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    SILVERHAND
    
    with a pride he could not conceal. 'This pair was sired by
    Windlord out of Stardancer - the most courageous
    stallion in Galloway, and the swiftest mare."
      'They are taller than our usual mounts," Lares com-
    mented as he joined them. He too was dressed in leather,
    with tight-fitting breeches and gauntlets reaching to his
    elbows. Sarel promptly put on her own gauntlets.
      Pelotas blinked; seeing them standing side by side, they
    were mirror images.
      "In the distant past," he told the twins, hoping to
    impress them with his knowledge, "horses were taller,
    their withers as high as an average man's head. They were
    deeper through the loin, broader across the rump, and
    they had longer necks with an arch to them.
      "There are many accounts of these original animals.
    Some were bred for speed, others for strength and
                                                                                     S,~
    stamina. Some were extremely docile, but other line
    required expert handling. In old books I have seen
    pictures of horses bred exclusively for beauty, with great,
    dark eyes that could break your heart and tiny httle~
    muzzles that would fit in,a lady's palm.
      "My family has devoted itself to attempting to recreat.4
    those early steeds. We seek out those horses which come
    nearest to having the old-fashioned characteristics, and
    breed the best to the best, reinforcing strengths and
    eliminating weaknesses. We cull their offip"
    scrupulously, keeping only the finest for our breedin~
    program. Already we have succeeded in producing taller
    stronger horses, as you see here. In another two or thret
    generations we may have a horse that is identical to it
    ancestors, and a vast improvement over the degenerati
    modern animals."
      "Proud beasts. Handsome," Lares murmured. "Ani
    you say they are strong?"
      "Stronger than any mount in your stable," Peloti
    said, and then, realizing that he was boasting, addq
    hastily. "At least, so I have been told."

    




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     Lares walked along the row of stalls, peering critically
    at the horses inside. "These are the only sort of animals
    we should have in our stables," he told his sister. 'They
    make all others look inferior. Have you bred many of
    them, Gallowan?"
     'We have another twenty - though none so perfect as
    these."
     "Send them to us at once; we shall make do with them
    until you can supply more."
     Pelotas was dismayed. "But Majesty, if we send you -all
    our stock we cannot continue our breeding program."
     "Are you refusing?" Lares asked in a deadly cold voice.
     "Don't refuse him," murmured Sarel.
     "No. Of course not!"
     '-Fhen send them. We will continue the experiments
    for you, " Lares told Pelotas in that same icily serene tone.
     "Of course, Majesty."
     "And you must come with them," Sarel added. 'We will
    have need of your expertise." She moved so that she was
    standing directly in front of Pelotas, and just a hair's breadth
    too close to him to be casual. He inhaled her perfume, a
    blend of flowers and spices with a musky undertone, heady
    and exotic but somehow not sweet at all. It reminded him,
    curiously, of warm blood. Her eyes were wide and
    compelling. "Tell me, Gallowan, this method you use to
    breed horses, does it hold true for other species.
      'We have bred hounds and deer in a similar fashion."
      "Humankind?"
     Pelotas almost laughed. But she was serious. The
    question, with its implications, chilled him so that he
    could not reply.
     "Could humans be bred in such a fashion?" Sarel
    'ersisted. Her twin came and stood behind her, his light
    hand resting on her right shoulder, his chin on her left. It
    was like looking at a two-headed creature.
     "I'm ... I'm sure humans could be bred so," Pelotas
    said eventually.

    




    120
    
      Sarel rewarded him with a dazzfing smile. 'Then you
    will do that for us also."
      Shaking his head, Pelotas backed away from the Duet.
      'We shall give you a fine title," Sarel promised. "The
    Breeder."
      I will do nothing so . . .
      They stared fixedly at him in concert, four violet eyes
    expanding and encompassing him until he felt as if he was
    tumbling into a deep pit with walls the color of bruises.
    Sick with vertigo, Pelotas dropped to his knees in the
    hallway of the stable. He did not feel the cobbles under
    him; his blank eyes did not see the twins watching him,
    assessing his reactions with a vast, dispassionate curiosity.
      The stable was filled with the placid, contented sounds
    of horses munching grain or rustling straw as they moved
    about their stalls. The air lay quiet, disturbed only by tin
    dancing dust motes in beams of light streaming throug~l
    the open doorway.
      Tiny dancing dust motes, whirling chaotically ...
      Sarel and Lares separated to stand one on either side
    of the blindly kneeling noblem , an.
      "He is perfect," said Sarel, "skilled in matters we as yet
    know nothing about, but replaceable when we have
    learned all we need from him. Hmmmm ... I wonder
    if... 11
      She did not have to finish the thought. The Duet
    understood one another perfectly. "He seems relatively
    intelligent," Lares commented. "Remember, up until now
    the technique has only been applied to those who make
    little effort to use their minds."
      "So now we will take it a step further! I want to see if it
    will work on someone like this, someone who might have
    enough mental strength to fight back. Will he not be
    more of a challenge, and his conquest more of
    triumph?" Sarel's eyes sparkled.
      "You do it then," her brother said. I will feed you."
      Sarel knelt in front of Pelotas and placed her hands
    
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    either side of his face. Lares crouched behind his sister,
    resting his hands on her shoulders as he concentrated on
    gathering strength from the pit of his stomach, drawing it
    up through his arms and passing it into her body.
     Sarel closed her eyes and looked deeply into the young
    man from Galloway.
     She had discovered the technique while she and Lares
    were first experimenting with the Voids. Exhausted one
    evening, they had stopped long enough to eat, but
    everything they touched rotted before they could put it in
    their mouths. At first they had feared they would starve to
    death, but then the residue of corrupting power faded.
     Yet knowledge of it remained, tempting Sarel to explore
    its potential.
     While Lares sought to control the greater voids, Sarel
    had experimented with narrowing the focus of mindless
    destruction until she was able to control something akin
    to a miniature Void. Such areas were no bigger than the
    head of a pin, but, carefully controlled, they were
    devastating. At first she had experimented with fruit,
    moving her consciousness deep into the core of yel-
    lowhands and orange globes and planting the tiny gray
    seeds of destruction. Within moments the fruit turned to
    black nutreseence.
    
    a
    
     When these early successes lost their novelty she had
    gone on to experiment with animals. Here she found that
    healthy living cells fought the miniature Void, so she
    learned to locate areas within the body already damaged
    or weakened by natural causes, and target her seeds of
    chaos there.
     She had experimented on Barrows imprisoned crimi-
    nals next, choosing only the strongest and healthiest of
    the brutish band. No doubt they had considered them-
    selves lucky when they were delivered, freshly washed
    and shom, to her chambers, to find a naked Sarel waiting
    for them invitingly on her silken bed.
     The look on their faces was part of the fun.

    




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      None had left whole. Some she blinded, placing Voids
    in the soft tissues of the eyes. With others she corrupted
    various organs, curious to see the effects on the whole
    body. In some men she introduced her minute Voids into
    the bone.
      Thirty men had come to her; thirty men had ultimately
    died from these experiments, until she began to lose
    interest.
      Then Sarel undertook to introduce a Void within the
    living brain. Sixty-two men died in agony while she
    perfected the technique, but in time she made a
    fascinating discovery: she found the tiny area at the core
    of the brain which controlled conscience.
      "I will make you free," Sarel whispered, delving deep
    into the Gallowan's brain. In her mind's eye it was a house
    with many doors and corridors. Some doors were open,
    most were shut. The door she was seeking was deep in
    the cellars of the house.
      "Free to do what you will, without conscience, without
    regret," she whispered as she searched.
      Sarel found the door, opened it and planted the Void.
      Unlike the criminal brutes, Pelotas fought back - for
    less than a heartbeat, and then Pelotas' concepts of right
    and wrong, good and evil, the lessons of his youth, culture
    and religion, were stripped away. A great darkness flooded
    through his mind.
      "Breeder," Sarel said, naming him.
      Lares lifted her to her feet. "Let's go riding," he said.
    
    1*

    




    CHAPTER EIGHTIVEN
    
     When Lu-shi stretched out her hand, the hovering
    peist folded its glittering, rainbow-hued wings and settled
    onto her palm. Blowing gently on the enormous insect to
    calm it, she noted the single yellow spot daubed on its
    back.
     Someone had entered the high passes, then.
     One solitary traveller, on foot.
     Lu-shi gently eased the peist into the wicker basket
    where five more of the long, sticklike insects waited to be
    used for carrying messages to and from the sentries.
     She slid the side of the box shut as quickly as she could,
    but even so she had an unpleasant whiff of the charcoal
    substance which coated the inside of the container and
    kept the peist docile.
     "Anything?" Moiren asked, nodding toward the peist
    box. As she spoke the buxom yellowhaired woman lifted
    her leather breastplate off the table and began strapping
    it oil.
     The tiny Katan warrior shook her head. 'Tellow spot."
     "Do you want me to check it out?" Moiren's voice was
    briefly muffled by the baldric as she slipped it over her
    head. She adjusted the wide leather belt across her body
    at an angle, from her right shoulder to her left hip, then
    ran a swift thumb over each of the ten flat throwing
    lu&es as she inserted them in their slots in the baldric. It
    was a coolly professional performance to which she
    seemed to be giving no conscious thought, but Lu-Shi

    




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    knew Moiren would detect the most minute flaw on any
    blade instantly. If she found one she would hurl the knife
    across the room with language that would turn the air
    blue.
     "Let the sentries handle it," Lu-shi told the big blonde.
    <41tps just one person, not worth your effort." She poked at
    the fire smoldering sullenly on the hearth, and was
    rewarded with a pall of acrid black smoke that billowed
    through the hut, driving both women out into the cold
    morning.
     Fifteen huts of stone and timber nestled into the sides
    of the narrow mountain valley. Spirals of smoke rose from
    fourteen. "Look at that," Lu-shi grumbled. "Every chim-
    ney draws but ours. We have to get it fixed, we're bein
                                           ry i
    g
    smoked like fish in our own house. In my count s
    possible to have a blazing fire on the hearth and not a
    wisp of smoke in the room."
      "Stop complaining, you're not in Katan now," Moiren
    reminded her. The blonde woman edged back inside the
    door and retrieved a fur-lined cloak from its peg. She
    swirled it over her shoulders, tied it at neck and waist, and
    picked up a short-handled boar spear. "Beyond the
    Forests of Thusal my people live in ice houses and bum
    dung. A little of the smoke escapes through a hole in the
    roof, but most of it stays inside. Everything, including the
    people, smells of smoke and dung."
      "I can see why you left," Lu-shi retorted.
      Another peist came floating down through the clear air,
    wings vibrating, to alight on Moiren's shoulder. She
    craned her neck to get a look at its back. "Another yellow:
    spot."
      "So whoever it is is coming nearer," said Lu-shi. 1,.:
    wonder what's made the sentries so nervous about a lone.~
    traveller?"
      "Could be one of the Duet's scouts. And the Marsh
    Lords have increased the bounty on us again. Perhaps this
    is a bounty hunter?"

    




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     Lu-shi said calmly, "I wonder just how much I'm worth
    now?"
     The northern woman smiled, showing irregular yellow
    teeth. "'The reward for Lu-shi the Katan, leader of the
    Snowscalds, is one hundred pieces Old Metal,"' she
    recited, "'plus two oxen and a square of land.' Outsiders
    believe you command an enormous band of female
          71
    warriors.
     'We used to be an enormous band. When I first joined
    the Snowscalds we numbered over a hundred."
     'Well, there's only a score of us now," Moiren
    reminded her. "And the authorities want to wipe out
    those. They obviously hope to entice the hill farmers with
    the cattle and land."
     "What about the rest of the band, what reward for
    them?"
     'Ten pieces in New Coin for the head of any member
    of the Snowscalds, or for information leading to her
    capture. I heard it in the village from a Duet priest who
    was spreading the word. I kept my cloak on so he didn't
    recognize me. None of the villagers betrayed me, they're
    too afraid of us."
      "You're lucky he didn't know who you were.
      "He's the lucky one. I would have had to slit his throat."
      'Then they would have sent an army up here after us."
     'We've defeated armies before," Moiren said with grim
    pleasure.
     "That was then and this is now. Now we survive
    because of our reputations," Lu-shi reminded her. She
    stopped suddenly as a young girl came racing up the
    valley. She wore the gray and brown of a sentry, designed
    to be invisible among the rocks.
      Lu-shi and Moiren hurried to intercept her.
     'What's wrong, Seanne?" Moiren cried, holding out her
    arms to catch the girl who appeared on the point of
    collapse.
      "Some... somethiniz strange in the pass," the sentry
                     CY
    
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    SILVERHAND
    
    panted. Her eyes were wild, her face drained of color.
      "Soldiers?" Lu-shi demanded. "A beast?"
      "No. A traveller."
      Lu-shi frowned. 'We saw the peist. A single traveller, is,
    that the one?"
      The sentry nodded, pressing a hand to her heaving
    chest.
      "A man? Woman?"
      The girl shook her head. "Don't know."
      Moiren reached under her cloak and produced a flask
    wrapped with leather. Pulling out the cork with her teeth,
    she pressed the flask to the girl's lips. 'Take a drink of
    this," she ordered.
      Seanne drank and then burst into strangled coughing
    as the fiery alcohol burned its way into her stomach. Tears
    flooded her eyes.
      Lu-shi glared at Moiren. "Did you give the poor child
    some of that appalling liquid fire you distill yourself.?
    Shame on you! That drink will melt rust off a sword."/
      Ignoring her, Moiren said, "Start again, Seanne. Speak
    slowly. What did you see?"
      "A statue. A walking statue!"
    
      Armor, Lu-shi concluded, settling into position in a
    wind-gnarled cedar that clung to the mountainside above
    the barely visible trackway. The child must have mistaken
    some form of armor for stone.
      in her own land, the finest armorers sp6ciahzed in
    creating suits to an individual's form. The armor was based
    on an ancient design, the metal shell mimicking the
    contours of the muscle beneath. Only the helmets deviated
    from the human image, being cast to resemble beasts or
    demons. The armor was light enough to wear without
    excessive discomfort because the Katan had mastered the
    technique of folding thin sheets of steel. When they first
    raided into the surrounding lands wearing the new armor,
    the natives had fled terrified from "the metal men."

    




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     Seanne might have seen someone wearing Katan
    armor. Unpolished steel might have been mistaken for
    stone in the early morning light. But what would someone
    wearing Katan armor be doing walking the high passes?
     Unless . . . The Katan were among the deadliest
    fighters in the world. It was not unknown for the younger
    men to undertake solo quests of honor into barbarian
    country to prove their mettle and hone their killing skills.
     Well, this was one questing Katan who would not be
    returning home to boast of his victories ... and his armor
    would fetch a pretty price in Old Metal.
     Cautiously raising her head, the leader of the Snow-
    scalds scanned the surrounding terrain, but she could see
    nothing out of place. She had fifteen of her band well
    concealed among the rocks. When the traveller reached
    the center of the trackway, the Snowscalds would attack.
    Even a highly trained Katan could not withstand the fury
    of sixteen warrior women.
     A flicker of movement caught Lu-shi's eye. Someone
    was coming up the path. The small woman squinted,
    trying to make out details.
     Something was obviously wrong. The traveller was
    moving slowly, weaving from side to side.
      A trap? A trick?
     Holding her breath, Lu-shi waited as the figure drew
    closer. Beneath its hooded travelling cloak, the Katan
    woman glimpsed something that might be armor, though
    the helmet had been molded to resemble a human face.
    The detail was incredible, the work of a master craftsman.
     The traveller was leaning on a stout quarterstaff, but
    that did not explain the stiff, awkward movements he
    made, or his unnatural gait. Everything about him was
    peculiar, including the long knife strapped upside down
    atop his chest in a way no normal warrior would wear a
    weapon.
     The Katan woman felt the small hairs on the backs of
    her hands rise. She dry-washed her hands. She knew that
    
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    SILVERHAND
    
    feeling of old: the unmistakable tingle of magic.
     A magician, then? A sorcerer?
     The figure stopped just short of the center of the path.
    Raising one hand, it pushed the hood back off its head
    and shook out a mane of long gray hair.
     Lu-shi stifled a gasp. She was looking at a womani
     The traveller lifted her head and Lu-shi's surprise
    turned to incredulity. Green eyes glittered through what
    might be holes in the helm, and the lower part of the
    faceplate moved, taking the form of a pair of stone-gray
    lips that shaped words.
     But what helmet could be constructed to so mimic a
    
    blowpipes levelled.
    
    human face?
     'When I rode with the Snowscalds, we often used this
    spot to ambush travellers." The voice, which appeared to
    be directly addressing Lu-shi in her hiding place, was
    harsh, rasping. Sexless.
     The Katan woman froze, praying her followers would
    do the same until they knew what manner of being they
    faced.
     "I've been watching the peist fly," the inhuman voice
    continued. 'They were daubed with a single yellow spot.
    If I had been a raiding party or a war party then the code
    would have been three red spots. A merchants' caravan, a
    single yellow line. At least that was the code in my day,
    when I rode the high passes with Lilith, the Dark Lady,
    and we harried Los-Lorcan's army to its desruction."
     Lu-shi slid to the ground, dropping lightly to her feet
    before the traveller. At once fifteen Snowscalds material-
    ized from among the rocks to stand behind her, bows and
    
     '-vVho are you?" Lu-shi demanded.
     "A sister."
     "Let us see you. Take off your helmet."
      'This is not a helmet." The figure stepped closer, giving
    the other woman a clear look at her face.
     The Katan hissed. She was not looking at a metal mask,

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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    but at human skin: skin the color and texture of stone,
    covering the woman's visage from forehead to chin. The
    green eyes and the pink interior of her mouth when she
    opened it to speak provided the only color in that ashen
    face.
     Wordlessly, the woman dropped her cloak to the
    ground, then undid the ties of her tunic and pulled it over
    her head. Naked, she turned slowly, letting them look.
     Much of her body appeared to be petrified. Cracked
    granite spread from between her shoulders and down
    along her spine, tracing her ribs around to the front of her
    torso where a gritty grayness covered most of one breast,
    leaving a portion of the nipple pink. The adjacent arm was
    as gray as the breast. Her belly and upper thighs looked
    like solid stone.
     "Nine days ago I was harvesting with my husband and
    five children in Brethany," she told her horrified audi-
    ence. Her eyes glittered in their granitic mask but did not
    weep. Could not weep. Stiffening facial muscles had
    closed the tear ducts.
     "Something fell upon us out of nowhere, a gray Void
    that consumed my four sons and snatched my baby
    daughter off my back. I think it took my husband too."
    The woman's voice was a monotone, devoid of emotion.
    "But it did not take me. Gorged, it departed, leaving me
    for dead.
     'When I awoke I could not feel the skin on my back
    where the baby had been riding in her sling. Since then
    this creeping disease has spread over me to the extent you
    see, turning my flesh to stone." Bending with an
    abnormally rigid back, she retrieved her knife from its
    scabbard and slashed savagely at her gray arm. Sparks
    danced off the blade. "Stone," she repeated wearily. The
    part of her body which still appeared human was
    shivering.
     Moiren threw off her own fur-lined cloak and stepped
    forward to wrap it around the woman.

    




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     The stranger sighed gratefully. "I once rode with the
    Snowscalds, she said to Moiren, "and now I've come
    back because I have nowhere else to go."
    "What is your name?" Lu-shi inquired.
    "QN,)mne."
    "Welcome home, sister."

