onto the bones of his fingers, the inflexible tension of the rack as it dislocated his shoulders.  He felt the agony of molten metal dripping onto his skin.

And he remembered waking after the pain, time and time again, his fingers whole, his shoulders firm and strong, and his skin intact, albeit scarred.  Hale, as he was now.  He squeezed his eyes shut and saw afterimages of jet-black hair, pale skin, and flashing white teeth.  And he felt his soul sink...as he remembered her.

Jundag heaved a sigh and was surprised by a rattling cough that left his sides aching before it subsided.  Reeling in his thoughts from the tumultuous sea of memories that threatened to drown him, he concentrated on himself, and realized that not all was as he remembered.  He felt a deep-seated ache in the very marrow of his bones which, along with the cough, told him that something was different this time.

He heard the familiar rattle of keys and the clank as the door to his cell was thrown open.

A flood of torchlight nearly blinded him, but he managed to squint through it to see the figure in the doorway.  It was muscular and bent, curved tusks upthrust from its lower jaw.  It stooped into the confines of the cell and quickly worked a key into his manacles.  Even as he rubbed his wrists, the burly beast snatched him by the arm and hauled him out into the light of the passage.  The beast (Tredgh is its name, he thought) then let him go, turning to close the cell door.

Jundag took his chance immediately, more by reflex than through any conscious thought.  Pretending to slump to the opposite wall, he turned and planted his feet, preparing to launch himself into his jailer and smash him against the door.

Stop! a voice ordered, halting him in mid-lunge.

He stumbled, wondering why he had complied with the command, then his hands shot to his neck, grasping the delicate gold circlet there.  That voice...  Jundag turned, and the worst of his nightmarish memories were rekindled.

Welcome back to the world of the living, Jundag, Calmarel said from where she stood beyond the glare of a wall-mounted torch, draped in shadow.  I have missed you, my temperamental pet.  It’s been far too long since you last died, but I was...busy, and hadn’t had the chance to revivify you until now.

I wish you would leave me dead! Jundag seethed, ignoring Tredgh's threatening growl.  This woman incited such loathing and disgust in him as he had never imagined he could feel.  The memories of her various tortures slipped and slid like eels though his mind, too slick to fasten onto, yet leaving slime in their wakes.  And something else...  Something important...  He snarled in frustration as the memory he sought eluded him.

Well, after so many revivifications, I’d expect you to be a bit tamer, Calmarel declared in response to his outburst, but I see that your strength is undiminished.  Good!  Tredgh, clean him, feed him well and make sure he’s completely recovered from the revivification.  I’ll be away for a few days, but when I return, I will be in need of relaxation.  And I believe, she teased as she wagged her finger at him, my pet is in need of another obedience lesson.

She turned and walked into the darkness.  Jundag wrinkled his brow as he watched her go.  Something about her looked...wrong, but try as he might, he could not discern what.

Tredgh pushed him roughly forward, tempting attack, but Jundag knew it would be futile.  With the collar, a word from Calmarel would restrain him, and he would only pay for it later.  Besides, he was too distracted by elusive memories that fluttered on the edge of his mind...then flitted away.

The barest rustle of fern and bough marked the passage of the stalker as she crept through the woods.  Like a large predatory cat, she slid through the darkness undetected even by the wild and watchful beasts of the forest.  But this stalker was human, with a soot-blackened face and sword, and softly rustling armor covered by supple garments of dark leather.  The light of the half moon through a thin overcast guided her precise steps, but it was light from a clearing a few hundred feet ahead that pulled her like a moth toward its warm yellow glow.

Avari was on the hunt.

The distance to the clearing's edge took more than an hour to traverse.  As she neared, she stooped to a crouch, then crept the last few yards on her belly, eyes downcast to hide their whites, ears straining as she moved solely by touch.  The voices of her prey rumbled within the clearing, harsh and rasping over the soft pop and crackle of their fire, setting her nerves aflame with the rush of adrenalin.  Edging forward, she nudged her face into a damp patch of ferns around the thick bole of an oak, and finally saw them.