    




    ,CHArTER NINETIEE4
                            N
    
     A sudden yelp of anguish woke Caeled. "If you move
    again," the Senior Healer was saying to someone nearby
    in dispassionate tones, "you'll rip it off entirely."
     "I'd swear it didn't hurt so much before you got your
    hands on it!" the patient replied with feeling.
     Recognizing Armadiel's voice, Caeled opened his eyes.
    He slid off the hard, narrow bed and padded barefoot
    across the floor of the tiny sleeping chamber, his damp
    feet leaving fleeting patterns on the polished stone.
     He discovered Armadiel sitting slumped on an examin-
    Mg slab in the central chamber of the Healing Chapel.
    Nazariel stood over him, doing something to one side of
    the Seeker's face. A bowl on the slab beside them held
    water stained pink with blood. As Caeled entered the
    chamber the Healer turned toward him. "Curiosity, eh? A
    sure sign you're healing."
     "Hello, boy." Armadiel attempted a smile which crum-
    pled into a grimace of pain as Nazariel resumed his work
     'What happened to you?" Caeled wanted to know.
     The stout Healer said over his shoulder, "A mountain
    bfigand tried to slice off this man's ear with a rusty knife.
    I'm attempting to sew it back on, but he's whimpering like
    a child. Stay here and talk to him; make him put on a
    brave face in front of you."
     "You look a damn sight better than the last time I saw
    you, " Armadiel remarked to Caeled, trying not to flinch as
    Nazariel sewed his ear with sturdy thread. The Healer

    




    gave the needle a flourish, knotting the line, then tugged
    at the most recent stitch.
      In spite of himself, Armadiel gasped. "You did that on
    purpose!-
      "Of course I did. You wouldn't want the knot unravel-
    ling, would you?"
      Caeled hooked one leg over the edge of the slab,
    perching so he could watch. The Seeker's ear looked like
    mangled meat; he wondered how the Healer could hope
    to restore it to normalcy. 'That's a bad wound," he told
    Armadiel with a certain amount of boyish admiration.
      Armadiel grunted. "I was lucky. A finger-length the
    other way and he would have destroyed my eye."
      "Or he could have cracked your skull," Nazariel
    remarked, peering critically at his handiwork.
      Caeled said, "You could have saved his eye or fixed his
    skull, though, couldn't you, Nazariel?"
      The Healer shrugged modestly, but he was pleased.
      Caeled asked Armadiel, "Did you kill many bandits?"
      The reply was succinct. "All of them."
      "I know we had to make the mountain passes safe
    again, ~~ remarked Nazariel, "but I confess to having a
    certain sympathy for those men you killed. Poor fellows,
    they were mostly refugees left over from Los-Lorcan's
    border wars. They had spent years hiding out, struggling
    to survive with every person's door barred, to them. Their
    past was a shameful nightmare and they had no future.
    What a waste of lives," the Healer sighed.
      Armadiel replied coldly, 'They were bandits."
      'Were there many?" Caeled wanted to know. He had
    forgotten the pain in his arm in the excitement.
      'When we raided their camp in the high mountains we
    found and killed twenty-two. However, before we razed
    the camp we discovered thirty bedrolls, so we knew there
    were eight still out there, somewhere.
      'We were heading back here to eat and rest before
    going after them again, when this happened." He reached
    
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    up to touch his ear, but Nazariel slapped his hand away.
     Armadiel continued for the fascinated Caeled, 'We
    were ambushed in a narrow pass where those eight
    bandits fought like men possessed."
     'They had nothing left to lose," the Healer reminded
    him.
     Armadiel looked as if he was about to say more on the
    subject, but thought better of it. "You've made good
    progress since I last saw you," he commented instead to
    Caeled.
     The youngster nodded. Then he blurted, "I don't
    remember saying this to you on the way here, but ...
    thank you! You saved my life I don't know how many
    times."
     "I would have dishonored myself if I had failed to try to
    help you," Armadiel replied.
     Nazariel finished a second row of stitches and snipped
    off the last of the thread. "You'll have a scar, but when the
    swelling goes down your ear will look somewhat like an
    ear again. Go now, get some fresh air and keep your
    hands off the wound until it's had a chance to heal. If you
    have a lot of pain come back to me, though the worst of it
    should be over now."
     Armadiel eased himself off the slab and helped Caeled
    down. Putting an arm about the boy's shoulder, he guided
    him toward an arched doorway on the other side of the
    chamber. 'Tell me how you feel?" he asked as they
    walked.
     "My hand is sore. Caeled began, then shook his
    head. "Not my arm, my hand. I can feel my fingers." He
    raised the bandaged stump. "Sometimes I wriggle them."
     ,,it will take time for your body to adjust to the loss,"
    Armadiel said gently. "I once spoke to an Island Corsair
    who'd lost his leg above the knee, yet he swore he could
    feel his toes." He stopped, blinking in the sunshine as
    they stepped out onto a narrow terrace. Leaning on the
    rail, he turned his face up toward the sun and closed his

    




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    SILVERHAND
    
    eyes. Light shone bronze and gold through his eyelids.
      "Nazariel makes me come outside for a while every day
    and it's always so warm here," said Caeled, "yet I seem to
    remember that it was cold in the world beyond Bad-
    dalaur. Is this warmth some sort of magic?"
      "No. Well, perhaps natural magic," Armadiel amended.
    'We're in the belly of a fire mountain, a volcano. You
    
    know the word? This entire mountain is hollow, riddled
    with caves and caverns. The surrounding countryside is
    far colder, of course."
      Caeled's eyes widened. "Aren't you afraid the volcano
    will explode some day?"
      "No. It has been dormant for so long it will never
    awaken now."
      "Are you certain?"
      "There are no certainties, boy. I've sought them all my
    life and never found them.
      "But look," he said, gesturing. "Look down at the
    Central Courtyard on the level below us, at the heart of
    Baddalaur. Can you see that the paving is actually a bed of
    solidified lava?"
      At its widest the Central Courtyard stretched a
    thousand paces across, its center occupied by an enor-
    mous sculptured fountain of complex and intriguing
    design. The fountain had not worked in living memory,
    though in some of the oldest records it was described as
    shooting a column of steaming water into the sky at
    regular intervals.
      The sloping interior walls of the hollow mountain were
    studded with innumerable caves. Terraces cut in-to
    stone ran in front of elaborately decorated cavemouth
    carved and painted to simulate the gaping mouths of
    beasts. Some of the beasts bore no resemblance to any
    known creature; they were the products of myth and
    nightmare.
     When Caeled tilted his head back and looked up he
    could see a network of gossamer-thin aerial walkways like-,,
    
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    spiderwebs connecting the highest caves, those nearest
    the rim of the volcano and the blue sky far above.
     I want to walk up there," Caeled said, pointing with
    his remaining hand. "Are they safe?"
     'They're safe enough, I suppose," Armadiel growled.
     He disliked the high walkways; he had an inexplicable
    fear of heights. "They enable the brothers to cross from
    one side of the mountain to the other without having to
    come down to ground level. When I joined the Seekers
    half a lifetime ago, there were wicker and metal baskets
    that could convey people to the highest caverns. But they
    don't work any more," he added.
     Caeled was about to ask why not when he realized
    Armadiel's attention had wandered. Following the man's
    gaze he looked over the railing and down. A group of
    white-robed Seekers was crossing the courtyard. When
    he recognized the old man in their midst - Maseriel, the
    Hieromonach - a shudder ran across the boy's shoulders
    as he was swept by a vivid memory of Maseriel standing
    over him, staring at Caeled with blind white eyes.
     Maseriel stopped below the terrace and called up,
    exactly as if he could see them, "Brother Armadiel, bring
    that boy down here!"
     With one hand on Caeled's shoulder Armadiel
    maneuvered him along the sloping terrace and down to the
    courtyard to stand before the Hieromonach. Once he was
    close to the old man, Caeled was surprised to discover that
    Maseriel was no taller than himself The Hieromonach's
    eyes fascinated the boy. The iris and pupil appeared to have
    been washed away, leaving only the white eyeballs. But the
    white was shot through with jagged lines like a broken
    mirror. And when Maseriel turned his face towards them,
    Caeled was convinced he could see.
     "You did well, brother," Maseiiel. congratulated Armadiel as
    the other Seekers ranged themselves in a semicircle around
    them. I understand none of those brigands survived."

    




    136              SILVERHAND
    
     "And you razed the camp?"
     "fes, brother. We burnt the bodies and stuck the heads
    on poles around the site. It will not be used again."
     "I am told you were injured."
     "A minor injury"' Armadiel said quickly.
     "It should not have happened."
     'We were surprised in a narrow pass and someone
    jumped onto me from an overhanging rock."
     "You should not have let that happen. You should have
    been prepared."
     "Yes, brother."
     Caeled looked from one man to the other, feeling
    tension in the air. Armadiers grip on his shoulder had
    tightened almost painfully.
     "Do you need instruction, brother?" Maseriel asked.
     "I do not think so," Armadiel said cautiously.
     "How then do you account for your error?,)
     Armadiel took a deep breath. "I make no excuses.
    Possibly my journey into the Northlands in search of ...
    my journey exhausted me. Perhaps I should have rested
    more before setting out in pursuit of the bandits."
     Maseriel took a step forward. Armadiers fingers dug into
    Caele&s shoulder until the boy almost cried out with pain.
     Then the Hieromonach stopped and nodded to him-
    self. -Perhaps you are correct," he said. 'The error w&,
    mine in allowing you to go without sufficient rest. I wil
    consider my mistake should a similar situation ever arise.:
    Turning to Caeled, he reached out unerringly to place thi
    palm of his hand against the boy's cheek. "And yov
    Brother Armadiel's find, how are you?"
     'Well," Caeled murmured.
     'Well? Is that all you have to say?"
     "I am well thanks to the courage of Armadiel wl
    rescued me and the skills of Nazariel who is healing m
    And also thanks to your kindness for allowing me to st
    here while I am being treated."
     'Well said," Masariel approved.

    




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      I will move on as soon as I can," Caeled assured him.
     To his surprise, Maseriel turned and began to walk
    away. The- Gther Seekers remained where they were, but
    Armadiel gently pushed the boy forward so that he fell
    into step beside the old man. As they crossed the
    courtyard together Caeled, looking down, noticed a faint
    pattern etched in the surface of the lava bed, as if to
    convey a message. He tried to decipher it but the
    meaning eluded him, wom away by the feet of countless
    generations.
      'Where will you go?" Maseriel was asking.
     I don't know," Caeled replied. "To Barrow possibly,
    maybe south to Karfondal."
      ',And then?"
      I don't know," Caeled said again.
      "You have family you could go to?"
      "No."
    
      '-fou have skills then?"
      "None."
     They paused
    courtyard. The old man sighed. I fear your options are
    limited. You can become a beggar - your disability
    would prove an advantage there. You would want to go to
    Karfondal, in that case, where the populace is sympa-
    thetic to beggars. Beggars have an unfortunate habit of
    disappearing off Barrow's streets.
     "Or you could become a thief, though pickpockets
    and cutpurses really need two hands. However, in time
    you might adapt - if you survive and avoid the gallows.
    Alternatively, you could become a whore. There is a
    lively trade in Barrow in young men, and your
    deformity might render you desirable to those of
    perverse tastes." Maseriel bent his head toward Caeled
    
    beside the fountain in the center of the
    
    Ue a snake approaching a rabbit. "You really have no
    other choices, you know."
     The boy turned his gaze toward the disused fountain,
    trying to distract himself from the old man's almost

    




    138
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    gloating tone. He was determined not to weep in front
    of the Hieromonach.
     The ancient fountain, he now observed, was sculptured
    from an enormous chunk of Old Metal that must have
    been worth a fortune. It took the form of a beautifully
    balanced cascade of geometric shapes, squares and balls
    and triangles.
     At second glance Caeled noticed what appeared to be
    hands; long fingers were clawing their way between the
    abstract shapes as if someone buried inside the sculpture
    was trying to get out.
      "Or you could stay here from now on," said Maseriel.
     Caeled was wondering why no one had bothered to
    repair such a magnificent fountain right in the center of
    Baddalaur...
     1"at did you say?" he gasped as his mind tardily
    registered the Hieromonach's words.
      "I said you could stay here."
      Caeled looked at him blankly.
     'We will give you a home, an education, a future. At
    the end of your training, if you have applied yourself
    sufficiently and fulfilled our expectations for you, you may
    choose to take the vows of the Order and remain with us
    always as a brother."
     "And in return?" the boy whispered, his heart thunder-
    ing. 'What would you want in return?" Everything costs,
    his mother had told him wearily, more than once.
    Everything costs.
     'While you are training, we demand nothing more
    than your obedience," Maseriel replied. "If you remain
    with us, then your unswerving loyalty." The old man
    turned his head as if to survey the Central Courtyard.
    "There are currently no others of your generation train-
    ing with us, so you would be -assured of the finest
    education with a great amount of individual attention,
    When you're finished you could find employment at any
    court in the land. It is just a su~!~estion, of course," he

    




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    added innocently. "Perhaps you would like to think
    about it."
     "No. I mean, yes! Of course I would like to stay!"
    Caeled felt a vast relief sweep through him. He would
    have a home, an education - even a family, of sorts. It
    seemed too good to be true.
     "Very well," said Masariel with a wintry smile. 'We will
    do what we can for you. If you are as bright as I think you
    are, you may rise through the ranks of the brotherhood.
    You might, for example, someday become a Scholar. . . "
     "Or a Seeker like Armadiel?" Caeled interrupted
    excitedly.
     Maseriel said in a stem, cold voice, "Only those
    complete in mind and body can aspire to be Seekers of
    the Way."
     Caeled glanced at the bandaged stump of his left wrist.
    The sight no longer made him feel queasy as it had done
    at first, but filled him with a vast hopelessness that would
    have bordered on'despair, had he possessed a less sturdy
    spirit.
     He raised his eyes again to Maseriel and met the blank
    white gaze that saw nothing.
     Yet the Hieromonach knew Caeled was looking at him.
    Knew, and widened his strangely chilling smile.

    




    CHArTER TWENTY
    
      By the time he had climbed the first one hundred
    steps, Caeled was exhausted. The muscles in his legs were
    burning and his stump was throbbing in time to the pulse
    in his temples.
      "A moment, please," he panted. He sank down on the
    step with his back to the wall.
      The short, sly-looking Recoverer - whom Caeled had
    instinctively disliked on sight - returned to stand a step
    above the boy, tapping his foot impatiently. "I don't have
    all day," Tarkiel grumbled.
      Ignoring the man, Caeled took advantage of the
    opportunity to gaze out over Baddalaur. He stared
    bemused at the grotesque yawning mouth of a dragon
    surrounding the entrance of the cave opposite, and
    grinned when he glimpsed men moving back and forth
    inside the dragon's mouth.
      When he looked down from this height he could more
    clearly make out the pattern incised into the lava floor of
    the Central Courtyard below. What had appeared to be
    random lines made more sense now. He could distinguish
    faded threads of green and gold, black and silver in an
    intricate spiral design that drew the eye toward the
    fountain.
      Caeled wondered what the effect would have been
    when the colors were new and bright and the fountain in
    working order, spraying water almost as high as th
    mouth of the volcano.

    




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     "Are you ready to go on yet?" the Seeker demanded.
     Caeled glanced up at the man, trying to remember his
    name. Tarkel . . . Torkeel? Tarldel. "Have we much
    farther to go, Brother Tarkiel?"
     "To the top," the Recoverer replied. "There are six
    hundred and seventy stone steps from the Central
    Courtyard to the highest levels where the student
    quarters are. As the brothers progress through the Order,
    they move to lower quarters, until they eventually return
    to the courtyard. The Hieromonach and the Seniors have
    their quarters there, together with the Great Library and
    the Halls of Study."
     "Maseriel told me. . .
     "Brother Maseriel," Tarldel snapped, "or you may use
    his tide, the Hierornonach.-
     "Brother Maseriel told me," Caeled amended, "that
    there are no other students my age in Baddalaur." Having
    caught his breath, he got to his feet and moved onto the
    next step. Tarkiel turned his back on him and proceeded
    upward. "I was wondering why that was?" Caeled called
    after him.
     The Recoverer climbed on in silence. just when
    Caeled was beginning to doubt he had heard the
    question., the man said over his shoulder, 'We represent
    order." He went a few steps more, then added, 'We stand
                 perfection of the old ways. These new
    venerations, however, prefer the tumult of chaos. 'Do
    U
    what thou will' is the modem credo.
     "That is not our way. We believe in stringent discipline,
    the dignity of suffering, the nobility of self-sacrifice.
    People are not meant to enjoy, but to endure, as we have
    always taught. But our beliefs are not ... fashionable," he
    mouthed the word as if it burned his mouth.
     "In Barrow, for example, the Duet rule a court of
    unbridled licentiousness. They encourage the people to
    live from day to day without thought of the morrow. if
    they continue to promote debauchery they will destroy
    
    e
    
    re
    of
    be
    sh
    an
    the
    
 een
     in
     the
    
    for the dignity and
    
    11

    




    142
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    A
    
    the capital and beggar their subjects in less than ten
    cycles. Or turns, as you southerners might call them."
      The remark disturbed Caeled; he wondered how this
    strange, cold-eyed Seeker with the unusual title of
    Recoverer knew he was from the south. Any accent he
    possessed he had long since outgrown.
      "In twenty seasons," Tarldel continued, "Barrow will be
    a ruin, the army in disarray, the fleet dispersed, disease
    and crime rampant. Then the invaders will come: warriors
    from Katan, Brethans and the savage Shemmat and
    Island Corsairs," Drawing a deep breath, he made a
    visible effort to control his emotions.
      "In such a chaotic climate, what use is there for learriing
    and knowledge? Young men now dedicate themselves to
    the pursuit of pleasure. There are schools in Barrow, for
    example, which offer instruction in lovemaking! Andi,
    command a high price for their instruction!" Tarldel
    sounded scandalized. "The gladiatorial schools have been
    revived, and assassins are teaching their skills to anyone
    with a purse full of coins. Even the healing arts have been,
    perverted; I am reliably informed that one can purchase
    instruction in poisoning and maiming."
      The Recoverer shook his shaven head. "Proper school-
    ing, on the other hand, is no longer compulsory as it was
    under Los-Lorcan. A generation is growing up without
    the benefit of reading skills, without any knowledge of the
    past. That is how the Duet keep control: through
    ignorance." Tarkiel paused at last and looked back;
    Caeled was several steps below, struggling to follow him
    but finding it increasingly difficult to raise his aching legs.
      Tarkiel was unexpectedly touched by the wounded bo
    valiant effort. "Rest," he commanded more kindly than
    his wont. "Sit for a moment before we go further."
      Caeled promptly slumped onto the step, but with hii
    one hand he continued to cling to the rope guardrail th4
    prevented his tumbling into the Central Courtyard
    below. "How high are we?" he wheezed.   i~

    




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     "Five hundred and ten steps."
     Still clutching the rope, Caeled leaned forward to peer
    down. He quickly drew back. The height made his head
    swim. He tried looking up instead, at the blue inverted
    bowl of the sky which seemed closer now. Much closer.
    As if he were about to tumble into it.
     He swallowed hard and pinned his eyes on Tarkiel.
    'What am I going to learn up here?" he asked anxiously,
    wishing he had the nerve to turn around and go down
    again. How could he live here and learn here when he felt
    so suspended in space, so lost in the sky?
     "You will receive the most important part of your
    education upon which all else depends," Tarkiel told him.
    'While you are on this level you will be taught to read, to
    write and to reason. Those abilities will give you access to
    the knowledge of previous generations which is contained
    in the Great Library. Armed with knowledge, one can
    rule the world. Knowledge is the ultimate power!" Tarkiel
    raised one fist and brandished it like a weapon, an
    incongruous gesture on the part of so small a man.
     Caeled laughed before he could stop himself.
     'TOU doubt me," Tarkiel snapped. "Tell me, who is the
    greater: the warrior or the scholar?"
     'The warrior," replied the boy quickly.
     "And yet without knowledge from the past, which is
    carried into the present by the scholar, the warrior is
    useless."
     Caeled shook his head. "I don't understand."
     "If his armorers have not been trained in the ancient
    skilts of metal working, and leather tanning, a warrior will
    be defenseless. He will have neither arms nor armor.
    Without knowledge of successful tactics and stratagems
    used by great warriors of the past, he will stand no chance
    against his enemies. And if farmers know nothing of
    raising crops or husbandry, they will not be able to
    produce the food that will keep the warrior strong and
    enable him to win."
    
    I

    




    144
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      Caeled's forehead crinkled into a frown as he followed
    the man's reasoning. "I think I understand," he said.
      "In order for tl-~s society to survive and grow," Tarkiel went
    on, coming back down to sit beside the boy, "all important
    knowledge must be recorded and passed on. But who is to say
    which things are important, or will be necessary to someone in
    the future? No one knows, so we gather and guard all the
    accumulated wisdom of the past, even the most seemingly
    insignificant detail. How many eyes does an ant have? From
    which direction did the wind blow on a given day five hundred
    cycles ago? That information is somewhere in the Great
    Library of Baddalaur, Caeled.
      "But the twins are attempting to render all our work
    useless. They want to reduce this world to chaos."
      'Why? Why would anyone want to do such a thing?"
      "It is their nature," Tarldel said simply.
    
      The cave was situated just inside the rim of the
    volcano, the highest point in Baddalaur. It was long and
    narrow, cool to the point of chill in its deeply shadowed
    interior, and innocent of any furniture. A low shallow slab
    which had been cut into the wall close to the floor took
    the place of a bed, while a series of grooves in the
    rockface served as shelves and held a supply of foodstuffs.
    A single coarse blanket was neatly folded on the bed; a
    cask below the shelves contained fresh water.
      The cave was at the end of the narrow walkway, and
    accessible through a single low door carved to represent
    the half-open beak of a bird.
      Two perfectly circular windows, the bird's eyes, looked
    out toward the snow-capped mountains in the distance.
      Tarkiel left Caeled in the cave and began the long
    walk down by himself When he was sure the Recoverer
    had gone, the boy sank onto the cave floor and
    massaged his aching leg muscles with his remaining
    hand. He hoped Tarkiel's legs ached too.
      They had passed many empty caves on the way up

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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    here; he was sure Tarkiel had deliberately brought him to
    the coldest, loneliest one in an effort to make him feel
    helpless. What Tarkiel did not fully appreciate was that
    Caeled had spent his life travelling 6ni one slum to
    another, surviving rat-infested ghettos where death and
    disease were rampant. He and his mother had even spent
    two cycles in the City of the Dead beyond Barrow. The
    ancient cemetery housed a huge population of the
    poorest of the poor, who fought for possession of the
    crypts with dog-rats, carrion-spiders, serpents, and, it was
    rumored, some of the sith, the blood drinkers. A
    sweltering sinkhole during the day, the necropolis became
    a place of terror during the hours of darkness.
     Even the room they had occupied in Ward Point had
    been little better, a cramped cell in a lice-infested
    tenement with neighbors who would slit their throats for
    the food in their mouths.
     So this cave, cool and clean, the air sweet and
    invigorating, bigger than any room he had ever shared
    with his mother and her succession of lovers, was luxury.
     Caeled lifted his stump and examined it. Maseriel had
    said something about the brothers making him a hand.
    What could that mean - a hook, a claw? A spike?
     He was unfamiliar with the term, yet instinctively he
    felt the irony of his situation. It was only because he had
    lost his hand that he was in Baddalaur, and he lost his
    hand because he fled Ward Point, and he fled Ward Point
    because of the thing that had destroyed his mother.
     His mother. Myriam. He felt a surge of guilt; he had
    not thought of her for days. Now his throat burned and
    tears filled his eyes as he recalled her face. His mother
    had died, and as a result he was in Baddalaur to receive
    
    an education.
     An education! Caeled nam Myriam, who was nothing,
    the son of a nobody, would have a finer education than
    the richest man in Ward Point. Out of his mother's death
    was born a new life for him.
    
    ,-im

    




    146
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      He laughed, a bitter sound more like a strangled sob
    that echoed around the stone walls.
      The boy went to the mouth of the cave and gazed out
    at the orange disc of Nusas, sinking toward the distant
    mountains. Spots of color danced before his eyes,
    reminding him of the colored lights that had danced in
    the heart of the Void.
      Caeled narrowed his eyes. Had there been anyone to
    see, he would have looked suddenly mature, his face set
    in hard lines. Tarkiel said all knowledge was contained in
    the Great Library. Surely that would include knowledge
    of the Voids,
      As he lit his mother's makeshift funeral pyre he had
    promised her that she would be avenged. Someday.
    Somehow. A childish vow, at the time it had amounted to
    nothing more than words whispered to comfort himself
    amid the crackle of the flames.
      Butnow ... his mother's death had brought him a new
    life. And that life would contain knowledge of the Voids.
      Knowledge was power.
      Power to destroy the Voids!,

    




    CHAPTER TWENTY- 04 NE
    
     He could see the stars through the round windows,
    sharp as splinters of ice against the night sky. The stars
    had always fascinated him. He knew most of their names
    and the legends associated with them, but he had never
    seen them so clearly before. They looked close enough to
    touch. Close enough to walk into, like walking into a
    forest of lights.
     Caeled swung his legs off the bed and wrapped the
    blanket around his shoulders. A few steps took him to the
    mouth of his cave. He hesitated in the doorway, however,
    reluctant to venture out onto the narrow balcony in case
    he lost his footing and tumbled to the courtyard below.
     The Central Courtyard and the lower portion of the
    hollow mountain were illuminated by a number of
    torches in iron holders affixed to the stone. Their flames
    outlined the mouths of the caves, throwing the carving
    into stark relief so that grotesque and improbable
    creatures appeared to be crouching within the volcano,
    vibrating with fiery life. Further up, however, there were
    fewer torches. The last of these - a solitary flickering
    flame -was well below the level where Caeled stood. Its
    warmth and light 'might as well have been as distant as the
    stars.
     The boy shivered and looked away from the torches. It
    was a trick he had learned while still very young: If he did
    not look at food, he would not feel as hungry. If he turned
    away from fire, he would not be aware of the cold.

    




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    SILVERHAND
    
      Raising his head, he gazed at the stars instead.
      The Lady Lussa was missing tonight, leaving the sky
    ablaze with stellar patterns without the distraction of
    moonlight. Almost directly overhead the Homed Hunter
    pursued the Fawn, while below them the Hooded
    Scorpion raised its barbed tail over the coiling Viper. The
    Swans were just coming into sight at the rim of the
    volcano, though the Barge they hauled was still below the
    horizon.
      Caeled recognized the broad swath of the Salt, a great
    spill of stars bright enough to obscure nearby celestial
    bodies. But his favorite performers in the night sky were
    the Dancing Fires, which shimmered on the northern
    horizon in certain seasons, or pulsed across the entire
    width of the heavens looking like watered silk in shades of
    rose and violet and emerald.
      Caeled was familiar with silk. A childhood spent
    travelling across the Seven Nations, begging rides with
    merchants' caravans, sneaking around the fringes of
    wealth while his mother looked for ways to feed them
    both, had exposed him to many luxury items he could
    never expect to have for himself.
      But when the Dancing Fires rippled across the sky"I
    their beauty was his; a beauty greater than any emperor
    could command. Unfortunately the Fires were not
    dancing tonight. Had they been, they could have made
    him forget the cold.
      Caeled drew his blanket tighter around his shoulders.
    The wind had come up, sighing, whispering, moaning
    across the mountain tops. The boy frowned. The sounds
    reminded him of the noises his mother made when she
    was ... entertaining. He had always pretended to be,
    asleep, but in truth he used to gaze out the window above
    his bed at the stars then, too, seeing them through a
    rainbow of tears. Trying to find the distraction of beautyi
    as he sought that same distraction tonight.
      When he was too chilled to continue stargazing he

    




 narrow strip of balcony.
     A bird? A bat?
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    1AQ
    
    reluctantly turned to go back to his bed. But he had only
    half-completed the movement when he froze, alerted by
    something seen out of the corner of his eye. The skin on
    the back of his neck began itching as if an insect were
    crawling up his nape. He whirled to face the sky and
    caught another glimpse of the faintest flicker of move-
    ment, the merest disturbance in the air beyond the
    
     No, something much larger that had momentarily
    seemed to be directly in front of his cave ... but that was
    impossible. The nearest solid place to stand was the
    
    Connfrol Cn"rh7nrf1farbelow.
    
     Must have been a bird, Caeled decided as he slid back
    onto his stony bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
    He waited for his body to generate enough heat under
    
    the thin covering to allow him to stop shivering.
     No doubt Brother Tarldel had expected he would find
    the bed uncomfortable, but the boy preferred cool, dry
    
    stone to wet marshland or flea-infested straw.
    
     While he lay waiting for sleep he looked toward the
    nearest window in time to see the stars disappear and
    then reappear, as if something moved across them. He
    was reminded of the flickering he had glimpsed as he
    
    ~zf,,-J in the cave mouth.
    
     Caeled knew the sky well; this was not a familiar
    phenomenon. Were such things common in the vicinity of
    Baddalaur? he wondered. Even
                           ything was so different
    
    here, far outside his experience.
     Perhaps the education he was going to receive would
    explain it. Education seemed to him to be a wonderful
    thing, as rare and precious as the Dancing Fires. A great
    longing swept over him for his new life to begin, and in
    the dark the boy hugged himself, not for warmth o
    comfort this time, but in anticipation
    
    He was still lying thus when he fell asleep, with thE

    




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     "For a moment I thought he saw us," Brother Rasriel
    said, his voice a ghostly echo on the Aethyra.
      "He almost did," Maseriel replied.
     Rasriel turned his head, swivelling his neck in the
    fashion peculiar to owls.
     When he rode the Aethyra on his own he usually
    assumed the form of a golden hawk, but as that bird was
    the Hieromonach's chosen persona, Rasriel opted for the
    form of a great snowy owl when they flew together. In
    truth, he enjoyed the sensation of gliding silent as a
    whisper on the outstretched wings of the night predator;
    the lack of sound heightened the sensation of flight.
     "How could he see us?" Rasriel now wondered aloud.
    'We stayed well clear of the light."
     Maseriel's hawk shape spiralled upward and Rasriel
    hurried after him, feeling a twinge of annoyance that he
    lacked the other's speed.
     "He didn't see us," the Hieromonach called back to
    him. "I think he sensed us."
      "A natural talent?"
      "One we shall develop and train, honing it until. . .
     "Until?" Rasriel prompted, putting in an extra down-
    stroke so he could catch up with the soaring hawk.
      "Until we unleash it."
     The monks rose higher and higher on the Aethyra.
    From time to time they glanced down at the world below
    them, automatically observing the varied auras emitted by
    every form of life. They had long ago learned to ignore
    the tender colors of the living earth, lovely though they
    were, and concentrate on the more vibrant hues of men
    and beasts. But as they continued to climb these auras
    also faded into the distance.
      Baddalaur, however, still glowed like a beacon, warm
    reds and gleams of bronze radiating from the intense
    concentration of brothers at prayer or study. The country-
    side surrounding the mountain was mostly dark, flecked,J

    




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    with only random dots of colored light as humans or
    beasts fought, made love or died, their auras briefly
    flaring.
     Maseriel rose ever higher and Rasriel struggled to stay
    with him. He was beginning to suspect the Hieromonach
    was doing this on purpose, a subtle form of intimidation
    to emphasize his own superiority in the Order. It would
    not be the first time.
     Left to their own devices, Seekers rarely ventured this
    high into the Aethyra. It required an enormous expendi-
    ture of energy in addition to considerable courage; they
    had now entered one of the most dangerous levels,
    inhabited by disembodied spirits and some of the
    malevolent lesser gods.
     "Look," Maseriel commanded, briefly assuming human
    form for one heartbeat in order to point with a bony
    finger. It was a gesture of overweening confidence, the
    gesture of a man who had no doubt he would become a
    hawk again before he could fall.
     Rasriel remained an owl, knowing he had no energy to
    spare.
     'What do you see when you look below and to the
    southeast?" the Hieromonach demanded of him.
      "Nothing," Rasriel replied.
     "Nothing?,, Maseriel mimicked cruelly. 'That is no
    answer for a Seeker! Where is the information which
    should b ' e contained in your every statement?"
     "I see nothing," Rasriel said quickly, "because the
    Aethyra is deeply shadowed. . . " He stopped. There were
    no shadows on the Aethyra. "There are no colors," he
    amended, "no spots of consciousness. No auras to be seen
    in the direction you indicate."
     "Oh, but they are there," insisted Maseriel. "Look
    closer."
    
     As the younger monk strained to see, a cluster of tiny,
    brightly colored sparks rose into the Aethyra 15ut immedi-
    ately vanished into a roiling cloud which absorbed them
    
    11

    




    SILVERHAND
    
    completely, extinguishing their beauty.
     Maseriel groaned as if he witnessed children being
    slaughtered. "You are looking at Barrow," the Hieromon-
    ach told Rasriel. "Observe the dark cloud of selfishness
    the Duet have unleashed there, overwhelming every
    spark of decency. Lust and greed run riot. People behave
    with less sense of obligation than the lowest form of
    animal life. Nothing is planned, nothing is ordered. They
    live only for the moment, they snatch up one pleasure
    after another and discard them as quickly. Seize, grab,
    take! More, and more, and more, nothing is ever enough!
    Meanwhile children abuse their parents and parents
    abuse their children because all restraint is abandoned.
    How can anyone concentrate in such an atmosphere? You
    see for yourself how the few noble thoughts remaining
    are devoured and destroyed almost as soon as they
    
    appear.
     I have walked the lines of Barromes future, and. thq,
    are all the same. Consider that, Rasriel. An undisputed
    future. In the history of the humankind there have been
    less than a handful of futures beyond the ability of anyone
    to change them. Barrow's ultimate descent into savager)
    is one."
      "But what about the boy?"
      'The Spoken One? Not even he can prevent it. Bette
    for him - and us - if he were to destroy BarroN
    altogether before the contagion can spread and engulf th
    world. When he has overthrown the Duet he can lead th
    Seekers back to their former glory, with you as their hea(
    Rasriel.
      "You must promise me this: You must swear to me th
    the boy will receive the best education possible. Stint c
    nothing, withhold nothing he might require. See that I
    has everything he needs ... to remake the world."
      Hawk and owl hovered far above the dark earth. Nig
    wind sang through their feathers. Below them the woi
    slept; the damaged, chaotic world.

    




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     "Just what does he need, brother?" Rasriel asked the
    Hieromonach.
     "Knowledge. Courage. And the Arcana."
    
    ie
    
    lht
     Ad
     -- J
 
    
    




    CHArTER TWENTY-TWO
    
      Scholar Nanri had come to Baddalaur as an illiterate
    boy of ten cycles. He thought he recalled being sold as a
    sciwy to the kitchens by a coarse-faced woman who
    might have been his mother, but as time eroded images of
    the past he had become uncertain whether this was an
    actual memory or a dream. Perhaps it was even a false
    history he had compiled for himself unconscious4
    borrowing the idea from someone else's recounting. Not
    that it mattered.
      Nanri had spent sixty-two full cycles in Baddalaur. Hi
    never regretted having remained there once he worke,
    his way out of the kitchens; never dreamed about the W
    he might have had beyond the mountain. Baddalaur w;
    his life. Here he had learned to speak and write twel,
    languages fluently, had acquired a working knowledge
    another ten and had deciphered four of the Elder Scrip
    A candle burned in his cell long before cockcrow, a
    another candle illumined his desk with its constant st;
    of books and papers when the rest of the College,
    asleep. No fact was too small for him to ferret out,
    scholarly pathway too obscure for him to follow tc
    conclusion.
      But his obsession with facts had made enemies,
    among those who were supposed to be equally dedic
    to the pursuit of knowledge. There had been a
    unpleasant incident when he was still a young studen
    I a contemporary by daring to contradict Ir'

    




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    class. Nanri had been correct, his fellow student wrong.
    But the man he embarrassed publicly never forgave him.
    That man had been Maseriel.
     When Nanri concluded the second stage of his
    education and formally requested acceptance as a Seeker,
    his application had been refused. Maseriel, who had
    become Seeker before him, successfully blocked his
    admittance. Nanri had remained a Scholar while Maseriel
    went from strength to strength in the ranks of the Order,
    eventually becoming Hieromonach.
     But through diligent effort Nanri grew to be one of the
    most respected men in Baddalaur in spite of the limitation
    imposed upon him. He never openly expressed
    resentment; cycle after cycle he continued to pore over his
    books, constantly adding to his fund of knowledge. One
    could ask him anything on any subject and expect an
    informed answer. His knowledge of the Elder Times was
    second only to that of Brother Daniel, the Senior Librarian.
     Occasionally even Maseriel was forced to come to him
    with a question.
     Quietly, without discussing it with anyone, Nanri had
    devoted the last thirty cycles to the task of discovering the
    whereabouts of the Arcana, the ancient symbols of power
    and order. When he began his studies in his youth only
    two of the brothers had been engaged in the task, and he
    had been assigned to assist them in their researches. One
    had died; then the other. The information they had
    Compiled remained with Nanri.
     In the last few cycles, especially since the Duet had
    taken control and the Seekers had lost power in Barrow
    and Karfondal, the hunt for the Arcana had intensified.
    Eventually everyone in the College was involved in the
    task of discovering the whereabouts of the Arcana.
     Now the search had been given even greater urgency
    by the appearance of the boy called Caeled.
     From a vantage point three levels above the Central
    Courtyard, Nanri had observed Armadiel's arrival with the

    




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    SILVERHAND
    
    boy. The Scholar's eyes had grown dim with time and he
    disdained the use of glass eyepieces, so from such a
    height he had been unable to make out the boys features.
      But he saw Maseriel's reaction. It was obvious the
    Hieromonach desperately wanted this to be the Spoken
    One.
      With the ending of Los-Lorcan's despotic reign, the
    Hieromonach had lost his position as spiritual adviser to
    the royal court and with it the last vestiges of his personal
    influence beyond the walls of Baddalaur. But Maseriel
    was ambitious, and determined that the Order he headed
    would once again be the preeminent power in the land.
      The Hieromonach was realist enough to know that he
    could not live forever. But he could mold those who
    survived him so they would fulfill his ambitions. To
    strengthen his own prestige, Maseriel wanted the College
    records to show that the Spoken One had been discov-
    ered during his Hieromonachy. Even entombed he would
    not be forgotten. If the prophecies were fulfilled, the
    name of Maseriel would forever be linked in glory with
    that of the Spoken One. .
    
      Typical, thought Nanri. Typical.
      Sitting in the mouth of his cave, the old Scholar
    watched the flickering Aethyra shapes of Maseriel an
    Rashel distort the stars. Tilting his head back, Nanri
    allowed his fading eyes to follow their progress upward
    along paths he could never take.
      Seekers could explore the Aethyra. Scholars must
    content themselves with exploring the written word.
      Nanri was unaware of the sadness in his sigh. Had_.,I
    anyone asked, which no one did, he would have said that
    he was content.
      He now asked himself a question: Was the boy the
    Spoken One?
      The Prophecies of Ekezial, Maliel and Effelial had
    each spoken of a one-handed individual who was marked
    for death, but represented an extraordinary opportwM
    
                                             ~111

    




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    for mankind. Bardal, in his Letters, wrote that he had
    seen the future grasped in the silver hand of a cripple.
     There was now talk of preparing a silver hand for the
    boy.
     But was this a prophecy fulfilling itself, or Maseriel
    making certain the prophecy was fulfulled?
     Meanwhile all the monks of Baddalaur, no matter what
    their rank, were frantically searching for clues to the
    location of the Arcana.
     Nanri took some small amusement from the frenzied
    activity, He watched without comment as they went over
    ground he had abandoned cycles ago, carrying their
    researches down blind alleys to dead ends. The body of
    folklore surrounding the Arcana was immense and
    contradictory, and a combination of extraordinary scholar-
    ship, intuition, and a certain amount of blind luck was
    involved in researching such documents successfully.
     But no matter how hard the current searchers tried,
    they would never unravel the mystery ... because Nami
    had removed all clues five cycles earlier, when he had
    discovered the whereabouts of the Arcana.
    
    1, -

    




    CHArTER TWIENTY-THREE
    
      Pressing himself against his sister's back, Lares
    wrapped his arms around her and peered over her
    shoulder. Her skin was soft to the touch, but the muscles
    beneath were, like his own, firm and strong. Holding her
    was like holding himself, only better. The heat of her body
    burned through the silk of the robe he wore.
      I have something very interesting to show you, my
    brother," Sarel murmured, gesturing toward the pit in
    front of them. "A present for you."
      "You have, ah, perfected the process?" Lares enquired,
    nuzzling his chin into her shoulder. His voice was
    strangely distorted by the metal with which the walls of
    the chamber, and the pit in its center, were lined.
      "Perfected it and more," she replied. 'While you create
    huge Voids of absolute destruction, I prefer the more,
    intimate touch." Though Lares could not see her sudden
    smile he felt it, knowing her body as intimately as his own.
      Sarel leaned forward to get a better look at the naked
    blond man waiting below in the pit.
      She gazed at him for a few moments, then closed her
    eyes in concentration. Lares could feel her body gather
    itself into a hard knot of focussed will; the vibrations ran
    from her flesh into his, thrilling him with their raw power.
      The blond man was quiet now, though when he was
    first brought to Barrows infamous dungeons he had
    screamed his throat raw.
      The structure was ancient, a meandering maze

    




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    chambers and tunnels that honeycombed the earth
    beneath the city. Some of the chambers were lined with
    silvery Old Metal as highly polished as a mirror; others
    were walled with enormous stones too massive for any
    known technique to have cut and placed so precisely.
    Nitre formed repellent stains on the stone, glittering with
    an eerie life of its own in certain lights,
     Some historians claimed the dungeons predated Bar-
    row itself, perhaps being all that remained of an earlier
    city on the site, one of the lost civilizations of Elder
    Times. Legends abounded but no one cared to investigate
    the bowels of Barrow too thoroughly. Even the privileged
    and protected Duetist priests found excuses not to go into
    the depths.
     What was known for certain was that once someone
    disappeared into one of the metal chambers, that person
    was never seen again.
     In the beginning the blond man had struggled wildly,
    futilely, out of his mind with terror. When his panic wore
    off it left him exhausted. Now he simply waited. There
    was nothing else he could do, the pit was too deep to leap
    out of, the walls too smooth to climb. He waited like an
    animal in its pen at the slaughterhouse, with his head
    hanging.
     "He seems vaguely familiar," Lares remarked, peering
    down at him over his sister's shoulder.
      "He served us wine on several occasions."
     "Now I remember! He splashed wine onto your gown
    three nights ago. Clumsy."
     "It was my favorite gown," Sarel pouted. -1 had it
    designed just to please you. Then that barbarian ruined it
    the first time I wore it, before you had even had an
    opportunity to appreciate it properly.
 "I intended to have him simply put to death as a
         to the other servants, but when I came down to
         the execution, it seemed a pity to waste so fine a
         body. Strong young men are not that easy to find." She
    
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    SILVERHAND
    
    gave a delicate sigh, as of one vexed with some inconse-
    quential trivia.
      She stepped forward to the very brink of the pit,
    followed by Lares, who clung to her like a cape across her
    back. The shadow of their joined bodies fell across the
    man below.
      He had been standing slumped, seeming almost
    unaware of his surroundings, but now he raised his head.
    Lares could see the sunken hollows around his eyes and
    the terrified pallor of his cheeks. His cracked lips parted
    and his mouth worked as if he was trying to say
    something, but no words came.
      Sarel spoke instead. "Your punishment is at an end,
    Asten,- she said softly.
      Lares had heard that tone, which sounded so gentle,
    before, and was not deceived. But the man in the pit
    looked up with a terrible hope on his face.
      He bowed, the metal walls of the pit reflecting a
    distorted parody of courtly manners. "My lady, you are
    generous indeed," the prisoner croaked.
      Instead of replying to him, Sarel turned her head to
    address her brother. "Previously it was necessary to be in
    physical contact with my subject," she told Lares. "Now,
    however . . . " Her body tightened again with that intense
    concentration of will, and she fixed narrowed violet eyes
    on the form of the man in the pit.
      Asten stared up at her, hope draining from his face like
    a candle sputtering out. His broad shoulders hunched as
    if he expected a blow. "My lady? Of your mercy. I have a
    wife ... three young children . . . "     I
      'The lower classes breed like rats, don't they, brother?"
    Sarel commented in a voice heavy with distaste.
      Lares felt her grow even more rigid in his arms.
      Abruptly, all expression vanished from Asten's eyes. Hit
    face grew blank masklike. His posture stiffened.
       k_~      I                             i
      "What have you done to him?" Lares asked his sister,
    intrigued. He knew she was controlling the man by for4

    




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    of will, but surely his twin would not have distracted him
    from his own researches for such a simple trick. There
    must be more.
     Sarel produced a thin-bladed knife and tossed it
    casually into the pit. Then she slipped out of her brother's
    arms and crouched down at the edge of the pit, locking
    eyes with the prisoner.
      "Plunge the knife into your belly," she commanded.
      Lares watched in fascination.
     The young man lifted the knife from the slimy metal
    floor, reversed it, and without hesitation drove it into his
    stomach. He grunted with the effort of forcing the blade
    through the powerful webbing of muscle.
     'Tear your flesh open," instructed Sarel's dispassionate
    voice.
     With a savage jerk, the man called Asten wrenched the
    knife to the left and then back to the right. His face was
    expressionless, but blood spurted across the pit.
      "Drive the knife into your left arm now."
     Asten pulled the knife out of his stomach and stabbed
    it deeply into the muscle of his left arm.
      "Now back into your belly, make that wound deeper."
      Asten obeyed.
     "Remarkable!" Lares exclaimed. "He's disemboweling
    himself, yet doesn't seem to feel a thing,"
      "Can you guess how I did it?"
     "Introduced a Void into the brain and destroyed the
    pain centers?"
     Sarel laughed delightedly. "Verv Lrood, brother! I have
     indeed. With my miniature Void I've destroyed all the
     higher functions. Of course, the technique needs a little
     fiarther refinement." She frowned as Asten's lees bevan to
     tremble from loss of blood. "He looks human, but I have
     taken away everything that makes him human. Now he is
     less than a beast."
      "A beast which feels no pain," Lares pointed out.
      "A beast who will obey your every command," said Sarel.

    




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    SILVERHAND
    
      In the pit, Asten fell into a pool of his own blood and
    convulsed in his death throes.
      'Think of the possibilities, brother ... I told you this
    was a present for you. Is he not a useful toy?"
      Lares was grinning as he threw his arms around his
    sister and pulled her hard against him. "An army of
    warriors who feel no pain!"
      "Unstoppable," she murmured.
      "Invincible!" he exulted.
    