Five men occupied the camp: two lay on blankets, their chests moving in the rhythmic rise and fall of sleep; two sat, talking across the fire; and one strolled about, his back to the fire, his eyes on the forest.  A steady breeze from her left ensured that her scent would remain undetected, and kept the fire smoke out of her eyes, exactly as she had planned.

One of the two-dozen horses staked to her left nickered; Avari examined them for a moment and spied a distinctive brand on one sleek flank.  Yes, these were the animals she was looking for, although their theft was only one reason she sought these men.  Her clear thoughts clouded for a moment, overpowered by vivid memories of a charred farmhouse, a man beaten nearly to death, a woman pierced through the stomach with an arrow and left to die in horrible agony, and the vacant stare of a little girl only twelve summers old.  A little girl who had been left battered, naked and bleeding after these five men had finished with her.

Whitened knuckles popped and her sword hilt's leather wrapping creaked in her furious grip.  The noise snapped her out of her murderous rage, fearful that she had given herself away.  The men, however, remained as oblivious as before.  The one presumably on watch, the only one paying any attention to their surroundings at all, strolled to within five feet of her.  Killing him would have been child's play, but Avari wanted them all.  And for that she required a diversion.

When the sentry had passed, Avari eased a blackened dagger from its sheath.  She gauged the man's movement, then whistled a complex twitter and began to count slowly.  Her whistle attracted only one man's fleeting attention, but he quickly returned to his conversation.  When Avari reached five, the sentry was almost across the clearing from her.  When she reached ten, her muscles tensed and the bushes on the far side of the clearing rustled violently.  The three men reacted immediately, rousing their sleeping companions and whirling toward the disturbance, exactly as she had planned.

Avari emerged from the foliage silently, not breaking into a sprint until free of the restricting undergrowth.  She hit the men at a dead run.  Just as one was starting to turn toward her, all her strength and momentum drove the pommel of her sword into his jaw, smashing it into splintered ruin and dropping him to the ground unconscious.  He was the luckiest.

Another whirled and raised a weapon to parry, but Avari's stroke met his forearm instead of his blade.  Her sword clove his arm and still had momentum enough to slash through half his neck.  He thrashed violently, then stilled; he would be dead in moments.

Avari spun to confront her remaining three foes, and found them quietly backing out of striking distance.  They stood silently gauging her attack and confidently considering their response.

This, she thought with a brief twinge of worry, is not as I planned.  The plan called for disorganization and confusion on their part, efficiency and vindication on hers.  Her worry deepened when she noted that one man bore no weapon.  He instead reached for a belt pouch while muttering unintelligibly.  Her plan did not include facing a wizard.  The true value of a plan, however, is how well it can accommodate changing circumstances, and Avari's plan was a good one.

Avari charged the robed figure with a yell, wildly swinging her sword over her head.  He continued his incantation—tiny motes of energy began swarming between his hands—but his eyes were drawn up to her blade, which caused him to miss the flick of her wrist that sent her dagger plunging into his abdomen.  He folded over, grasping the hilt and gasping in pain, errant sparks of magical energy spilling harmlessly to the ground.  Avari kicked him in the throat, crushing his larynx to ensure that he would cast no more spells, then whirled her attention to the other two.

Surprisingly, they had not attacked while she was busy with their companion; they were not following her plan at all.  They stood well apart, each gripping two weapons comfortably; one held two short swords, and the other a longer blade and a dagger.  They smiled dangerously at her and immediately circled to gain the advantage.

I don't know who you are, mister, one chided, but you just killed three of our friends.  They circled more closely as Avari stepped away from the fallen men.  "Now, they weren't exactly close friends, but we been ridin' together fer near two months, and it's got Jubal an' me a bit riled, ain't it Jubal?"

It was a downright unfriendly thing ta do, all right, Jubal agreed, rasping his two short blades together and squaring off his stance professionally.

First, Avari said coolly, adjusting her posture to keep them both at bay, "I'm a miss, not a mister.

Second, she continued, enjoying their surprise as she dropped her guard drop just enough to invite a careless attack, I only killed two of them.  The tall one will live...long enough to reach the headsman anyway.

Her taunt scored.  The men lost their relaxed poses and tightened their grips on their weapons; they knew the penalty for horse thievery, not to mention murder and rape.  Avari relaxed her stance even further, dropping the tip of her blade and drawing a kerchief from her belt to wipe her brow.

And third, she said with a predatory smile, the family you destroyed six days ago were neighbors and friends of mine.  She waited a heartbeat to let the information sink in.  And I'm going to take great pleasure in killing you for what you did.

At some unseen signal the two men sprang simultaneously, but they had already made the fatal error of allowing Avari time to prepare.  She flung the kerchief, which was filled with sooty ashes, into the face of the man on her left, blinding him.  She blocked Jubal's predictably high attack, dropped and rolled into his shins, inflicting a sizeable gash to his knee in passing.  The two men collided, but managed to avoid stabbing one another.  They lost their balance, even while Avari regained her feet.  She leapt to the attack, intending to end it quickly.  It was her first real mistake.

Avari had not noticed how closely Jubal's hand lay to the blazing fire.  Now a burning log spun at her face as she lunged.  She managed to knock the fiery missile aside with the flat of her blade, but the shower of sparks and cinders blinded her.

She back-pedaled madly, swatting the burning embers, knowing their next move would be to rush her while she could not see.  She tried a crossing slash, and was rewarded by a clang of sword against sword.  Short sword, her trained mind clicked with the tone, Jubal's short sword.  This gave her a good idea where his other blade was, and she managed to knock that aside with a quick twist of her weapon, and step inside his guard.  A knee to his groin and an elbow to his face sent him sprawling, but she dared not finish him while her other opponent was unaccounted for.

Avari backed away, whirling her blade in a defensive arc while shaking her head and blinking to clear her eyes.  Tears streamed down her cheeks, helping to wash away the painful bits of burning ash, but it was her ears that saved her.  The scuff of his boot was not loud, but to her it resounded like a thunderclap.  She whipped her sword behind her in a vertical arc.  Her enemy's thrust was deflected just enough to send the sword's tip grating through the chainmail of her upper arm instead of between her shoulder blades.

Pain exploded down her arm, her hand numbed.  Avari ignored her screaming nerves and spun to defend herself, dropping her sword into her off-hand.  Her opponent pressed in hard with a quick four-stroke attack, but he overestimated his advantage.  Avari's vision had cleared, and he stared in astonishment as his last stroke was met with a lightning stop-thrust, which passed easily through his abdomen and out his back.  His sword dropped to the grass as he gripped the pommel of Avari's blade, stabbing desperately at her with his dagger.  She tried to kick him off the blade, but the descending dagger demanded her attention, and her right arm hung useless.  Reluctantly, she loosed her sword and snatched his wrist before his blade pierced her neck.

For the span of a heartbeat they were face to face.  He struggled weakly, trying to push the dagger into her, while she strove to make her numb hand grip her sword hilt and finish the job.  Then his eyes flicked beyond her, and she remembered Jubal.

Avari shifted her stance instantly, pulling the skewered man off balance toward her.  Dropping to the ground, she planted a foot on his stomach, just above her sword hilt, and rolled back.  His own momentum, aided by the strength of Avari's leg, launched him over her and backward—right into Jubal.

Jubal managed to not skewer his friend, but caught the full weight of the flung body squarely in the chest.  His eyes widened in surprise as the foot of steel protruding from the man's back plunged between his ribs and into his heart.  The two fell dead to the ground, killed, as it was, by a single thrust of Avari's sword.

Avari struggled to her feet, gripping her upper arm tightly to staunch the flow of blood, and stood over the dead thieves.  The luminous moon reflected in their rapidly glazing eyes, but Avari saw only the blank stare of a battered girl, and did not pity them in the least. She tried to pull her sword free, but her numb hand wouldn't close on the hilt.

I am in the understanding of your anger with the vileness of these men, Miss Avari, Hufferrrerrr said from behind her, startling her despite her fatigue, but you should not be one of taking such chances as you are.  I would have been more than in the willingness in helping to dispatch such evil foulness as these.