    I

    




    CHArTER TWIENTY-"I am Brother Daniel," the stout, sweating man in the
                      "the Senior Librarian." He tented
    crimson robe announced,
    his fingers and rested his elbows on the enormous desk that
    separated him from the boy who stood fidgeting before
    him. "Brother Maseriel tells me you will be joining us."
     The boy nodded silently, shifting from one foot to the
    other.
     "There are certain things you must know," Brother
    Daniel said, then interrupted himself to fumble in one of
    the full sleeves of his robe. He extracted a limp linen
    handkerchief and mopped his brow. "Once you begin
    your training here, you will be bound by our rules.
    Indeed, the first lessons you will learn are the rules.
    Failure to abide by even the least of them will be
    punished immediately. All punishments are severe, but
    there are some transgressions which merit death, so be
    scrupulous about obedience. Never break any law of the
    Order, for any reason whatsoever."
     Daniel wiped his face again, then tucked the handker-
    chief back in his sleeve. After leaning forward to take a
    hard look at Caeled, he gestured toward a highbacked
    chair opposite his desk. "Sit," he commanded.
     Caeled sank gratefully into the chair. He had been in
    Baddalaur only six days and while he was healing fast, he
    sfill felt weak. As he stood before the Librarian, he had
    become aware of a ringing in his ears and the muscles in
    his legs had begun to tremble.

    




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    SILVERHAND
    
      The Senior Librarian got up from behind the desk to
    proffer a tumbler of water, then waited while the boy
    drank.
      "You will be my student," he continued, making a
    conscious effort to soften his tone. The child was
    obviously still far from well. "However, some of the other
    brothers who have specialized knowledge will also in-
    struct you. Have you any questions?"
      Caeled licked his lips, tasting the residue of' the water.
    It had a strange metallic taste he was not sure he liked.
    "Am I your only student?"
      "Alas, you are." The big man stretched his arms wide,
    as if to encompass the circular chamber. "Once this room
    would have contained a hundred students in addition to
    the members of the Order reading or studying here
    There was a time when we were actually turning youn~
    men away. We could pick and choose from among the
    best, and almost every morning there was a line at the
    gates seeking admission."
      "Do you not take women?' Caeled wondered. "I have
    seen none here, but surely. . . "
      'Women who are inclined to the monastic life take the
    Vows of Lussa or follow the Silent Path," Daniel answered
    brusquely, making it obvious the subject held little
    interest for him. "Their disciplines are somewhat similar
    to ours, but they have their own mysteries."
      ,what will I have to do here?" the boy asked.
      "Do? Here you will learn. You will ask questions.
    Always question. Mankind advances through questioning.
    And in turn I will question you. I may occasionally punish
    you if your answers are incorrect, and I shall cert
    punish you if your replies are impertinent. You will ac ept
    your punishment in the knowledge that it is instructive. In
    time we will discover your speciality, that particular
    branch of learning which best utilizes your talents, and we
    can begin to concentrate your efforts in that direction. Do
    not despair if your speciality does not manifest itself early,

    




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    or if you are attracted to divergent interests. Many
    brothers master two or more courses of study. I, of
    course, have a working knowledge of them all," he added
    with a slight smile.
     'When do we begin?" Caeled asked.
     'We already have."
    
     The library was enormous, rising ten floors up into the
    walls of the extinct volcano. Caeled had never imagined
    there could be so many books in the world. The more
    modem works were on the shelves on the lower floors,
    Brother Daniel explained, while the older books, some of
    which were written on leather or wood or thin sheets of
    metal, were kept on the higher shelves. On the topmost
    floors were texts from the Elder Times which had so far
    proved indecipherable.
     As Caeled stood in the middle of the ground floor and
    looked up, the shelves of the higher levels vanished in
    shadow. It was impossible to tell the exact size of the
    tremendous room, or guess at the number of books it
    might contain, even if he had a good knowledge of
    numbers. But like most of the poor, Caeled's ability to
    count was limited only to enumerating necessities. He
    could count his fingers, or eggs, or fruit. He had never
    thought that someday he might count books.
     The library was filled with Seekers and Scholars.
    Numerous small alcoves encircling the central area were
    occupied by brothers examining books in relative privacy,
    with leather curtains drawn. Enormous tables in the
    center of the room were surrounded by still more
    members of the Order poring over charts and maps, or
    leafing through various journals and making copious
    notes. The brothers jostled one another in their search for
    information, and the smell of their closely packed bodies
    filled the warm room, large though it was.
     The monks observed the rule of silence in the library,
    or at most, whispered. Yet the entire facility seemed to

    




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    vibrate with suppressed sound. Caeled found himself
    straining to catch the occasional word, as if a hum of
    knowledge had soaked into the walls and could somehow
    be recaptured if one just listened hard enough.
      The only distinct sounds, however, were the shuffling
    of slippers on the stone floor, the whisper of pages
    turning, and the scratching of bone pens or bamboo quills
    on sheets of parchment or kenaf.
      "You are standing in the heart of the Great Library of
    Baddalaur," Brother Daniel whispered to Caeled with
    proprietary pride, "which began with Bardars personal
    trove of twelve books. From that humble beginning the
    library has grown until we now have a collection that rual
    into hundreds of thousands of volumes. Some say the~
    entire knowledge of the world is contained in this
    building - and I like to think it is true. If a man were
    physically able to read every one of these books and
    absorb their information, he would surely become a god."
      "Has anyone ever read all of them?" Caeled wondere
    aloud.
      "It would be quite impossible, I fear. Although," Daniel
    added with a smile which attempted to be modest ' 1
    myself have read very many of them, and Scholar Nann'
    has read even more." As a sudden thought occurred to
    him, the Senior Librarian put his hand on the boys,
    shoulder and turned Caeled around to face him. "Can,
    you read?"
      When the boy nodded, Brother Daniel heaved a sigh d,,,
    relief "I was afraid we might have to start at the veryl
    beginning and teach you to read and write, which wo~
    take up a great amount of valuable time."
      "I can read and write my own name, Caeled claimed.1
    
                                     recognizing a
      "Your name," Daniel repeated dubiously,
    potential problem. In the Southlands, those unable to
    read and write their own names - signs of education -
    were refused entry to the cities. It was not uncommon for
    beggars to have memorized the shape of their names so

    




   s
    d
    
   nri
    to
    )y s
    
    I
    -An
    
     of
    iery
    )uld
    
    ed.
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    tes so
    
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    they could scrawl them on kenaf and satisfy the guards at
    the gates. Such an accomplishment could hardly be called
    literacy, however.
     "But what about other words?" Daniel asked. "You can
    read and write your own name, but do you know any
    other names? Spell Daniel, for example?"
     The boy's eyes went wide with panic. Such beautiful
    eyes, Daniel noticed for the first time: dark and bright as
    a starry sky, framed by thick black lashes. Intelligence
    lurked there, buried under the anxiety.
     It was a pity such a boy was disfigured, especially as
    other brothers had already spoken of his courage and
    unexpected courtesy. There seemed an innate nobility
    about him - surprising in one of his background
    which made his terrible wound more poignant.
     Caeled seized the Librarian's sleeve with his remaining
    hand and said quickly, "My mother taught me some of my
    words. I know the alphabet - the Southlands script -
    and I can speak three languages. I can read signs and
    large letters, though I've never had my hands on a book.
    Please don't tell Maseriel. He won't let me stay if he
    discovers how ignorant I am."
     Daniel patted his thin shoulder comfortingly. "He
    woet throw you out because of that. Many have entered
    Baddalaur with much less education than you have.
    However," and his glance fell with a certain distaste on
    the bandaged stump at the end of the boy's arm,
    "speaking of having your hands on a book - there is
    another problem."
     Caele& eyes followed the Librarian's. "Only those
    complete in mind and body may become Seekers," the
    boy said. "I know. Brother Maseriel told me."
     "It's more than that, boy. Such a handicap might limit
    you in a number of ways."
     ,,it woul&t, oh, it wouldnt, I promise!" came the instant
    reply. Caeled's face glowed with intensity as he strove to
    convince the Senior librarian. "I can learn to do everything

    




    168
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    one-handed, I know I can. Even if I can't be a Seeker I can
    turn the pages in books." Caeled cast a quick, envious
    glance at the Scholars around the room, devouring
    treasures with their eyes and their minds. Reading books!
      "Besides," he went on eagerly, "I've seen men with metal
    hooks or wooden claws who were able to care for
    themselves very well indeed, sometimes better than men
    with flesh and blood hands. There was a chestnut seller in
    one of the villages we passed through who fished the
    roasted nuts out of the fire with his metal hook. He could
    reach into the hottest flames and not get burned. You
    should have seen him, it was like magic. Everyone bought,
    his chestnuts because they were piping hot.
      "If I had a metal hook, or even a wooden peg, my arm
    would not look so ... so bad," Caeled finished hopefully.
      The Senior Librarian replied, "A metal hook, is it? That,
    would make you happy?"
      Happy. Caeled tasted the word. It had little meaning
    for him; happiness was not an emotion he had often,
    experienced. But at least with a metal hook at the end of
    his arm he would be complete again, after a fashion.
      That was all he could hope for; more than he might
    have expected.
      He swallowed hard and gave Brother Daniel a br
    smile.
    
      Caeled lay on the stone, the smooth surface chiU
    beneath his naked back. His eyes were closed against the
    glare of Nusas, the light of the sun that poured through
    the circular window to be reflected throughout th
    Healing Chapel by polished metal mirrors.
      He felt no fear now. The bitter liquid Nazariel h
    given him was numbing his emotions and blurring his
    mind. The words of an obscene Corsair shanty frolicked
    through his head. Some sailor at some dockside had
    taught it to him; some sailor waiting for his mother's
    attentions ... he pushed the thought away. At the time he

    




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    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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    learned the song he had not understood the words, but he
    was older now. As the drug coursed through him he had
    to bite his lips to keep himself from singing them aloud
    and shocking the brothers working over him.
     Caeled lay as in a soft gray mist, drifting. He was only
    vaguely curious about what Nazariel and the others were
    going to do to him. It did not seem very important.
    Nothing was very important. There would be pain, the
    Healer had said, but Caeled was familiar with pain.
    Nazariel had assured him the results would be worth it,
    though exactly what those results might be he would not
    say in spite of Caeled's insistent questioning. But that did
    not seem to matter either, now.
     Lights shifted and twisted behind his closed lids, swirls
    and splashes of gold and bronze and brilliant crimson. He
    sank into them, unresisting, surrendering the last of his
    Will ....
     Dark memories gathered like predators at the edges of
    his consciousness. Caeled veered away, trying to concen-
    trate on something bright, something light ... and the
    colors swooped and swirled and changed, pulsing as they
    had done in the heart of the Void. The familiar nausea
    wracked him once more and he fought a grim, desperate
    baffle against the clouds in his mind, trying to regain
    some control over his thoughts and memories. He was
    aware of his helplessness. He was aware that the drug, in
    cushioning him from pain, had opened him to something
    worse, and he pitted all the strength he could summon
    against it,
    
     He became aware of movement around him, of
    shadows coming between him and the light that shone
    down onto his closed eyelids. He tried to open his eyes
    but could not, the lids were as heavy as stone. From a
    great distance, he heard the voices of the brothers talking
    aimong themselves.
     He clung to those voices. They were lifelines to lead

    




    170
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    him away from the pit into which he had fallen.
      He began trying to pick out individuals, struggling t
    identify them by accent or inflection.
      First he recognized Nazariel and then Daniel. He
    knew those voices well, they were easy to identify and
    comforting in the darkness. And that was surely the voice
    of the one they called the Recoverer, Brother Tarldel.
    Although they did not speak, he remembered that there
    were others in the room also: a big, broad-shouldered
    man wearing a leather apron had been waiting in
    Healing Chapel wseveral Scholars - one very old and gray and bent - and
                                    s
    two younger monks clad in green, Nazariel' assistants.
      "Is all in readiness?"
      With a start, Caeled recognized Maseriers croaldng
    voice coming from the other side of the room. In the
    silence that followed he heard the Hieromonach's staf
    tapping its way across the chamber. Caeled was abrupdy
    aware of the sour odor he associated with sick old men.
    He had run messages for an elderly shoemaker who lived
    beside them in Ward Point; that man had exuded at
    similar odor not long before' he died.
      "The boy looks fit enough," commented Maseriel.
      "He is young and his will is strong," Nazariel replied.
    "He passionately desires to be well, so we can trust that
    his mind will take an active part in mending the body"
      "Is he strong enough to undergo this procedure?"
      "I would prefer to leave it for a little while, but &
    timing is critical. Already his body has begun to make
    allowances for the loss of his hand. The flesh is healing
    fast. If we don't do it now, it would mean opening
    wound again."
      The meaning of the words slowly penetrated Caeled's
    mind. They were talking about doing something to him,
    something that must be important ... what? A
      The Hieromonach enquired, "Has Brother Castiel
    brouv-ht the artifact?"

    




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     Artifact? Caeled puzzled over the word. It had no
    meaning for him.
    
    A's
    ~m,
    
    riel
    
     "I have." The voice was deep and powerful. Instinc-
    tively Caeled knew it belonged to the Seeker wearing the
    leather apron.
     'Will it work?" Maseriel demanded to know. "Can you
    guarantee success~ll
     "I cannot give such a guarantee, brother, much as I
    would like to. I have worked with Brother Daniel and
    Scholar Nanri, following the ancient instructions to the
    smallest detail. But some of the techniques have not been
    used for many generations and some of the skills are lost
    to us, so I was forced to improvise."
     "Am I hearing the self-serving excuses of a man
    anticipating failure?" Maseriel enquired. His voice had a
    hard edge, sharp and threatening as a knife blade.
     The Senior Healer tried to placate him. "It is an
    untried technique, but we must accept that. Brother
    Casriel and a team of craftsmen have worked in shifts
    night and day to prepare the artifact. They have followed
    the old texts to the letter, and where the information has
    been insufficient they have made decisions based upon
    their skill and knowledge, which are without equal as you
    know. If this does not work they cannot be held culpable."
      'Then fhe laifttAl'be your~?- Masefi& snappeL
     "I'm not saying that," the Healer replied coolly. "If it
    does not work, we will try something else."
      Caeled forced his eyes open. Light blinded him.
     Immediately someone bent over him and raised his
    head. Another poured a trickle of bitter liquid between
    his lips. He swallowed, choked, swallowed again.
      "Lie back," said a voice.
     He did not want to obey, did not want to be flung back
    into that darkness where the Void waited for him. But the
    drug was too strong to fight. It soaked into the cells of his
    body, melting their defenses. Colors and shapes swirled
    through his brain once more and a wild, strange music

    




    172
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    swelled. He found himself trying to hum along with it.
    Somehow the music was -oreventine the colors from
    
    disintegrating into the Void he feared ...
      He was dimly aware of pressure on his left arm,
    arm being lifted, cloth tearing as the bandages were cut'7
    away. Nerves which had led to his severed hand twitched
    in protest.
      The music grew louder. He kept humming, trying to
    remember the less obscene verses of the Corsair shanty
    so he could sing them for the brothers ... the brother'
    who were going to make everything all right ... his new
    family ... the monks of Baddalaur ...
      Metal clinked.
      Caeled smelled something burning ... like old leather ...
    like scorching meat.
     And then the pain!
    
    I
    
    I

    




     Pain.
     The pain vanished like a bubble bursting and Caeled
    found he was looking down from above at a large and
    
    CHAPTER TWENTY-fIVE
    
    well-lit chamber.
     it took him a few moments to make sense of the scene
    below. A man in a green robe and several Seekers wearing
    leather aprons were working over something on a stone
    slab, while more Seekers and a red-robed Scholar watched
    
    from the side. As the men shifted positions, the naked body
    of a boy was revealed lying on the slab. His handless left
    arm was a cylinder of blackened skin and purple bruises.
     With a shock of recognition, Caeled realized he was
    
    looking down at himself.
     He was dreaming.
    
    bone.
    
     Nazariel the healer was bending orveT the bloody
    stump of his arm, dexterously employing a flensing knife
    fn remove the skin Caeled saw the ivorv gleam of bare
    
    He was dreaming.
    TI s had to be a dream. He was drearninjq about what
    
    the brothers were going to do to him and imagining the
    
    worst Of course.
    
     He turned away from the sickening sight of his ruined
    arm, and unthinkingly glanced at the high circular
    window ... only to find himself moving toward it. His
    body - but it could not be his body, that was lying below
    on the slab - was gliding with silken ease through space

    




    ='I
    
    174
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    He wanted to laugh aloud at the simplicity of it, thinking
    he had made a great discovery and would never forget
    how it was done. He hurled his thoughts forward and his
    incorporeal being followed until he was perched on the
    window rim looking out over the Central Courtyard.
      Wonderful! The merest wish, and there you were.
      Grinning with delight, Caeled willed himself up,
    into the brilliant noonday sky.
      Now he was floating over the College, looking down
    into the maw of the extinct volcano. Seekers and Scholars'
    moved like white and red ants across the. Centra1
    Courtyard. From this height the pattern in the cold lavla',
    was clearly discernible. Caeled recognized a s
    snake attempting to swallow its own tail. In his dr2m
    understood the symbolism. It was perfectly obvious. Th
    snake represented ...
      Distantly, he became aware of someone screaming. A
    boy's voice, high and torn with agony. He tried to focus of
    the snake and its meaning but the scream came ne
    until it seemed to resonate through his body
      His hand hurt terribly.
      In his dream he still possessed his left hand and the
    pain was intense. He lifted it, stared at it, flexed thi
    fingers. An icy light bathed them with a metallic sheen.
      Hoping to escape the pain Caeled soared highet
    floating as a bubble floats, insubstantial - except for t1v
    hand, the cold hand that hurt so badly, that felt so strangE
      Looking down, he saw the landscape spread below hir
    like an intricate Kathan carpet. He had once stoo
    barefoot on a Kathan carpet in a big house where, 4
    mother worked as a cleanin g woman until they caught hi
    stealing some bauble. She had told Caeled the carpet W,
                                           ITh
    
    priceless, and it felt as soft as moss beneath his callousf
    feet, but the edges had been frayed and mud h,,
    obscured part of the pattern.
      Now when Caeled turned his eyes toward the south, I
    saw that the pattern of fields and trees and serpenti

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    175
    
    liver was similarly blotched by a stain like rot on ripe fruit.
    Impelled by curiosity, Caeled drifted in that direction
    until he recognized the blue rim of the sea. The location
    of the stain must be the coastal city of Barrow.
     The boy frowned.
     The discoloration did not affect the city itself but
    seemed to float above Barrow, forming sullen clouds
    around the fluted minarets of the Royal Palace. Repelled
    by the stain, Caeled sought to turn toward the sea instead,
    redirecting himself to soar over the waves and swoop
    down to feel the blown spume on his face.
     Yet he was still being drawn toward the city!
     He redoubled his efforts to fly as he chose. A few
    moments before it had been easy. Now, no matter how
    hard he tried, the city loomed inexorably closer. He was
    helpless to control his fate.
     This was turning into the sort of dream that had
    tormented his childhood, a repetitive dream in which he
    attempted again and again to pass beyond a certain door.
    But no matter how often he stepped through the door, he
    found himself back where he started. The dream had the
    quality of a nightmare although nothing bad ever hap-
    
    pened; just a sense of futility, of doom.
     Even as he recalled the dream, the sky and sea and
    distant Barrow disappeared and were replaced by the
    door!
     A simple arched wooden door in a stone wall, rough
    planks held together by stout metal rivets. Horrifyingly
    familiar. There was a metal grill in the door and a metal
    loop set into the wood. The boy knew that door as surely
    as he knew his own face. He would walk up to it, open it
    and step through ... and find himself still facing the same
    door.
     Unable to stop himself, Caeled opened the door.
     He found himself in a chamber flooded with opales-
    cent light. The walls were polished stone as white as
    porcelain, trapping some of the light within their depths.
    
    d
    s
    r
    as
    ed
    ad
    
    he
    .ne

    




    176
    
    for fleas.
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    On a low table inlaid with onyx and pearl, decanters held
    jewel-like wines, while other tables offered baskets of
    fruit and platters heaped with cheeses and sweetmeats. A
    tiny apelike creature with a silver chain around its neck
    sat in a comer, unself-consciously picking through its fur
    
     A naked couple was locked in love on a bed of silke
    sheets. One was male, the other female, though the
    difference in gender was not immediately apparent. They
    were identical; as they rolled and twisted together, amber
    hair coiling around their bodies, Caeled found it impossi-
    ble to distinguish one from the other.
      Curiosity took him closer to the bed. Heliwa~s
                                         '01
    floating now but walking barefoot, and his feet s pp
    polished flagstones slick with blood.
      He could smell the thick hot smell of gore,
    odor emanating from a slaughterhouse on a sum
      A bloody arm protruded from under the bed o
    the twins lay. Twins. Duet.
      He recognized them now.
       . . and realized they were daubed with blood. It
    smeared across their upper bodies and faces and
    crusted around their mouths ... as if they had drunk.
      They were looking at him.
      Eyes wide with alarm, they were disentangling, ro ng
    off the bed. Standing up. Coming toward him. Slippin
    on the stones, falling ... rising again, fully c othed m
    shining armor, with shi * mmering swords in their hands,
    Their mouths opened and he knew they were speaking to
    
    him, they were saying things of great importance.
     Yet he could not hear a word.
      Pain.
      The pain in his hand cancelled out all other thou94.
    He looked down to find an enormous Madra Allta was
    chewing on his hand, tearing away the flesh and muscle o
    reveal gleaming bone beneath.
     Caeled opened his mouth to scream, but he had

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    to
    
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    breath left. The twins were almost upon him, swords
    raised. When the woman slashed at him he raised his left
    hand instinctively. Metal struck metal. Sparks exploded.
    With a loud cry, the woman staggered backwards.
     Agony burned across Caeled's shoulders as razor-sharp
    talons sank into his shoulders. He was lifted clear just as
    the man swung at him with a huge two-handed sword.
    Twisting to 166 k up and see what had so painfully saved
    him, Caeled found himself in the grip of a giant golden
    hawk, bigger than an eagle, more terri~ing than any
    creature of nightmare had ever been before.
     Below him the twins were dissolving into mist, into
    white smoke, into a pair of identical white crows, each
    almost as large as the hawk. The crows leaped into the sky
    in pursuit of the hawk, but when Caeled felt the thunder
    of the hawk's wings shatter the air he realized the crows
    could not catch them. He did not know whether to be
    glad or sorry, for the monster hawk could be taking him to
    an even worse fate.
     This had ceased to be a dream. He knew one did not
     always recognize dreams while they were happening, but
     Caeled had the firm conviction that this was hideous reality.
     He did not dare struggle for fear the bird might drop
     him. When he tried to get a better look at the hawk it
     cocked its head so that he could see one eye.
      One blind white eye.
     Carrying the helpless boy in its claws, the golden hawk
     sped through the Aethyra toward Baddalaur. When they
     were directly over the volcano, with the Central Court-
     yard far, far below, the great bird opened its talons.
     Caeled fell and fell and fell, sickeningly, down through
     space and walls, down through time and memories and
     hope and horror. Back into the body of the boy on the slab.
    