It wasn't much of a risk, she assured her leotaur friend, giving up on dislodging the sword.  I knew if things got too sticky, you'd break your promise and come rushing to my rescue.

That I very well might have been doing, Miss Avari, he agreed, drawing a metal flask from a satchel and pointing to the steady stream of blood flowing from her elbow, but I am thinking that things did indeed be getting into a bit of the stickiness, as you call it.  Please to be drinking some of Master Szcze-kon's potion before all of the life fluid in your body is being on the ground.

Avari released her grip on her arm and watched the blood pulse from the wound.

Damn.  She had not realized that it was so severe.  She took the flask from Hufferrrerrr and drank greedily, enjoying the wash of wellness that instantly pervaded her to the core.  The bleeding stopped and the wound slowly closed, her fingers tingling with renewed nerves even as Hufferrrerrr wiped away the mess with a cloth.  In a short time her arm would be as good as new, with only a thin pink scar and a lot of drying blood.

Lucky it was my arm and not my neck! she thought.  Anyway, she said aloud, hunting down scum like this is the only exercise I get anymore, since I went back to being a horse farmer.

Hufferrrerrr's hissing laughter startled the horses, and he moved to comfort them, ignoring Avari’s glare.  Granted, she had been busy during the last year since the defeat of Iveron Darkmist.  The wealth she had accumulated during her adventures had allowed her to purchase an expanse of wilderness bordering the coast about twenty-five leagues south of Fengotherond.  With the help of the devoted leotaur and a number of hired hands, they had cleared sections of forest and used the wood to build a house, stables and corrals.  Searest, she called her new home.  She had bought several brood mares and a stallion, and begun training them as her father had taught her.  So, although her tasks of felling and chopping trees, building fences, training horses, and tossing hay bales had kept her muscles in shape, she hadn’t had a good fight in gods knew how long.  And she missed it.

She flipped over the dead wizard with her toe, and rifled carefully through his pockets.  She gathered a number of trinkets to present to Shay the next time she saw him, repayment for the curative potions he had insisted she accept.  The thought of her friend tugged at her heart.  It had been more than a season since they last had last met, and she missed him terribly.

Avari began tying the fingers of the surviving thief together behind his back, yanking the thin leather thongs mercilessly tight.  She then bound his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles, making sure the knots were out of reach.  She poured a small amount of the curative potion into his smashed mouth; it was a crime to waste it on him, but she needed him alive, if only barely, to face the consequences of his actions.  The private deaths of his companions gave her satisfaction, but only a public execution would deter other would-be thieves.  She gave the last knot a particularly vengeful yank, and looked up to see Hufferrrerrr watching her with a thoughtful look on his broad, feline face.

I am in the thinking, the leotaur ventured, that The Thallon may have been being in the correctness.  Perhaps it is that you would be making a better warrior than a horse farmer.

"And I'm thinking, Avari snapped, instant anger flushing her face red, that I told you never to mention that...that...man again!"

I am in the understanding, but—

No 'buts', Huffer! she spat, wiping the last of the soot and caked blood from her sword and snapping it into its scabbard.  "The last thing of interest to me is some guard captain's opinion of my potential!  Now go get our things.  We'll make camp here."

CHAPTER 2

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No, no, no! Shay scolded as he pushed and prodded Lynthalsea's limbs into the proper form.  You are casting a spell here, not making shadow puppets.  It must be done exactly as described in the book, or there is no telling what will result.  You did read it, did you not?"

Yes, Shay, his half-sister answered tolerantly, relaxing her stance for a moment to wipe the beading sweat from her brow.  I read the spell, and I know it has to be performed exactly.  I'm just having trouble concentrating.  We've been at this for over an hour and I haven't even had breakfast yet.  It's a beautiful morning, and I'd much rather be running through the forest than cooped up in this stuffy tower learning how to wiggle my fingers properly.

Though Lynthalsea's tone was mild, the muscles of her slender jaw bunched and writhed with annoyance.  Shay had been pushing her hard lately, constantly insisting that she study, practice, read, and study some more.  And, while she enjoyed learning magic and was becoming fairly adept, there were times when she would rather be elsewhere.  Right now, for instance, her mouth was watering as the scent of a distant rabbit wafted through the tiny window.