     Caeled awoke screaming. Blood was pouring from the
    puncture marks on his shoulders.

    




    CHArTER TWIENTY- SIX
    
      The crows soared into the Aethyra, indifferent to the
    patchwork landscape below. It was only earth, vAth
    earthly limitations.
      The skies were different. The skies were interpene
    trated by the Aethyra. A watcher on the ground ~vou~
    have observed only a peculiar shimmer, the explicabl
    phenomenon known as heat waves disturbing the atmo
    phere. Human eyes would never have detected the albb
    crows who rode those waves.
      Calling to one another as they flew, the twin predat(
    searched in vain for the fleeing shape of a golden ha)
    Swift as they were, the hawk was swifter.
      At last, with great reluctance, the white crows spira!
    back through the Aethyra toward the ugly stain
    identified Barrow. They were as indifferent to the stai
    to the earth; the byproduct of their actions did not m;
    to them.
      As they dove toward the royal palace the foremost
    began to change shape, flickering into a vaguely hi
    form, an amalgam of white feathers and pink flesh.
    shocked voice exclaimed, 'What was that?"
      "I'm not sure," replied her brother, followin,
    toward the open window of their tower. Before en
    he used the residue of Aethyra energy to trar
    himself into his latest personal art form, a man-,
    creature of crystal and brass.
      For once Sarel paid no attention. Usually she go

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    179
    
    the applause he sought, but she was too distracted now.
     INhatever it was, it was powerful enough to find a way
    in here and watch us," she said in an aggrieved voice. "I
    thought you said our tower was impregnable."
     "I'm as surprised as you are. Priests of the Duet
    consider it an honor to stand guard in the private
    corridors, and the lower floors are held by the palace
    guards. I have strewn the Aethyra with traps and mazes. I
    would not have believed anything could get through to
    us.
     "There were two of them, Lares. Two ... things. One
    had the spirit form of a youth, and another appeared as a
    bird. They are obviously creatures who understand the
    potency of the Aethyra and know how to use it. I demand
    an explanation!" Sarel exclaimed vehemently as she
    finished regaining her human form. A few white feathers
    still clung to her small breasts and flat belly.
     "I thought your sword struck
    
    ~er
    ing
    )rm.
    3ed
    L
    
    him
    
    i
    
                                   one of them," Lares
    commented as he handed her a robe. Portions of his
    crystal skin were flooding with color, blood red, muscle
    pink.
     Sarel wrapped her naked body, still damp from their
    recent exertions, in yellow silk, then flung out one arm in
    a flowing sleeve. In her hand a flaming sword material-
    ized. The fire hissed and crackled, yet gave off no heat.
     She gazed at the weapon, bemused. 'The youth
    blocked my blow with his hand, Lares. With his hand!
    The shock of it knocked me backward." She frowned; the
    sword faded.
     Lares sat down on the edge of their bed, carefully
    avoiding the stiffening blood on the sheets. "A threat to
    us, then," he surmised.
     J agree. Anyone that powerful is a threat. We must
    ~iow more about them."
     "Could we track their wake throuv-h the Aethvra?"
    
     "You saw how easily they escaped us. The hawk figure
    had carried the boy into the upper reaches of the Aethyra
    
    I

    




    180
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    almost before we completed our own change. Did you'~
    see which direction they took, Lares?"
      He shook his head. "It all happened so fast. I have
    impression that they fled north and east, though."
      Sarel drew in her breath with a hiss. "North and east?
    Toward Badclalaur?"
      "Baddalaur," Lares repeated huskily. "Seekers?
    surely not. The brothers haven't the spine to defy us."
      Chilled by unfamiliar fear, Sarel put her hand on hei
    brother's arm and squeezed. She needed the touch o
    flesh that was her flesh; she needed reassurance. Bu
    when her cold fingers closed on cold crystal she shud
    dered. "I've told you before, brother: Destroy thes
    cursed priests."
      "You're right, my sister. But if what we just saw was
    demonstration of their power, we must not move again
    them yet, we are not prepared. Fortunately, however, y(
    with your clever experiments have given us the ve
    weapon we are going to need." Putting his hand ov
    hers, Lares attempted to give Sarel an affectiow,
    squeeze, then realized he could not feel her skin. At on
    he frowned, concentrating; crystal melted into flesh.
      When the transformation was complete, Lares
    both arms around his sister, his other self. 'We will let
    Breeder grow us an army," he murmured, his lips agai
    her hair. "Then you can work your special skills and b
    them to our will. When the time is right, we will seii
    huge Void deep into the heart of Baddalaur ... and
    new army will cut its teeth on the Order as they flee!"

    




    F
    
    3u
    ~ry
    7er
    ate
    we
    
    Put
    the
    Snst
    )ind
    ad a
    L our
    
    CHArTER TWJE4 NTY- SEVE4 N
    
     Caeled awoke to a feeling of some great weight
    pressing on the left side of his body. It was as if his arm,
    shoulder and chest had a massive boulder atop them. Yet
    there was no pain.
     He knew at once where he was. He lay on a stone slab
    in Baddalaur's Healing Chapel, surrounded by the rich,
    thick odor of melted tallow.
     When he opened his eyes at first everything was hazy,
    but his vision soon cleared. The usual flood of sunlight in
    the Chapel had been replaced by the soft glow of
    numerous candles. It was night, then. A glance upward at
    the window confirmed this with a view of stars that just
    might have been reflected candle flames on the glass.
     The boy breathed deeply. The air was chill and sweet,
    but he winced as his lungs filled because it made his chest
    
     "How do you feel?" Nazariel bent over him, wearing an
    expression of professional concern leavened with genuine
    fondness.
     When Caeled tried to speak his tongue was swollen
    and his mouth too dry. The Senior Healer moved away,
    reappearing moments later with a flask. Placing an arm
    beneath Caeled's head, he eased him into a sitting
    position and pressed the flask to his lips. The chink was
    blood warm, herb-scented, and the boy drank gratefully.
    When he could manage a whisper he croaked, "My ears
    are ringing.>~

    




    182
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      "That's from the residue of drugs in your system; it's
    nothing to be concerned about. Here, take another
    and then you can he back and rest." When Caele
    back and closed his eyes, Nazariel perched one hip on the
    edge of the slab beside him. "I think you're strong
    enough," the man said, "to learn what's been happening
    to you. To begin with, you have been asleep for four da.
    and four nights."
      Caeled's eyes flew open in surprise and the man
    reassuringly. "Sleep is the greatest ally of the Healer, he
    explained. "In that time your body has done most of my",
    work for me."                            :~,J
      Caeled's lips moved. Nazariel leaned forward, putting'
    hi,z ear almost over them to save the bov effort. Then his
    
    smile widened to a grin.                fte
      'What have we done? Look!" he said. He gently h
    Caeled's left arm and held it up in the
    candlelight. 'We've given you a hand."
      The boy's eyes were huge and dark, blank
    incomprehension.
      Nazariel prompoy supplied a small square lamp fuele
    with fragrant oil. When he slid aside the metal disc that
    shielded the flame, an outpouring of yellow ligh ade
                                         t MI,
                                            0
    Caeled blink. The Healer adjusted polished Mirrirs
    inside the lamp to direct a beam of concentrated ligh
    onto the boy's arm.
      Caeled's eyes followed the beam,
    hook or metal claw.
      Instead he found himself staring at a perfect hand
    gleaming silver.
      When the boy gasped, Nazariel's grin grew even
    He was thoroughly enjoying the moment.
      Wonderingly, Caeled raised his arm until he
    holding in front of his face a fully articulated metal hand
    that replicated flesh and blood in extraordinary detail,
    The fingers were long and slender, with oval nails; whe~.-
    he rotated the hand on his wrist he discovered a pald.',
    
    expecting to s

    




    r.
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    183
    
    creased with lines like those the wise women read.
     He rotated the wrist again, suddenly aware of the
    wonder of its jointing. There was a little knob on the
    outside like the knob of bone that had been there ...
    before. And his knuckles were wrinkled, just as he
    remembered. And there were tendons clearly visible in
    the back of the hand, as well as subtle wormlike veins.
     All of it silver as finely wrought as a queen's jewels.
     Caeled immzined the hand closing - and thought he
    
    saw the tingers curling into a tist
    
     He gasped again.
     Nazariel was watching him intently.
     The boy dug his heels in and pushed himself up into a
    sitting position. Bent double, the metal hand resting in
    the puddle of light, he concentrated on moving his fingers
    
    dividually.
    
    Nothing happened.
     He threw a panicked look at Nazariel, who simply
    smiled and kept watching without offering help or advice.
     Caeled bevan to doubt that the hand had made a fist at
    
     His imagination had tricked him, surely. This was
    nothing more than a piece of metal; cunningly wrought
    metal, but no real substitute for flesh and blood.
     Still, it was better than anything he had hoped for.
    
              In his excitement he forgot about the ringing in his ears
             and the lingering discomfort in his shoulder and chest.
             They were nothing compared to the miracle of having a
    of       hand again - and such a hand! 'Will I be able to use it?"
             he asked Nazariel eagerly. "Even better than a hook,
             maybe?"
              The Healer's eyes twinkled. "That's up to you. But I
             must say, those of us who worked so hard to create it for
             you expect great thingirs. It looks like silver, but the silver is
             gloved with other metals to make it incredibly strong, so
             it should be able to perform many functions for you."
              Lower lip caught between his teeth, Caeled studied his
    
    was
    and
    tail.
    en
    alm.

    




    184
    
    SiLVERHAND
    
    new appendage, trying to understand how it worked and,
    why.
      The metal hand seemed to be set directly into the bone
    of his wrist. A cuff of some soft material he did not
    recognize was fitted at the end of his forearm, like a
    brace, above the point where metal fused with flesh, an
    above this was a broad band of leather to give adde A-
    strength and support. But the hand did not look weak. On
    the contrary, as it glittered in the lamplight it looked]
    extremely strong, surpassing anything of flesh and bone.
      Suddenly the fingers twitched as if they were alive. 11
    This time it was no trick of the imagination.
    
      With a growing sense of awe, Caeled studied th : -
    close inspection he saw they were jointed at each rgvlt
    some tiny hinge mechanism concealed within the VV11U.
    Ides that mimicked flesh. When he placed his light hand
    beside the left, he discovered that the new hand w
    slightly larger, though otherwise it might have beenj
    mirror image.
      Watching him, Nazariel affirmed, "It is larger, but that'!~
    because you're still growing. There was no purpose to
    served in giving you the hand of a child when you won
    be one much longer, so we estimated the size your han
    should be in adulthood and made this one accordingly."
      Caeled licked dry lips. "It moves. Like a real hand. Is it
    magic or am I dreaming?"
      The Healer fumbled through his clothing and pro-
    duced a metal coin. Wordlessly, he flipped it tow
    Caele&s left hand. The boy snapped it out of the
    without thinking, then gaped at the metal fingers
    now clutched the coin.
      This time Nazariel laughed aloud. "You learn veryfast
    indeed, boy; even faster than I'd hoped. That hand is part
    of you now, it will do exactly what you will. Your ' ' '
    sends it messages and it obeys, if you can call . that ma
    It is the magic of flesh and blood, modified by
    the instructions handed down from ancient times.

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    185
    
     "Forget that your hand is metal. Start thinking of it,
    sirnply, as your hand. In fact, it will be easier if you do not
    think of it at all, just use it. You are whole again."
     Caeled opened the silver hand. It was easy; he thought
    the thought and the fingers followed. There was no pain,
    no sensation at all. Merely thought and response.
     Whatever Nazariel might say, it seemed like magic.
     Within the palm of Caeled's new hand lay a bright
    metal coin. For a long time he stared at it, then he slowly
    closed and opened the fingers over it as if he were
    watching the greatest miracle in the world.
     The silhouetted heads of the twins on the coin were
    magnified by his tears.
    
    I
    
    I

    




    CHArTIER TWIENTY-EIGHT
    
      Lashed by stinging sleet, the woman threw ba k hier
                                          c'
                                          s
    head one more time to scream her agony of flesh an4
    spirit.
      In their huts the Snowscalds huddled beside their fire
    and listened to the terrible keening as they had done
    so many nights before. The voice was stronger than
    storm, and more chilling. None who heard it ventu
    out; they knew there was nothing they could do to
    their sister.
     With Gwynne, they had watched the creeping d* se'
                                          i
    as it crawled across her. body, and they had shared h
    horror as her flesh continued to harden to a ston
    consistency, then cracked and fissured like weath
                                        , 4e 0
    rock. Now only the upper portion of her face ani 7ed
    of her fingers remained recognizable as flesh and blood.
      At first the Snowscalds: had tried to help by smearin
    her with salves and plastering her with poultices. None
    it did any good. While her flesh was in a state of flux, the
    slightest touch hurt unbearably. As the skin hardened,
    gradually became impervious, but until the final petrifica-
    tion, she suffered. She could not bear the weight of
    clothing. Only the wind blowing across her body seem
    to bring her any relief, so every night found her outsi
    enduring the elements. Crying her grief aloud.
      There was no doubt in any of their minds that the
    was somehow to blame for Gwynne's affliction. For r=4
    moons, travellers from Barrow had been whispe Mig

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    187
    
    rumors that the twins had learned to control the Voids, and
    C-unmne's descrintion of the horror that had destroved her
    
    family and brushed over her was all too clear.
    
     But other strange tales were issuing from Barrow.
    There were accounts of a deformed man who scoured the
    capital for the strongest men and women and bred them
    like cattle. There were witnesses who claimed to have
    seen a new band of bodyguards in the royal palace,
    blank-faced, dead-eyed warriors who had no normal
    
    human reSDonses.
    
    No one knew where it would end.
    
          the Snowscalds emerged from their huts at
    dawn, they discovered Gwynne in the center of the
    compound. Granules of sleet blanketed her head and
    shoulders, glittered on the slope of her capacious bosom,
    Inv henvv on the curve of her buttocks. She was sheathed
    
    suffered.
    
    Rilt she no lonaer suffered-- at least her flesh no Ionizer
    
    The other women gathered around her in a grim and
    
    respectful silence. The transformation was complete.
    Gwynne's sIdn had become stone, yet still she lived and
    moved. Somewhere within that granitic facade a heart
    beat, lun~4s breathed
    
    Blazing in the rigid mask of her face, her anguished
    
    eyes betrayed her humanity.

    




    CHArTIER TWIE 4 NTY_4 N14 NE
    
      Caeled pressed too heavily with the bamboo quill A
    the point snapped as it gouged a hole in the thin sheet 0
    kenaf. Scholar Nand leaned over to rap the boy's knuckl
    with a switch. Striking metal, the willow switch reboun
    harmlessly. Caeled tried in vain to suppress a grin. Swifter
    than the eye could follow his instructor lashed the *t'
    across the boy's flesh and blood hand, leaving a red weal,
      "You handle the quill as if it were a shovel. You're n
    digging earth now," the old man snapped.
      Caeled raised his head to look at Nanri. For a mome
    his dark eyes blazed with an anger so intense it st
    the old Scholar. Then the boy lowered his lids enou
    screen his anger with his eyelashes, smoothed the
    kenaf with his metal hand and selected another quill fro
                                          artki
                                          ugh,
                                          leaf
    
    the box by his side. The stone floor beneath the desk Wa4
    scattered with broken quills. Chewing on his lower lip, hO`
    began once more to inscribe the simple lines of Moden~5
    Script, digging them just deep enough into the ken
    allow them to be read by sensitive fingertips as well J
    
    eye.
     The boy labored in a small, windowlesscubi
    somewhere in the labyrinth that was Baddalaur. Such
    were reserved for students, being fitted out with
                                         i
                                       A!de'd~
    wooden desks battered by generations of use. Unsh
    lamps provided merciless light. Unadorned walls offered
    distractions.
      Caeled would have welcomed a distraction. int~
    
    M

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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    189
    
    concentration was giving him a thumping headache.
     From his position in a high-backed chair beside the
    desk, Nanri watched the boy intently. Was he the Spoken
    One, the prophecy fulfilled? In the few days he had been
    with the Senior Scholar, the boy had displayed no
    outstanding qualities. He was intelligent, but at an age
    when new concepts were becoming increasingly difficult
    to assimilate, making the breadth of his intelligence hard
    to assess. He struggled with his letters, apparently
    uninterested in them, yet showed some aptitude for
    simple mathematics. His knowledge of geography was
    rudimentary, being principally confined to the east coast
    where he had travelled with his mother. He knew little of
    the history of the Seven Nations and practically nothing
    about the Elder Lore. However, he showed marked
    enthusiasm for both and his knowledge of common
    folldore was considerable.
     There was also a deep pool of reserve in the boy
    surprising in someone so young, as if he were holding
    back, concealing, perhaps even from himself, certain
    aspects of his character. No one knew what inheritance he
    carried in his blood, or what shape his experiences had
    wrought upon his spirit. Yet Nanri had begun to suspect
    there was a great deal more to Caeled than met the eye.
     The Scholar found himself gazing at the metal hand.
    The boy was now beginning to use it unconsciously,
    unthinkingly, and it was responding better than any of
    them had dared hope. When on occasion Caeled con-
    cealed the silvery contrivance within a flesh-colored glove
    the craftsmen had made for him, it seemed like any
    normal hand. But Nanri speculated that it might prove
    symbolic of Caeled himself: hidden resources beneath an
    ordinary exterior.
       Scholar Nanri appreciated the effort that had gone into
     creating and attaching the artificial hand. Seekers and
     Scholars had painstakingly extracted the necessary
     information from the vast collection of arcane knowledge in
    
    11

    




    190
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    the library, but even the wisest of them had not understoo(
    everything they read. They could only mimic the technique
    of a forgotten age.
      Once it had been possible to restore the entire humai
    body, if the ancient texts were to be believed, rebuilding 1
    piece by piece after the most horrendous damage.
      The Scholar picked up his own fine bone writin,
    instrument and scrawled a quick note to himself W~
    there ever a point when such creatures - an amalgam c
    flesh and metal - ceased being human? Search the texu
      Another quill snapped and Nanri lashed out with h
    switch, catching the boy across the tips of his flesH
    fingers. Caeled shot him a look of such sudden, blaziri
    resentment that Nanri drew back. In that moment th
    Scholar saw in memory the image of a wild-haired kitche
    boy who had been sold into slavery in Baddalaux
    kitchens more then sixty cycles ago. A boy seething wit
    resentment, anxious to settle scores.
      "Put down the quill, boy," Nanri said softly, "and let rr
    see your work. Pass me the sheet with your left hand," I
    added.
      Caeled's metal fingers closed over the flimsy sheet ar
    handed it across the desk. Nanri held it up to the hgb
    The kenaf was torn where Caeled had cut through it wil
    the nib of the quill, but his metal fingers had not damagE
    the delicate fibers.
      "Does your hand bother you?"
      "At night," Caeled admitted, turning the hand pal.
    upward. "It aches then." Suddenly he chuckled. "La
    night I thought I felt a splinter under my nail."
      "Your brain is making the hand part of you. Broth
    Nazariel tells me you've made remarkable progress4n d
    past eight days. If only you could master your letters wi
    equal proficiency," he added, sighing.
    
    Caeled confessed, "I cannot seem to make the shap
    of the letters match the words in my head."  A
      Nanri nodded. "I remember what that was like."

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    191
    
     "You do?" the boy asked in surprise. "How did you
    learn, then?"
     "You have seen the Great Library?"
     Caeled nodded. "Brother Daniel took me through it."
     I wandered into it one day - when I should not have
    been there - out of simple curiosity. So many stacks of
    books, so many shelves and levels and staircases. They must
    contain something very important. I wandered around with
    a sense of awe, unable to understand because I could not
    read. But I wondered .... I wondered.
     "Do you realize there are books in the library that date
    back to the dawn of time, books of Elder Lore that tell of
    a time when the gods themselves walked this earth -
    books actually written in that time?" Nanni spoke as if the
    wonder of those early discoveries had never quite left
    him.
     He stood up and Caeled rose with him. They walked
    around the desk and out through the open door into the
    hallway leading, after many twists and turns and changes
    of level, to the Great Library. When they entered the
    huge central room some of the brothers glanced curiously
    at the red-robed Scholar and the tousled boy in his gray
    tunic, his silver hand forgotten at his side.
     "As I looked at all these books, Nanri murmured in a
     very low voice so as not to disturb the silence, I realized
     they were like men struck dumb following great adven-
     tures. All the details of their adventures were locked away
     inside them. The only way I could share the excitement
     was to learn to read. So I began teaching myself, refusing
     to accept failuTe, stmgg'd-ng andL cuTsing -my stufi&lty a-ncl
     trying even harder until at last one of the brothers
     discovered what I was doing, and began to help me.
      "Now I speak and read twenty-two languages to a
     greater or lesser degree, and I have deciphered four of
    
     es       the Elder Scripts                         and do you know why? Because I
              was curious. I wanted to know what those books could tell
              me. As simple as that.

    




    192
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      "Are you curious, boy?" the old Scholar asked abruptl
    fixing a stem eye on Caeled.
    suppose I am."
                                               A
                                             -m
                                             -Y;A
    
      Nanri's expression softened into a smile. "Good. Ve
    good. Stay that way; stay curious always. No matter wha".
    else happens in your life, remain eager to leam. Leard'
    what is in a book, what is in a head, what is around
    next bend in the road. Seek and learn."
    
    eyes.
      Caeled followed the old man to one of the upper level
    "Do you have a favorite legend?" Nand wanted to know.
      "Sarafantis, the Lost City," Caeled answered immedi
    ately. "My mother told me the story once when I had
    fever, and I've never forgotten it."
      Gripping the boy's shoulder with bony fingers, Nanri'
    propelled him along the corridor. "At the heart of every
    legend there is a grain of truth," he was saying as they
    turned left into a maze of shelving. At last the Scholar
    halted to pluck a book from a shelf and hand it to CaeledM
      The boy turned the volume over and over, gazing at I'
    It was the first real book he had ever handled. The covel
    was dark and glossy, with a series of colored lines overlaid
    on an ornate chart. The pages were similar to leaves 01
    pounded kenaf but with a slicker surface, and were
    
      "Do you know what you're holding?" Nanri inquired.
      Caeled shook his head.
      "A guide to the city now known as Sarafantis."
      Caeled's mouth and eyes were three
    astonishment.
      "Sarafantis was real." The old man's finger
    
    "Seeker," Caeled whispered.
    When Nanri nodded, the boy read regret in his fade
    
    covered in tiny symbols and pictograms.
    
    circles
    
    tapped.
    
    design on the cover. "This is an image of the city see
    from the air, these lines represent roads of stone A
    bridges of metal."
    
    "But . . . , caeled riffled through the pages, his

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michaei Scott
    
    193
    
    Red with legends of giants and monsters, of demons and
    spirits but, what does it say P"
      Nanri plucked the book out of his hand and ut it back
                       I >~ I
    on the shelf. "Learn to read, he snapped
    
     Armadiel grunted in pain as Caeled lashed out with his
    metal hand, catching him low on the ribs. From a fist o
    flesh and blood the blow would have been inconse en-
    'in] but the metal hand made apronizing impact.
    
    7
    
     "That's good," the bald man conceded, pressing his
    hand against his ribs and probing gently. Bruised, not
    broken, he decided. "But you lower your head when you
    strike. Keep your head up, your arms close to your body.
    
    r
    d
    f
    re
    
    of
    
    e
    
    en
    d
    
    d
    
    Try again."
     This time as Caeled moved in, Armadiel sidestepped
    
    bool A P le around t-be bov's and sent him tumbling.
    
     "Concentrate," the Seeker growled. '76o much time in
    the library has made you sluggish. Try again."
     Armadiel ducked a swinging blow and drove his open
    palm into the boy's diaphragm, forcing the air from his
    lungs. Caeled sat down with a grunt, gasping for breath,
    but in a moment he was struggling to his feet again, teeth
    gritted, both hands closing into fists - metal and flesh
    
    mo-ving in unison.
    
    "Trv AaaiD 11 said Armadiel,
    
    Nanri
    
     Taking a deep breath, his tongue protruding slightly
    between his lips, Caeled printed the alphabet. On the
    next line he repeated the twenty-eight symbols, making
    them smaller. By the time he reached the end of the sheet
    his writing was miniscule. He picked up a fresh leaf of
    kenaf and began again, frequently pausing to dip his quill
    into the thick purple ink made from berries. When his
    laborious writing covered ten sheets he gave them to
    
    The Scholar's nod of an3roval was reward enouah
    
    ~0. 4.   -.0.

    




    194
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    10
    
      Armadiel repeated the graceful, dancelike movements
    of attack and withdraw, pivot and dodge, and Caeled
    mimicked him. "Not all the brothers remain here in
    Baddalaur," the Seeker was saying as he demonstrated the
    next bit of footwork. "Some venture out into the world for
    various reasons, on various missions, as you may. No,
    bend your knees like this, watch me.
      "Beyond Baddalaur you will find that your status with
    us will not grant immunity from those who seek to rob ot
    kill you, so we must prepare you to defend yourself. Keep
    your shoulders level now and stay loose through your
    body. No tenseness. Here, put your hand on my waist.4
    Feel that, feel how supple I am, how easily I move? I
    bend, I twist like a willow *in a gale if need be, yet no
    matter which way I pivot or leap I always keep my feet,
    under me and my weight balanced over them ... so ...
      Trying to follow a particularly complicated mov(
    of Armadiel's, Caeled got tangled in his own feet and took
    a hard fall. No sooner did he hit the ground than he was
    up again, however, resuming the position, his br
    furrowed with concentration. He acknowledged neiz
    pain nor embarrassment and made no excuses Armadiel
    noted with approval.
      "In your first cycle," the Seeker told him, "we sb
    develop your agility and stamina. One is no good witho
    the other. Then we shall move on to make you proficie
    with sword and knife, spear and crossbow, flail and ax.
    Sharp to the right now, lead with your shoulder!"      M
      At that moment Caeled tripped and fell again. But he
    got UP laughing.
    
                                            qe
      Nanri watched Caeled painstakingly copy the line-1 Q
    script from the book. When the boy grimaced the Scholar
    knew he had made a mistake. Without a word, he started
    again.                                   0
      He had made remarkable progress in the past fifteert
    days. Nanri envied the boy his determination; he reminded

    




    -iall
    out
    Lent
    ax.
    
    ,t he
    
    .ie of
    holar
    -arted
    
    I een
    .1ft
    linded
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    195
    
    him of himself, all those cycles ago, when he desperately
    wanted to unravel the riddles buried in the ancient texts.
     Nand read to Caeled from the Sarafantis book every
    day, making him mouth the letters as they went along. He
    encouraged questions, constant questions, and soon
    Caeled was revealing a limitless curiosity about almost
    everything that delighted the old Scholar. Nand was
    coming to the conclusion that even if Caeled were not the
    Spoken One, he would make a fine Scholar and possibly a
    Seeker.
    
     Twisting unexpectedly, Caeled stepped in close to
    Armadiel and slammed his metal fist against a particular
    point on the Seeker's thigh. The entire leg promptly went
    numb, as if ice water was coursing through the veins. An
    astonished Armadiel went down on one knee.,
     "I didn't teach you that," he grunted.
     "I saw a picture in a book," Caeled replied with a smile.
     The effort of concentrating was giving him a perma-
    nent squint, but Caeled persevered. As he hunched over
    the sheets of kenaf, his lips silently formed the words his
    hand was transcribing into tiny figures. When he exam-
    ined his efforts he lost patience, tossed them aside, and
    began again.
     "Everyone who has joined the Order since its founding
    has kept a journal," Nanri explained. "Not only do we
    record major events, but we also write down our
    important thoughts and elaborate on any meaningful
    discoveries. It was through referring to the earliest
    journals that we were able to recreate your hand."
      What happens to all the journals?"
     'When a brother dies, his books are added to the
    ~brary so others may profit from what he had to say."
     "But what if I have nothing to say?" Caeled wondered.
     "Nothing?"
     The boy shook his head.
     'Tou arrived here on the point of death having been
    
    ~i

    




    196
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    mauled by a Madra Allta, you wear a hand crafted
    through almost forgotten skills, and you have spent the
    last thirty days with me learning your letters. Your
    accomplishments in a short time are remarkable. Tarldel
    the Recoverer informs us you have already undergone
    enough adventures to fill an ordinary life to the brim. And
    yet you suggest you have nothing to say?"
      Nanri pushed a fresh pile of kenaf sheets across the
    desk to Caelbd. "Fill these. Practice writing every day
    with either hand, you must use both equally. Never fail to
    make a journal entry. It doesn't matter how much you
    write; a single line, a whole page, but you must write. This
    brotherhood survives because those who have gone
    before us spent their lives keeping records."
      The boy took up the quill in his silver fingers and
    wrote.
      I am Caeled nam Mytiam."
      Nanri nodded. "That is enough. For the moment."

    




    CHArTIER THIRTY
    
     I am Caeled nam Mytiam.
     Chewing thoughtfully on the end of his bamboo quill,
    the boy gazed at the words he had written so firmly they
    were incised into the surface of the kenaf.
     I am Caeled nam Myriam.
     Who is Caeled nam Myriam? he wondered. He looked
    up, sweeping his eyes around the stone walls of his cell.
     Caeled, he knew, was a southern name, common
    enough in Karfondal. His mother's claim that he was the
    son of a Karfondal nobleman whose name he bore had
    been accepted without question when he was younger,
    but eventually he had discovered, quite by accident, that
    none of the Karfondali nobles had ever been called
    Caeled.
     He could still recall how he felt that day: the sense of
    betrayal and of loss, the grief for a heritage that had never
    been his in the first place, but had helped to compensate
    for the misery of his e.-dstence.
     Now he knew that the fact he bore his mother's
    name - Caeled nam Myriam, Caeled son of Myriam -
    was a sure sign he had been registered as a bastard birth.
      Who am I?
      The bastard son of a whore.
      Myriam had not been a bad woman, she merely had
     done what so many other destitute women had done to
     feed and clothe their families. When she could find no
     honestwork, she stole, or sold herself Her fingers were

    




    198
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    light and her body female; they were the only resources
    she had.
      Knowing what her life had been, her son could not
    blame her for seeking solace in drink. He could not blame
    her for anything, not for the hes she told to hide ugly
    truth, or for the humiliation and poverty of their days. He
    had longed to escape those things himself, so he
    understood her very well. Had she not died in Ward
    Point - his thoughts shied away from that particular
    memory - she would have drunk herself to death.
      When he was younger - much younger - he imag-
    ined one day finding his father who would welcome them
    both home with open arms and restore Caeled to his
    rightful place as a prince. In his childish fantasy, Myriam
    would sit on a throne, dripping with jewels and laughing
    all the time instead of crying.
      Caeled loved the sound of laughter, but try as he might
    he could not remember his mother's laugh.
    
      Perhaps he had never heard it.
      Now he knew he was never going to find his lost
    the nobleman. Such a man did not exist. His father w4
    no doubt some drunken sailor from the docks who woug
    beat him if he showed up, and say cruel things about U
    dead mother.
      Life was like that. Life was hard. Young as he still was,
    Caeled knew life was hard. And from that knowledge, so
    
    painfully acquired, the boy drew strength.   A
      Had he not been able to do so, life would have
    defeated him already and he doubtless would have ended
    up like his mother, unable to face the day without a
    crutch.
      The boy smiled briefly, bitterly. Why would he want a,
    crutch? He already had an artificial hand.
     I am Caeled nam Myriam.
    
      Who was that now? An apprentice, an acolyte
    Order of the Way. His left hand was gone, but in return
    he had a future.

    




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    vas,
    
    :, SO
    
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    at a
    
    int a
    
    f the
    eturn
    
    199
    
     He put down his quill and stared off into space,
    pondering the exchange; the balance struck.
     At last he lifted his left arm, peeled off the glove he was
    wearing, and surveyed the shining silver hand. The
    fingers flexed at his command. The hand worked per-
    fectly now, responsive to his most unconscious thought. it
    seemed hardly different from a real hand except it was
    unnaturally strong. He still had a tendency to grip too
    tightly. Nazariel had him practice plucking grapes be-
    tween thumb and forefinger, but no matter how careful
    he was or how delicate he tried to be he was crushing
    every third grape into pulp.
     Nazariel let him eat them, though, crushed or not.
    "And someday, Caeled," the Senior Healer assured the
    boy, "You will become so skillful with that hand you will
    be able to peel the eyelashes off a frog."
     Maybe he would study to be a Healer like Nazariel.
    When the Healers took away pain and restored health
    they made people happy, and that was no mean accom-
    plishment. It would be good, thought Caeled, to make
    people happy. Perhaps he would research the medical
    lore of the Elder Days and apply it to the present, much
    as the brothers had done to make his hand.
     Caeled gazed off into space and murmured dreamily,
    "Caeled nam. Myriam, Healer."
     His mother, who liked to pretend she had second sight,
    though in truth her only skill was one of observation, had
    cWmed a great destiny awaited him. Perhaps it did, he
    thought for the first time - if he made it happen.
      But she would never know.
     Caeled blinked back tears. What had Armadiel said?
    "Cry only for others. Never for yourself." So perhaps it
    was all right to cry for his mother.
     Myriam's greatest fear had been that she would die
    gone and forgotten. "Raise a marker to me, my son," she
    used to make him promise when she was very drunk and
    maudlin.

    




    200
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      "You have done more than raise a marker."
      Caeled leaped to his feet as Maseriel came silently into
    the stone cell. When the old man fixed his blind eyes on
    the boy, Caeled shivered. The Hieromonach had clearly,
    read his last thought.
    
      "Soon we will teach you to guard your thoughts, to w 7
    them around with wards," Maseriel said conversationally,
    He crossed to the stone bunk and sank onto it, both h
    clasped over the tall carved staff he carried.
      Caeled busied himself with gathering up his quills
    kenaf. He had not heard Maseriel approaph, and the old
    mnn did not seem out of breath though this was the ve
    
    highest level and a prodigious climb.
      "I was not deliberately spying on your thou
    Maseriel assured the boy, "but I could not help fee
    your pain as I approached. The greater emotions -
    and hate - travel easily through the Aethyra."
      Caeled kept his head bent, unwilling to look into the
    blank eyes.
      "You were regretting not being able to raise a marker '
    over your mother's grave. Yet a marker would have
    warped and rotted within'a number of turns. Now that
    you have written her name into your journal, perhaps YO .
    might write what you know of her story. By doing so YOC
    will be keeping her memory alive so that in future,"
    generations, Seekers and Scholars can look at your notes
    and think of this woman. It will be much more las
    than a grave marker."
      Caeled swallowed hard and nodded. Then, unsu
    the old man could see him, he said, "I understand."
      "Sit," Maseriel commanded.
      Caeled folded his legs beneath him and sat with
    back propped against the wall. This was his first enco
    ter with the Hieromonach since the day his hand was
    attached. He had caught glimpses of the old man on
    several occasions, though, and once or twice he thought
    Maseriel was watching him.

    




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     During the time he had been in Baddalaur, Caeled had
    become aware of the Hieromonach's formidable reputa-
    tion, as well as whispered rumors of a power struggle
    among the Senior Seekers as to who would replace him.
    Listening to Nanri, interpreting both what he said and
    what remained unsaid, Caeled had decided the oldest
    Scholar had little time for the Seekers in general and
    Maseriel in particular.
     "Your teachers speak highly of you."
     'Thank you, Hieromonach."
     "Nanri is especially impressed with your progress and
    Armadiel tells me you have the makings of a fine warrior."
     'Thank you," Caeled repeated politely.
     For a long time Maseriel sat with his white eyes turned
    toward the boy, saying nothing. Caeled shifted uncom-
    fortably, aware he was under intense scrutiny, and
    increasingly conscious of an irritating crawling sensation
    in the back of his head as if an insect was moving through
    his hair. Yet Nazariel had cropped his head to little more
    than fuzz and he knew there were no lice in it.
     "Your hand is comfortable?" Maseriel asked abruptly.
    His voice was harsh and dry, like the rustling of brittle
    pages.
     "Yes, Hieromonach." Caeled raised the hand and
    waggled the fingers. "There are times when I'm not even
    aware of it."
     "Good; that is as it should be."
     Man and boy fell silent. Once again Caeled felt the
    crawling irritation at the back of his skull. Looking at
    Maseriel, he noticed beads of perspiration forming on his
    forehead and running into the deep vertical creases
    between his eyebrows.
     Suddenly the boy understood. Rage erupted like a
    burst of flame. Squeezing his metal hand into a fist, he
    surged to his feet. "Stop it!"
     The crawling sensation vanished. Maseriel rocked back
    on the stone bed.

    




    SILVERHAND
    
      "All I have left are my thoughts, but they are mine,
    they belong to me! I won't have them pillaged,"
    said savagely.
      The Hieromonach smiled, a mere twisting of thin lips.
    His flesh was very yellow and there were shadows I&
    deep bruises under his blind eyes. "Very good," he
    whispered, "very good indeed. Now sit back down, boy.
    Sit."
      Quivering with defiance, Caeled ignored him ...
    all feeling left his legs, dropping him heavily to the floor.
    "Obey me," Maseriel said simply. "And listen to me,
    without question, without interruption." The old man I "
    voice grew in strength, resonating from the stone walls OR
    
    the tiny cell.
      "You were wondering about your future, your desti
    it may be your mother knew more than she ever told
    Chance has not brought you here, chance did not place
                                           yo
    
    Armadiel in the wasteland outside Ward Point. He van
    riding there to find you."
      Caeled opened his mouth, but the Hieromonach,
    rapped the tip of his staff on the floor. "No questions. Yoii
    cannot listen and talk at the same time.
    
      'We are the Seekers of the Way, once the L
    men dedicated to learning and preserving knowledge an
    thus staving off the darkness of ignorance. This has bee;
    our mission since the time of Bardal the first Lawgivej
    The more we learn, the more we discover about the oD
    ways and the Elder Times, the more important w
    discover our role to be.
      "A great civilization once ruled this world, yo4
    Caeled. A powerful civilization whom we refer to as
    Elders. Their powers were beyond imagining.
                                        awgive4
                                             I
                                             C
    
      "But in time they warred on one another, squa~J
    their abilities on an orgy of destruction. The finest, m(
    noble beings who ever existed, gods who had challeng
    the stars, forgot their wisdom.
      "It did not happen overnight. Legends speak of a

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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    and a night of fire and flood, but in truth it took a
    hundred generations to complete the downfall of the
    Elders. During that time they surrounded themselves
    with cacophony that unwittingly destroyed their minds.
    They poisoned their own water and fouled their air until
    all manner of illnesses befell them. With mind and body
    degraded, they could not prevent the downward spiral.
     "A few who retained some ability to think for them-
    selves pondered their situation. They rightly identified
    the chaos descending upon them and endeavored to
    understand. It was they who formulated the Rules of
    Chaos. A paradox, is it not? That chaos has rules?"
      Knowing the question to be rhetorical, Caeled did not
     swer. He was not following all of the Hieromonach's
    discourse, for the old man was using words unfamiliar to
    
    s
    
    U
    
    S,
     d
    en
    er.
    Id
    we
    
     9
    the
    
    ring
     ost
    ged
    
    day
    
    the bov.
    
     Caeled privately resolved to memorize them now and
    learn their meaninps tomorrow. Nanri would tell him.
    
     "Another paradox," Maseriel continued. "Chaos is not
    random. This was one of the last and greatest discoveries
    of the Elders, but by that time their civilization was
    weakened past saving. If only they had known sooner that
    
    chaos has a pattern, a pulse, a heartbeat!
     "And that heartbeat can be stilled.
    
    "For this purpose, in their final desperation, the Elders
               ly
    
    created the Arcana.
    
     As the name fell from his lips Maseriel seemed to
    0-affier bimself, Trumpets rang in his voice. The Arcana.
     Caele& lips silently shaped the words. The Arcana.
     'This we know about them," Maseriel told him. "There
    
    are four, representing the elements ot eartn ana air, tire
    and water. The Arcana embody natural order, the forces
    which keep life in balance. Individually each has some
    power, but if conjoined, we believe they are capable of
    negating chaos itself
     "Do vou know what the v-reatest irony was, boy? The
    

    




    Arcana were developed by four separate geniuses in four

    




    204
    
    SiLVERHAND
    
    warring nations and even when the end was in sight, they
    refused to share their skills, to pool the Arcana.
     "And so civilization fell and chaos held sway. This was
    the Dark Age when creatures that were like corrupted
    gods, and others more bestial than beasts, roamed the
    earth together with humankind. Some retreated to
    formerly inhospitable lands, the lee Fields of Thusal, the
    Steppes, the Barbarian Islands.
     "In time decent folk regained some strength and[,;,
    triumphed over the corrupt and the bestial. The wheel"
    turned. Order was restored. Little by little civilization was
    rebuilt, using remnants of Elder Lore. The Seven Nations,
    were carved out of
    overgown long-forgotte
     Sarafantis! thought
    ment.
    
                   ~lderness and the jungle that
                    n cities." ~ -11
                    Caeled, his lips parting with exciti-,
    
      In an infinitely weary voice, Maseriel said, "Now the
    wheel has turned again. Once more civilization and order
    are being overthrown, and chaos reigns." The old man
    stopped, breathing with a curious rasping sound. H~
    knuckles were white on the head of his walking stick.
     Caeled wondered if the old manA s ill.
    
      With a visible effort, the Hieromonach roused imse I
    and went on in a voice thick with phlegm, "It is possible to'
    plot the cycles of order and chaos. Left unchecked, chaos
    becomes preeminent; the periods of order grow
    times of chaos last longer and come around more
    Unless something is done, soon chaos will rule forever.
      'We have been seeking you
    Caeled - for generations."
     The boy started, eyes wild.
     "Many stories are told of the Elders,"
    
    or someone like
    
                                                    Maseriel wen
    relentlessly. "Many lies. But what I tell you is truth. Thl
    were the greatest of the great, and although they
    gone, we have not forgotten their achievements at
    height of their glory. We of the Order are keepers of the
    flame. It is our duty to restore what was so tragicAy I

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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     "The prophets spoke of you, boy. Hundreds -
    thousands - of likely candidates have been brought to
    Baddalaur over the generations, but none has ever come so
    close to the original prophecy as you."
     The old man's white eyes blazed with a fierce light that
    made Caeled gasp in fear and awe. "You are the Spoken
    One!" Maseriel was almost screaming at him, 'The
    Silverhand! Your destiny is to seek the Arcana and use
    them to restore order to this otherwise doomed world."
     "No," Caeled whispered as a chill of foreboding swept
    over him.
      'Tes!" cried Maseriel.
     That final affirmation rang with savage strength
    through the stone cell, echoing off the walls, repeating
    itself over and over again until Caeled cowered under its
    weight. Even when he put his hands over his ears he
    could still hear the voice of the Hieromonach, condemn-
    ing him to a destiny not of his own choosing.
    