The next time we have trouble with jackaleks or ogres, I will remember that you prefer running through the forest to learning how to 'wiggle your fingers properly', Shay said.  I just hope that anyone suffering from your lack of magical skill is as understanding as I am.

Okay, okay, Lynthalsea said, deciding that compliance was easier than resistance.  She renewed her convoluted stance.  How's this?

She had almost argued the point—she had had no magical skills when they were searching for the cornerstones, yet had pulled her weight with her archery and wolfish abilities—but there was no sense in it.  Shay was being contrary about everything of late.  Apparently, he wasn’t finding that Refuge, the home they had built in the foothills of the mountains, was living up to its name.  The keep was to be the culmination of Shay’s dream—a haven for wizards and priests who were outcasts or unwelcome in their professional circles.  Now more than two dozen wizards and priests of many sects dwelt within the keep’s walls, providing ample protection.  The beasts of the forest and mountains, which had plagued them during construction of the keep, had learned quickly, and now left Refuge well alone.  So, Shay’s insistence that her magical skills might turn the tide was more than a bit exaggerated.

Which makes all these spells I'm learning rather superfluous, she thought as another wisp of rabbit scent tantalized her keen senses.  She swallowed and tried to renew her concentration, knowing that her brother's philosophy of continual readiness was well meant.  Dealing with Iveron Darkmist had driven that message home; it was a lesson they would never forget, even if they wished to.

There, Shay said with satisfaction, that is perfect.  Now roll the pearl between your fingers as you recite the incantation.

Lynthalsea complied, and as she finished the spell-casting, they were enveloped by a shimmering, multi-hued dome, a shield that would turn the sharpest arrow or the keenest blade.  She allowed herself only the briefest moment of pride; complete concentration was required to maintain the spell.  A sudden knock at the door, the sharp crack as it opened against the towering bookshelves, and a cheery Hellooo! broke her concentration like a fragile porcelain plate hitting the stone floor.

Huh?  Oh, damn!  As Lynthalsea cursed, the pearl slipped from her fingers.  The sphere of magical energy collapsed into the dropped pearl, which spewed forth small globes of radiance, each colored a different shade of the spectrum.  The red globes burst into tiny gouts of flame, the blue into water, the yellow into light, and the white into ice.

A torrent of uncontrolled magic sent the siblings stumbling backward as more and more colors burst forth with even more bizarre effects, including puffs of smoke, flowers, mud and noxious vapor.  Shay quickly chanted his own spell and, with a puff of coal dust, clapped his hands.  The volcano of chaotic elements immediately ceased, leaving a pool of brown, foul-smelling sludge in the center of the room.

Oh, my goodness! the untimely intruder exclaimed as she ventured further into the room.  "I am sorry for interrupting.  But...my!  What a mess!  She glanced sidelong at Shay, a pitying expression on her slender elven face.  I hope that wasn't anything important."

"No, Mother, and it is not my mess, Shay assured her.  Actually, it is a valuable lesson to Lynthalsea concerning the maintenance of concentration.  He shot his sister an I told you so" glance that she answered with a sheepish shrug.

It really isn't that important, their mother assured them.  I just had a little problem with two of our guests.  I wanted you to have a talk with them, but it can wait.

It is all right, Mother, Shay said as he straightened his robes and strode toward the door.  I will talk to—

Actually Shay, she interrupted with an apologetic smile, I was hoping Lynthalsea could talk to them.  You see, they both seem to be smitten with her, and I was hoping she could...well, you know...smooth things over.

Oh! Shay exclaimed, his graceful ears flushing crimson.  I was not aware that she...I mean that you had...  He stammered a bit, then waved the two out.  You two go do whatever it is you need to do to...whatever.  We can resume this later.

Don't worry, Shay. Lynthalsea assured him, both relieved at her escape from the spell-casting lesson and amused by Shay’s reaction.  They're just upset that I'm seeing someone else.  There won't be any trouble, I promise.

She preceded her mother out the door, and wondered which of her would-be suitors were feuding this time.  After so many years alone in the forest with