    S
    
                                       elf
                                        to
    
    U,
    
   on
    ey
    are
    the
    f the
    ost.
    
     Caeled did not realize for quite some time that the old
    man was dead

    




    CHArTER THIRTY-ONE
    
      Sponsored by Scholar Nanri, the Scholars of Badddaur
    are proud to accept into their ranks Caeled nam Myriam,
    commonly known as Caeled Silverhand ...
    from the Scholars'Ral
    
      . addendum to the History of the Day ...
      Perhaps Maseriel was correct. In the cycles it has t
    the boy to grow to manhood he has dedicated himself t(
    his studies with a singlemindedness occasionall,
    bordering on fanaticism. Even if history concludes that hi
    was not the Spoken One, he will make a fine Scholar an
    eventually a dedicated, Seeker.
      However, his possible destiny as the Spoken One
    never be fulfilled since, despite all our efforts,
    whereabouts of the Arcana remain a mystery. Some of tb
    most recent research casts doubts on whether 4
    artifacts ever eNisted.
            Rasiiel, Hieromonach of the Seekers ofthe
    
     Today I became a Scholar.
      In my life there have been few real achievern
    Formerly survival itself was an achievement, but wh
                                         !ev,
                                           hj
    came to Baddalaur a world of endless possibilities puen
    UP to me.
      I set out to read a single language: Now I can spe
    and have a working knowledge of another fifteen, inell
    ing three of the Elder Scripts.      I'm
      I have been trained in history, geography o

    




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    the
    the
    the
    
    Way
    
   ents
    en
    ened
    
    ak ten
     Clud-
    
    and IF
    
    207
    
    mathematics, yet these are but the grounding for the new
    schools of studv which will open uD to me now. Mv
    
    teachers, including Nanri, who has become more dear to
    me than I ever expected, will continue my education on
    
    the higher floors of the great library. There I will read
    from the Three Thousand, the body of learning each
    Scholar must assimilate before he can become a Seeker.
    And beyond that, there are the highest floors to
    investigate. I shall spend the rest of my life here, content
    in my studies. Perhaps when I reach Nanri's great age, I
    too will take an apprentice and pass on my knowledge.
     There are times when he looks at me and I can see a
    great love in his eyes; perhaps I was the son he never had.
    I have set out to emulate Nanri, to make him proud of me
    by becoming an outstanding Scholar. Today I took the
    first step on that long road. Who knows what awaits me?
                 from the Joumal of Caeled Silverhand

    




    CHArTER THIRTY-TWO
    
      They arrived in the chill grayness before dawn, an
    enormous army prepared for battle. Only a few of their
    number were human.
      Led by the savage man known as Kichal, most of the,
    officers wore crimson cloaks and human form, thot'h
    their blood-red eyes and expressionless faces hinted
    otherwise. The troops they commanded were like nothin
    seen in the Nations before.
      They were roughly humanoid in shape but tall Ir,
    broader, heavier than men. The massively muscled S11
    and thick necks of some were unnaturally long; o ers.~
    had overdeveloped buttocks and thighbones set at
    angle that made them walk with a spraddling gait. 1~e
    skulls of some creatures had little room for a brain P'
                                           arm
                                           th
    
    but many possessed a massive jaw and teeth like those
    the greater carnivores. Along some backs the spines
    appeared to break through the flesh, throwing up a flange
    of bone that culminated in a crest rising above the nape of A
    the neck to render it invulnerable.
    They were the Bred.
    
      The townspeople of Kathe lined the walls to stare i"
                                          ss
                                           S
    horror at the whooping, grunting warriors being a Joe.
    bled in a ragged formation on the hillside facing the to
    There was only one question on everyone's lips:
    Kathe was a fishing village, a day's journey from Barrow,
    It had no treasures, no strategic importance.

    




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    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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     The town's gates were closed for the first time in a
    generation - no enemy had ever raided this close to the
    capital before - and everyable-bodied man and woman
    had taken up a weapon for defense. Message-carrying
    peists had been released to warn Barrow of the impend-
    ing invasion. But while the townspeople watched in
    dismay the finger-length creatures were shot out of the air
    by an almost impossible feat of archery performed by
    warriors with freakishly wide shoulders and short bandy
    legs. Then the archers shambled forward to snatch the
    irridescent corpses from the ground and tear them in two
    before sucking out their juices.
     The misshapen army sat for most of the morning,
    simply watching the town. Within the walls rumor and
    speculation ran riot. ,
     They are deffionsfrom beyond the edge ofthe world ...
     Anew racefrom the Southlands . .
     Monstersfrom Thusal ...
     Devil spawn ...
     It is the end of the world ....
     A fishing boat attempted to sail out of the harbor. It
    had reached the outer buoy when giant lizardlike crea-
    tures with rows of needle-sharp teeth rose out of the
       beside the boat. When they finished and slipped
    back beneath the waves, only a spattering of blood and
    greasy gray matter remained in the small craft.
     As the sun dipped toward the horizon the mayor of the
    town, a small stout fishmonger named Geede, was
    lowered over the walls in a wicker basket. Having bribed
    his way to the mayorality Geede had enjoyed several
    seasons skimming the taxes, enabling him to increase his
    personal fishing fleet from four to eight boats. Now he
    would gladly have traded all his wealth to be anywhere
    else in the Nations, or even just to be back behind the
    safety of the walls.
      As the basket thumped on the ground, he discovered he
     had been clutching it so tightly that the woven sides had

    




    hiL
    
    210
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    crumpled beneath his grip. Geede looked up. Faces peere('
    down at him from the top of the wall. Implacable face!
    demanding that he do something. There was no chance, h(
    thought sadly, of their pulling him back up again.
      With the greatest reluctance he climbed out of th(
    basket and walked on shaking legs toward the neares
    beastmen, two hulking brutes whose naked torsos ripple(
    with muscle like Gor Allta apes. Their faces were covere(~
    with leather masks revealing only red-rimmed eyes. Hi
    slowed as he neared the creatures but they ignored lilim-
    allowing him to walk past them and up the hill to the W
    of troops. The heavy metal chain of office, which he WO
    on any and all occasions, clanked dismally on his cl,'
    above his pounding heart.
      This close to the massed army, Geede found
    stench appalling: a mixture of rotten meat, urine and th(
    metallic tang of magic. The man's eyes began to water. H(
    was about to wipe them on the sleeve of his tunic wh4
    he realized that to his townspeople, it would look as il
    were weeping in fear. Worse, the hideous army nii,
    interpret the gesture as, a sign of weakness.
    
      Blinking, he fixed his eyes on a human-looking warrioi
    who wore a gleaming bronze helmet and a red officef,
    cloak. As Geede approached him the officer raised glovec'
    hands to the helmet and removed it, tucking it under onE
    arm. With the other hand the male half of the Duel
    smoothed his sweat-spiked hair.
    
                                           A
    Geede dropped to the ground, prostrating himself
    before Lares. "Majesty. We did not know! We did
    realize! We merely thought that . . . "  A
      There was movement behind him. From the corner of
    his eye Geede glimpsed a pair of tiny leather boots.
      Sarel kicked him lightly just below the ribs.
      'What did you think?" The voice was muffled. A
    dared not look up, but he guessed the woman was ~so
                                           4
    wearing a helmet.

    




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    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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     'We thought it was an army." He stopped, his mouth
    dry, and amended, 'That is, we thought it was an enemy
    army.
     Sarel kicked him again. "An enemy army so close to
    Barrow? Have you so little faith in us?"
     "Yes, Majesty. I mean no, Majesty." Sweating heavily,
    more fearful now of the woman than the beasts, Geede
    babbled, 'When we saw those creatures we were flight-
    ened, you must forgive us, we thought they might be an
    army of demons, or abominations from the Northlands.
     "They are none of those," Lares said mildly. 'Though
    they are an army. Untrained, it is true. Unblooded,
    certainly. But they are an army." Lares paused and turned
    
    to survey the mass of bestial forms. "Magnificent, are they
    not?"
     "Yes, Majesty," Geede breathed.
     "Each one bred to a particular specification. Some are
    designed for strength, others for speed or stamina. Each
    one is a killing machine. You are honored, for you are
    among the first to see the Bred, the personal army of the
    Duet."
     I am honored," Geede mumbled. 'Thank you, maj-
    est~." His terror kept growing in spite of what seemed to
    be an effort to reassure him, and his bladder was achingly
    
     "However, we have a problem," Lares continued. we
    have an army which theoretically is invincible, but has
    iie\-er proven itself Before we take our Bredi on a serious
    campaign, we need to observe them in action."
     Geede twisted his head, looking up at the amber-
    baired young man. Suddenly the mayor began to
    understand what was coming.
     'We need someplace close to the capital, sizeable, but
      portant. You should be pleased we chose your
    insignificant Kathe, which otherwise would never have
    ~stinguished itself. Now its name will go down in history
    because it made the ultimate sacrifice to further the

    




    212
    
    SiLVERHAND
    
    experiments of the Duet. We shall raise a plinth in
    memory.
     "No," Geede whispered as his bladder betrayed him
    out of terror. A wet stain spread on the ground beneath
    him.
      "Yes," insisted Lares.
      "It is time," Sarel hissed.
      Geede heard the soft hiss of a blade being drawn f
                                           Y61
    
    its sheath and tried to scramble to his feet, but .54
    planted a booted foot in the small of his back and foiced
    him down.
      He screamed then. On the distant walls of the
    the inhabitants o
    
     Their mayor twitched as the stiletto entered - alm
    painlessly - between his third and fourth vertebrae.
    was dead before Sarel withdrew the blade.
      "Time to blood the Bred," she laughed.
    
    I

    




    d
    
    ost
    He
    
    !i,
      CHArTER THIRTY-THREE
    
     Closing his eyes, Caeled ran the fingers of his right
    hand over the series of pinholes pricked into the long
    strip of bark. The gray-furred bat that had carried the
    message to Baddalaur clung to the front of the young
    man's robe, resting.
     'Well?" Nami demanded impatiently, leaning forward
    across his desk toward the young man who stood before
    him. The Senior Scholar's own age-numbed fingertips
    were no longer able to decipher the tactile messages
    scouts for the Order employed when they considered the
    usual methods too dangerous for sending reports back to
    
     "It says . . . " Caeled began, retracing the line of dots to
    be certain he interpreted it correctly. "It says that a
    town - Kathe, I think the name is . . . "
     "A fishing town north of Barrow on the coast.
    Continue."
     "Kathe has been destroyed by an army of grotesque
    warriors, monsters!" Caeled exclaimed, startling the bat,
    who took wing and flapped away in alarm leaving only a
    swirl of air behind.
     Nanri bowed his head and chewed on the inside of his
    mouth for a moment. Then he looked up again. "Is there
    anything else to the message?"
     'Three vert~cal slashes . . . "
     Me code for speculation, unconfirmed rumor", the
    old man snapped. "Read on."

    




    214
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      "Unconfirmed rumor says the army was under the
    command of the Duet." Caeled shook his head and read
    the last line again. "The Duet! There must be sorno'
    mistake."
      'Why?" Nanri asked mildly.
      'Why would the Duet destroy one of their own towns,
    Master? What purpose would it serve? And h abo
    this army of monsters, where did
      Stiffly, Nanri rose to his feet.
    
                                  lom~
                             they come fi, r .
                               His bony fingers clam
    onto the young man's arm. "Let us walk."
      Together Nanri and Caeled strolled out into the
    Central Courtyard, the younger man deliberately shoro
    ening his stride to accommodate the elder. Th~
    presented a study in contrasts: Nanri stoop-shouldered,
    becoming thick around the middle, hobbling with effod
    Caeled erect, whipcord lean, his bones lengthened 1101
    into the stretch of manhood. The last childish roundnem'
    had melted from his cheeks to be replaced by a keeR
    sharp visage in which his black eyes sparkled with enerO
    His red robe barely concealed the symmetry of his
    spoiled only by the artificial hand he wore.
      The season was turning; the air was chill, tart wi
    promise of rain. Clouds scudded across the face of w
    and cast marbled shadows upon the pattern in
    courtyard floor.
      Using the technique Armadiel had taught him, C
    breathed deeply to banish exhaustion. He had s
    sleepless night in the Great Library followingA
    mately disappointing avenue of research into the loc d
    of the Elder Cities.
    
      "The information we have received does indeed in
    many questions," Nanri said. He stopped walking. E
    always stopped walking when he spoke. It gave
    chance to rest and he thought no one noticed. "And,
    is the Rule of Questioning?" he asked Caeled      i1i
      "One question at a time," Caeled replied, chastefied. P
    was one of the first rules Nanri had taught him A thosE

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    ss
    n,
    
    e
    sas
    the
    
    ed
      a
    Ulti-
      n
    
      e
     He
    m. a
    what
    
    ed. It
    those
    
    215
    
    years ago when he was overflowing with curiosity and the
    queries came tumbling out of him faster than his tutor
    could reply. "Det6rmine whether there is or can be an
    answer to a question before moving on to the next one."
     "Indeed. Now let us begin with the first question that
    comes to mind. The destruction of Kathe. True or false?"
     "rrue," Caeled decided. "There is no evidence to lead
    us to doubt the veracity of the message."
      t e army of monsters?"
      "Probably true also, for the same reason
      '"Why was Kathe destroyed?"
      "Impossible to answer without more information."
      'Were the twins controlling the destruction?"
     "Impossible to answer," Caeled replied again. He
    sighed. 'We're no nearer the solution than we were
    moments ago."
     "Not true." Nanri tapped the faded pattern on the
    ground with his walking stick. "Look down; what do you
    see?"
      "Patches of color, red and bronze and gold."
     "Yet you know that these colors are but part of a
    greater pattern that makes up the total design."
      Caeled nodded silently.
      "Now apply the same understanding to our questions.
     onsider this latest information as nothing more than
    additional colors in a pattern that already eiisted. What
    have you then?"
     With the old man shuffling along beside him Caeled
    resumed walking, keeping a solicitous eye on the elderly
    Scholar. There had been a time during his second and
    third cycles in Baddalaur when Caeled's awe diminished
    through familiarity and he had played pranks on his tutor.
    He had delighted in pinning Nand's robe to the chair
    while he dozed, or substituting salt for the powder
    Nazariel gave him to relieve a rash.
     But that was in the past, forgotten and forgiven. As his
     body matured Caeled had become aware of Nand's aging
    
    11
    
    I

    




    216
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    A
    
    and the fragility it brought. A fiery spirit still burned in
    the Senior Scholar, but the flesh which housed it was
    wearing out.
      Had he dared, Caeled would have put a steadying hand
    under the old man's elbow. Instead he contented himself'
    with watching Nanri covertly while simultaneously scan-
    ning the pavement of the courtyard, seeking inspiration.
      "Monsters," he mused aloud. "There was a report two
    seasons ago ...
      "Three." Nanri stopped walking again.
      'Three," Caeled agreed, pausing with him. 'There was
    a rumor three seasons ago that the Duet were breeding
    some very peculiar creatures, ostensibly for their private
    zoo. They were said to have a collection of saurians unlike
    any ever seen before, some of them gigantic. One huge J
    carnivorous lizard supposedly got loose and rampaged
    through the streets of Barrow, devouring people and
    crushing others beneath its feet before it was destroyed,"
      Nanri nodded. "Is that all?"
      Caeled's eyes narrowed in thought. "No, there were'
    also stories of beasts that looked like a cross between
    boar and a wolf. And others that seemed to be a qe,,
    ape, but bigger, meat-eating."'
      Nanri nodded again. "Some thought the tales
    ated at the time. But supposing they we
    would you apply the fact to the message we
    received?"
      "If the Duet have been systematically breeding bi
    new forms for their zoo," Caeled speculated, "they rnf
    also have been conducting a breeding program for . ~
    other purposes. An army of monsters could be the resul#M
                                        e
                                        a
                                         tw
                                          ~ee
                                            n
                                          "e'
                                        exa I e_
                                     re t e
                                        We
    
                                        Ig b.
                                        I Y
                                        e U
    
      Nanri said nothing, merely listened with pursed hps
    like withered fruit and a glow of satisfaction in his faded
    eyes. Caeled's thought processes were clear, direct,
    unmuddied by rejecting what might at first seem impos~
    ble. To Caeled anything was possible.
      In the years Nanri had known the lad, his

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    217
    
    scepticism about his identity as the Spoken One had
    faded to be replaced with a deep and genuine affection
    for Caeled Silverhand. While many of the Order regarded
    the boy with an almost superstitious awe, Nand treated
    him as just another of his students, which gave him a
    sense of acceptance. The old Senior Scholar had patiently
    guided the youngster's insatiable curiosity and harnessed
    his formidable energy, and was now rewarded with the
    knowledge that someday soon the pupil would surpass the
    master.
     "Conclusion," Nanri demanded.
     'The Duet have created an army of specially bred
    humans, or animals or werebeasts. Possibly all three.
    Then they unleashed this force on a defenseless town,
    one of their own. But why? It makes no sense."
     "Bossur Dam," Nanri murmured.
     Caeled remembered. Two turns ago, the twins had
    built a dam on the Bossur river to redirect the Bossur and
    increase the water supply for Barrow. The dozen or so
    villages and numerous farmers in the valley below the
    dam had assumed they would be warned and relocated
    before the valley was flooded. They had been mistaken.
     Caeled said, 'We have seen that the twins are quite
    indifferent to human life or the misery they may cause.
    They might have destroyed Kathe just to watch their
    new... " He hesitated, frowning.
      "Their new what?"
      1 almost said ... their new toys in action.
    
    ly
    
     'Toys." Nanri mouthed the word with disgust. He
    reached into one of the deep pockets sewn into all
    Scholars' robes and took out another strip of bark. 'This
    message arrived yesterday, while you were at your
    studies," he told Caeled. "Brother Daniel read it for me.
    It seems the Duet have developed an army of monsters
        they call the Bred, under the command of a
    particularly vicious human known as Kichal. Your conclu-
    sions are entirely correct, I am sorry to say."
    
    IMP

    




    218
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      They walked on in silence, almost completing the
    circuit of the Great Courtyard before Caeled asked,
    'Vhat happens now, Master? Knowing what we know, is
    there anything we can do?"
      "No," Nanri told him. "Rasriel will sanction no action
    against the twins."
      "But there must be something! What point is there in
    knowledge without acting upon that knowledge?"    I I
      Nanri sighed. "You forget, I am a Scholar. We are not'
    trained to be militant. Seekers who go out into the world
    are encouraged to action but we are not. If you become a.
    Seeker you may someday... "
    
    interruptiro
    
      "Someday?" Caeled interrupted, although
    his tutor was strictly forbidden. "The danger is now."
      Nanri overlooked his disobedience. I have spoken
    this to Rasriel who plans no response. He has reminde
    me that the Duet are the heirs of Los-Lorcan and t e
    legitimate rulers of his kingdom. A town like Kathe
                                            4
                                             le,
    
    theirs to treat as they will."
      "But if they wantonly destroyed it," Caeled argue'd,
    disregarding the rule of one question at a time, llwha~,
    next? Some place larger, more of a challenge? And hud
    long before they turn their attention to us? How 1040,
    Master?"

    




    CHArTER THIRTY-fOVR
    
     Lares woke suddenly in a bed still warm with the heat
    of his sister's body, still musky with the odor of their
    lovemaking. Opening his eyes, he saw Sarel's beloved
    silhouette against the arched window. He rolled out of
    bed to stand behind her, pressing himself against her
    flesh. Her hipbones were like jewels beneath his palms.
     "You're troubled," he murmured into her hair.
     Sarel held up her left hand, letting moonlight paint it
    with silver and shadow. "I had another of those dreams."
     "About the silver hand?"
     Sarel closed her hand into a fist. "Is it just a dream, an
    image from the Aethyra that enters my sleeping mind? Or
    something else?"
     Lares had no answer. His twin had been disturbed by a
    fewrdng nightmare for many seasons, a dream in which
    she was walking in procession with the nobility of the
    Seven Nations gathered in solemn lines on either side.
    The occasion was ill-defined, but Sarel thought it might
    be a coronation. She saw herself dressed in a gown of
    white silk and a dark blue sleeveless coat lined with satin,
    her slender form weighed down with the royal jewels
    inherited from elder times.
     People were enraptured by her beauty and thunderous
    acclaim arose from every side. But as she knelt to receive the
    crown, a silver hand appeared out of the shadows and tore the
    clothes from her body. Her jewels were flung into the gutter
    &e refuse, leaving Sarel naked before the assembly.

    




    220
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    a
    
      Without her finery her body was revealed as diseased
    and foul, with scabrous flesh and pustules festering on her
    thighs. Attached to her stomach as an obscene growth w
    a mannikin with her brother's features. The spect
    cried out with revulsion.
      Sarel always woke up just as the crowd began to attack
    her in homicidal fury.
      'What can it mean?" she asked her brother for
    hundredth time.
      Lares squeezed her gently, aware that she was trem-'
    bling.
      "The hand strips me naked and reveals me to the world
    as something horrible! My own self revolts me!"
      "It's just a dream," Lares assured her. "The exci[teme
    of the past few days and our success in Kathe have
    you overstimulated."
      "No, that isn't it. I've been standing here thin
    about the silver hand and recalling the first time I saw
    Sarel turned toward her twin, her eyes seeking his. "
    you remember a night seven or eight cycles ago, sho
    after we developed the Breeder? You and I were here,
    this chamber, in bed, when we became aware of
    presence -watching us. Remember?"
      Lares gathered her into his arms, trying to
    trembling. "I remember."
      'We saw the form of a boy," Sarel continued,
    on us. I created a sword with my mind and struck ab.
    intruder, and he raised his hand to ward off my bt.
      "It was his left hand he used, Lares. I can see 64
    now in my memory. His left hand looking as if he
    wearing some sort of shiny glove. When my sword stru
    the hand there was a metallic sound and a blinding flas
    of light that knocked me backward. Then some&g
    snatched him away and he was gone. We pursued him
    through the Aethyra but could not find him, remember?"
    She was panting with her eagerness to secure Lares'
    agreement, his validation of her vision.

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    221
    
     "I remember, my sister," he said gently.
     'Tonight when I awoke from that terrible dream I
    realized the boy had not been wearing a glove at all. That
    boy we saw, we both saw, had a silver hand, Lares. A silver
    hand! And the hand that comes for me out of the shadows
    is a left hand, a silver hand. It is that boy who comes out
    of the shadows and strips me naked and . . . " Words
    failed. Sarel the strong and sure, the more powerful of the
    twins, clung to her brother like a child seeking comfort.
     Lares looked over his sister's shoulder toward the
    sleeping city of Barrow beyond the window. The sky was
    the deep purple hue of a bruise. 'We followed that boy
    and the giant hawk that rescued him toward Baddalaur
    before we lost all trace of them in the Aethyra," he
    recalled.
     Sarel's acknowledgement was a whisper. "Baddalaur.
    The Seekers." Her mind made an instantaneous connec-
    tion with the imagery of her dream. 'Would they dare try
    to strip us of our power?"
      Lares hugged his sister close. 'Warnings should not be
    
   a
    r
    
   9
    e
    
    ignored."
    
    rly
     as
                                        Ck
                                       ash
     9
    
                                       r?"
                                        es
                                     
    
    




    CHArTER THIRTY-fIVE
    
     The first Void appeared deep in an enorrr
    cider, churning the golden liquid to putrid
    
    ous vat
    froth.
    liquid swallowed the sound of the high-pitched White
    Scream as the Void fed off the molds and ferment
    juices inside the barrel. When it vanished, the 0
    evidence of its presence was the disgusting odor of
    apples.
     The second, larger Void materialized in the latrin
    They were empty; the ancient stone walls muffled to
    White Scream. The Void consumed the fungi that lived
    on human waste and destroyed a nest of dog-rats befor
                                       ats
                                          ,en 0
                                           0
                                          rotie
    
                                          t . n)
                                           n
    
                                          b e Ifo,
    disappearing. In the noisome depths of the latrines;
    stench The third Void, much larger still, spun shockingly
                                          to
    the heart of the Great Library. Another whirle~ddd into
    Central Courtyard. A fifth was destined for the utch
      Then the Bred attacked.

    




    e
    d
    
                                       ~Ito
                                        he
    3.
    
    CHArTER THIRTY-SIX
    
     At first it appeared as a black spark, a cinder lazily
    spiralling downwards, but as the Void descended on the
    Great Library of Baddalaur it grew, and as it grew the
    White Scream intensified.
     High-pitched, exultant, the Scream vibrated with rage
    and pain, with lust and hunger. The unbearable sound
    drove the brothers working in the library to their knees as
    veins burst beneath their sldn, dappling their cheeks with
    blood.
     A Scholar writhed in agony, clutching his chest and left
    arm. Another fell with black blood pumping from his
    mouth as his lungs burst. On one of the galleries of an
    upper level a Scholar, reeling from the sound, pitched
    over the railing and tumbled down, mouth and eyes wide
    with terror, but the Void swallowed his shriek of horror so
    that he fell in silence. He brushed against the edge of
    whirling nothingness - and instantly his skin turned
    black and began to liquify. When he struck the floor what
    remained of his body exploded.
         terrifying speed, the expanding Void swept
    through the library. A white-robed Seeker attacked the
    intruder with a roar of fury and the only weapons he had
    on him - his two hands. The Void sheared through his
    hands, amputating them above the wrists. His agonized
    cry sent convulsions of pleasure through the ravenous
     emptiness, which promptly consumed what remained of
     his body. Whirling on, it exuded a filthy brown tar that

    




    i
    
    224
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    briefly assumed a vague manlike shape.
     Too frightened to think, an elderly Scholar hurled th(
    book he had been studying at the advancing horror. Thi
    priceless volume vanished without a trace into the vortei
    As the Void brushed by them, tables and chairs disso '
                                                                                NO
    into filth; wooden shelving collapsed into rotting pu'
    rare paper, leather bindings, vellum sheets and kenaf, ~
    melted into a stinking sludge as the twirling, twisting
    shifting Void grew and grew.
     The monks fleeing the terror in the library ran in~
    another Void in the Central Courtyard. The spinnini
    horror stripped the ancient pattern from the ground ani
    pulverized the stones supporting the fountain into sanc
    then fused the sand to glass. But it left the metal parts c
    the fountain untouched.
      Some of the brothers shrieked at nightmare im
    they glimpsed in the heart of the Void. Others s
    rooted, mesmerized by shifting patterns of light
    the vortex. The patterns suggested different things t
    different people. One Healer ran forward with his arm
    flung wide and tears, of joy streaming down his
    racing toward a memory.
      The Void swallowed him whole.
    
      Caeled was in the kitchens when a Void appe,'
    tj
    there. As a Scholar he was expected to study not only e
    but the life around him. This translated into practieah~
    He had to acquire a working knowledge of all the variot
    functions undertaken by monks in the College, includin
    the preparation of food. For this purpose he w,,
    apprenticed for a short period to the cooks and tb
    bakers, and was spending this particular day helping t
    bake bread.
      He first became aware of something wrong when h
    felt a slight buzzing in his artificial hand. The sensado
    was disquieting. Caeled peeled off the glove he W,
    wearing and studied the hand curiously. It was such Da

    




    looldng inside.
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    225
    
            of him now that he rarely paid it much atter
            Occasionally it seemed to ache if the weather was
            cold, and when lightning stalked the ridges, thin
            lines of gossamar fire danced along its silver surface.
            There was no blue fire now, but the hand was defi
            tingling.
            Shoariel, the red-faced, unfailingly cheerful M
            Baker, clapped Caeled on the shoulder. 'What's
            matter, MY young friend? Bum yourself? I would not
            thought you could injure anything containing Old M
            "I'm not burned, but these fingers are ... hum
            sort of "
              "From the heat?"
              "Probably," Caeled agreed, replacing the glove.
            Shoadel told him, "The batch in number two ov
            ready to come out now."
            "How do you know?" Caeled wondered. There
            twelve huge ovens in Baddalaur, and Shoariel moni
            them with an almost supernatural skill without
    s
    
    I
    
    d
    S
    
    us
    9
    as
    e
    to
    
    he
    on
    was
    art
    
      Practice, was the reply.
     Grinning, Caeled pulled open the door to number two
    oven, taking care to stand well back and to one side, with
    eyes and mouth closed. This was a lesson he had learned
    on his first day in the kitchens. He had opened an oven
    without taking precautions and the initial blast of heat had
    b1istered his face.
     Now the young man lifted a long-handled bread shovel
    and, squinting against the heat, slid the implement under
    the first of the round golden loaves. He inhaled the heady
    aroma of yeast bread and wrinkled his nose with pleasure.
    Sahva flooded his mouth. But even as he withdrew the
    loaf from the oven the fragrance turned bitter, then
    nauseating. Caeled stared in dismay as the fat-bodied loaf
    on his shovel collapsed into a reeking black puddle.
     Within the oven the remainder of the loaves were also
    inelting into a tarlike substance that promptly ignited
    
    Li
    
      9

    




    226
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    from the heat, sending a streamer of flame billowing
    outward. The fire licked across Caeled's apron and set ii
    ablaze. He frantically ripped it off just as the first of thE
    twelve ovens exploded.
      Shoariel was struck in the chest by the oven door as il
    flew outward, the heavy iron punching deep into his body
    Another baker was caught in the wash of flame an(
    Caele&s dazed eyes saw the man's hair blaze like a toreh4
      A brother came running into the oven area from ai
    adjacent kitchen just in time to disappear beneath a
    of bricks as number four oven was ripped
    explosion. Liquid flame roared from the ho
    to the timbered ceiling whose wooden
    suddenly sagging with putrescent rot.
     Without thought, Caeled dropped to his hands M
    knees and crawled toward the nearest exit- The ba--
    was open at both ends to allow the heat and smoke t
    disperse; now it also allowed the flames to breathe. '
    Another oven exploded, and blood and brick and b J,
    tar splattered across Caeled. He squeezed his eyes shu
    instantly nauseated . ... and remembered the last time I
    had smelled that particular odor, seen that filthy tar. .I
     A shape on the bed, clearly visible where it had sol
    into the straw nwttress, leaving the shadowlike outline
    a huntan body. Black, tarlike liquid trickling out fro
    beneath the bed.
      And the smell ...
      Caeled knew then what had come into Baddalaur.
     The floor beneath him trembled. He opened his e)
    and looked up in time to see the oven to his I
    shuddering as mortar flaked away from between t
    bricks. He leaped to his feet with an incoherent shout
                                     I
                                     Illeaul U 14
    
    warning and flung himself forward. The explosion of t
    oven lifted him off his feet and hurled him out int-i
    Central Courtyard.                    I
     Staggering to his feet, Caeled wiped blood from hid
    and turned like an animal at bay to face the Void.

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
     From his cell overlooking the Central Courtyard, Nanri
    saw the Void appear in the heart of Baddalaur. He knew
    then that the end had come, and was only surprised the
    College had not been attacked sooner.
     Over the past twenty cycles the Senior Scholar had
    watched the Duet's exercises in absolute ower. with
    increasing alarm, and had kept the Hieromonach informed
    of his discoveries and mis0vino. Despite their mutual
    
EL ;_ anirnosity, Maseriel had listened to him and tried to prepare
       for the day when the Duet would become too dangerous to
    
    ignore.
    
     Rasriel, his successor, was less prudent. Arrogant and
    ambitious, he had proved to be more interested in his
    own domination of Baddalaur than in the despotism of
    the twins.
    
              of a dozen historical precedents for their
    increasingly tyrannical behavior. But though he con-
    demned them, he did not view Sarel and Lares as the
    personification of evil. The Scholar recognized the
    unintentional good done by tyrants to be one of civiliza-
    
    don's great ironies.
     To withstand those who ruled through fear and
    brutality, people had often been forced to learn to work
    together in common cause. The highest ideals of human-
    itv had been developed to counter the injustices of
    tyranny. It was a perfect example of the delicate balance
    of evil and good, chaos and order. One invariably led -
    
    sometimes slowly, often haltingly - to the other.
     But the Duet were unlike any tyrants Nanri had eve
    
    studied.
    
    S lips
    
     Two who were one; two halves together forming a
    whole which was all the stronger because its parts were so
    alike, yet master and mistress of such different powers.
     Nand had no doubt the Duet dreamed of conquests
    greater than Los-Lorcan had ever achieved. Yet they were
    far more cunning than he, and more patient. A terrifying
    combination. They tempered their greed with the

    




    228
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    realization that some things were beyond thSo they learned what was necessary to extend th
                                         U'
                                         grasp.
     Their breeding program, resulting in the misbegottlen'
    army they had unleashed on Kathe, was a case in point.
    The twins had created exotic pets for themselves, faster
    peris to ride, spectacular lizards to star in their zoo. It
    would have taken more skill and patience than the late
    Los-Lorcan ever possessed to build a war machine in that
    fashion, but for Sarel and Lares it was the obvious nexd
    step. And once the warriors were bred, it was inevitab
    they should be used.
      Tyrants always used their weapons.
     Nand had long suspected from collating apparen
    unrelated reports that the twins had indeed I Med t
    control the Voids. Once they achieved this the! end
    civilization was close at hand, unless they showed gre'
    self-restraint.
     Never in their lives had the spoiled and Willful
    shown self-restraint, however. They had killed their~
    father rather than submit to him.
     The concept of controlling the Voids was not a n
    one. When many generations earlier the philosopher,
    prophet Maliel wrote that the Voids were doorways
    the soul, he was describing a physical doorway leading
    the myriad worlds of the Aethyra. Some of the ancient
    magicians had thus utilized the Voids. One of the oldest
    legends claimed the gods had created the world out of a
    single fiery Void.
     Debating with other Scholars, a more youthful N
    had once put forth the theory that creation was the, true
                                            Jim
                                          I
    
    function of Voids, from which matter could be drawn
    because they absorbed matter. If so, the secret had been
    lost, because now the Voids were nothing more than te
    in the fabric of existence through which chaos col
    enter. Rather than beina sources for creation, the Voi

    




    uet
    
    new
     and
     S for
     9 to
     cient
     dest
     of a
    
    Nanri
    e true
    drawn
     been
     tears
     could
    P, Voids
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    229
    
    had become the ultimate destroyers, feeding ravenously
    off whatever life forces they encountered.
     A perfect tool for the rapacious appetites of the Duet.
     Maseriel had foreseen this, Nanri admitted to himself
    with grudging admiration. The old Hieromonach had
    hoped he would have time to train the S oken One to use
    
    against them. Too late now.
     A sudden detonation of sound made Narai glance
    down. The massive timber gates of Baddalaur were
    crumbling to dust as a series of tiny Voids danced across
    them. He distinctly heard the sound of metal bolts and
    hinges, which the Voids could not digest, falling to the
    
    ground.
     Then the army of the Bred burst into Baddalaur.
    
     Armadiel lifted the heavy crossbow, steadied himself as
    if he had all the time in the world, then fired a bolt into
    the gaping jaws of a warrior who was somewhat less than
    human. The brute was knocked backward to be trampled
    beneat the indifferent feet of its fellows as the Bred
    
    swarmed forward.
    
     Elsewhere in Baddalaur other Seekers were also
    fighting back. Those who could get to their weapons were
    the fortunate ones; many were caught, like the Seeker in
    the hbrary, with nothing but their bands and feet to use
    against the enemy. But even then they were able to do
    great damage to the Bred.
     Unfortunately, for every invader that fell there were
    two more to take its place.
    
    Armadiel calmIv reloaded and fired his crossbow ajZain
    
    and again. Each shot brought down one of the creatures.
    He had killed five before the attackers fanned out across
    
    the courtyard to encircle him, as they were doing to other
    
    Seekers elsewhere. Dropping the crossbow, Armadiel
    drew his two swords from his belt and maneuvered until
    
    his back was to the nearest wall.
    
    Lik,- Nan he kne, who had sent the monstrous armv.

    




    230
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    He had been urging Rasriel to move against the twins for
    the past four cycles as the Duet consolidated their power.
    They had stripped the wealth from the old families and
    undermined the influence of the guilds. With a combina-
    tion of bribery and fear they had brought the people to
    their knees. Those who would not pay absolute homage to
    the twins were condemned as traitors.
      "It is only a matter of time before they turn their sights
    on the College," Armadiel had warned, but the Hiero-
    monach merely replied, "Nonsense, you start at shadows.
    They will probably offer us places at court, as Los-Lorean
    did with Maseriel before me."
      The Bred had not attacked Baddalaur to offer Rasriel a
    place at court.
      There was only one hope now, ~rmadiel thought
    despairingly. A hope for the future. Gripping his swoA
    and bracing his feet wide, he turned to look for Caeled.
    
      As he stared at the Void, Caeled was simultaneo
    fascinated and repulsed.
      The shimmering shapes he glimpsed within bec
    beckoning figures that were strangely, beguilingly
    iar. There was something disturbing about the sh
    light through which they moved, yet he could not resist
    those figures.
      Caeled took a step closer to the Void.
      In a daze he walked unaware past a brother kne i g
                                           A
    on the ground, staring wide-eyed in lust at whateve e
    saw in the Void. He had pulled his robe from his body and
    was straining forward with parted lips when the Void
    extended a flesh-colored tentacle. It caressed the naked.
    body briefly, then insinuated itself into the m n4
    throat and dragged him into the whirling emptines ,
      Caeled did not see this. Instead he was 1 9
    transfixed at a vision of his mother ... her hair, theth
    her head, the flash of her eyes, all captured wi
    Void. Dancing. Laughing. Beckoning.

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    231
    
     The young Scholar stepped over the writhing body of
    an old man who was scratching and tearing at his flesh as
    if he were pulling off insects. He moaned, convulsed.
    
    Caeled walked on unaware.
    
    The void shifted, images changed into other images.
    He saw an older man who looked much like himself,
    
    with dark hair and eves and similar features .
    
    He saw a friend from earIv childhood whose name he
    
    had forpotten . .
    
    He saw the first girl he ever kissed. They had hidden in
    
    the weeds of a vacant lot in Ward Point. She was no more
    than twelve and trembhnV, with fear. He had trembled
    
    too, and she clung to him . .
    
     Maseriel. The Hieromonach stood alone in the center
    of the Void, izesturing to Caeled to come closer. Maseriel's
    face was youthful and hawklike and his eyes were clear.
    Caeled took an obedient step toward him just as a Seeker
    rushed past, screaming with excitement. The man
    knocked Caeled aside and hurled himself into the Void.
    
    A mist of blood sprayed outward.
    As Caeled jumped back to avoid it his mother appeared
    
      again, younger and prettier than he remembered, without
      the weariness and the cold calculation in her eyes. The
4dark man, now attired in noble clothing, stood beside her
      with one arm tenderly draped across her shoulders.
      Toother they leaned outward toward Caeled, calling him
    
    9
    be
    d
    id
    d
    en
    
    9
    of
    the
    
    i.    home.
    
     A feeling of incredible loneliness and longing washed
    over him. All he had ever wanted was there, just another
    step away. He had only to reach out and he would be
    reunited with his true family, never to be alone again!
     Caeled hesitated. His mother smiled encouragement.
    He took the final step to the very edge of the Void and
    extended his outstretched hands toward her welcoming
    
    arms

    




    CHArTIER THIRTY-SEVEN
    
      The fingertips of his left hand touched the amo
    edge of the Void.
      The resulting explosion lifted Caeled off the
    hurling him back across the Central Courtyard to eras
    into a company of the Bred who were system
    butchering defenseless Scholars, Three of the missh
    warriors were knocked to the ground. As Caeled strug-
    gled to get to his feet, one of the Bredi, a lanky fi
    whose reticulated hide kept changing color, lashed 01'
    him with a weapon made from the jaw of some h
    beast.
      Caeled unthinkingly raised his left hand to prote
    head - and the bone club struck it only to expl d
                                          'e
                                                                         0 e
    ivory slivers. While the Bredi looked blankly at the rui3
    weapon, Caeled, still on the ground, punched hfin in-1,
    kneecap with the metal hand. Bone and cartilage ex] I
    The bizarre warrior fell forward, his inhuman face co
    level with the Scholar's.
      Caeled's second blow shattered the creature's
    head.
      Alerted by, movement at the edge of his vision, Caelf
                                          rp
    
                                         grou
    
                                       ati
                                           a
    
                                           CJ
    
    dived to one side as a spiked metal ball whooshed qver I
    head. A spotted Bredi with the body of a huge cat and f
    paws of a bear raised the mace again, then stiffened a
    fell forward as the red light died in its eyes. A bolt fror
    Seeker's crossbow had sped across the courtyard a
    buried itself in the back of the Bredi. But while th

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    233
    
    was still in the air two of the invaders grabbed the Seeker
    who had fired the shot and tore him to pieces between
    them, making gleeful gobbling noises as they did so.
     The Bredi with the crossbow bolt in its back crashed on
    top of Caeled. For a moment he thought the creature was
    still alive, but when he pushed it away he felt the sticky
    wash of its blood pour over him. The body was already
    limp in death.
     Heaving the dead invader to one side, Caeled stag-
    gered to his feet. At that moment a massive boarlike head
    loomed in front of him and he struck out with the edge of
    his metal hand. A single blow sheared the head from its
    neck and sent it bouncing away, just as Armadiel loomed
    out of a cloud of greasy black smoke. He was carrying a
    sword in either hand; the blades were dripping blood.
     Meanwhile the body of the boar creature slowly
    collapsed like a deflated bladder.
     "Are you hurt?" the Seeker asked arudously. Armadiel
    was trembling with tension. The attack had come so fast
    he had merely grabbed up his weapons, not even taken
    time to don body armor.
      "Nooo," replied Caeled, sounding none too certain.
     Armadiel whirled. His swords lashed out in unison to
    disembowel a fang-toothed warrior that he left writhing
    amid its own intestines.
    "Look out! Up there!" Caeled shouted, but his voice
    was lost in the sound of the aerial walkways collapsing.
    Rope and wood showered into the waiting maw of the
    Void below. High above the courtyard a red-robed
    Scholar hung, clutching desperately at a remaining
    segment of rope railing, but it disintegrated in his hands.
    With a despairing cry he tumbled downward. The lower
    portion of his body entered the Void and promptly
    disappeared. The upper body fell to the ground in a fine
    mist of blood and bone. The mouth was still gaping in
    soundless agony.                        W~
      "Nanri!" Caeled cried frantically. I have to find Nann.
    
    ore-
    
    and
    om a
     and
     bolt

    




    234
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    At that moment a dwarfish figure ran up to him, grinned
    at the young Scholar ... then leaped straight at his face
    with gaping jaws revealing triangular teeth and a tripartite
    tongue.
     Armadiers swords sizzled through the air between
    Caeled and the miniature monster, then angled to cut the
    creature's torso into sections. It fell spasming on the
                                  X
    ground but the head and shoulders continued to scrabble
    forward, trying to get to Caeled.
     With a shudder of revulsion he reached down
    smashed its skull with his metal fist.
    
    still alive."
     'Tou go."
    
     "Let's get out of here," Armadiel gasped, "while we'r
    
     "Not without you, boy. I brought you here; I'll take y
    out of here."
     "I'm not leaving without Nanri!" Turning, Caeled ran-
    into the coiling smoke, heading for the
    quarters close to the Library.
     "No time!" Armadiel shouted as he followed him. A
    female in body armor,who appeared to be a normg
    human being rose in front of the Seeker. He hesitated for
    a heartbeat, confused until she reached for him
    suckered fingers. His swords flashed; she fell.
      Armadiel stepped over her. "Caeled! Wait for me!"
     Caeled ran on. The Seeker could only follow, cur
    under his breath.
     The two fought their way across the Central Cou
    leaping and twisting and spinning to strike at the ene
    Armadiel with his swords, Caeled with only his hands
    feet. The creatures they battled were living, nightmares'
    hideous amalgams of man and beast. A few showe(
                                            lr
                                            y
    
    human origins but most wore forms borrowed froim-nm
    realms of wildest fantasy. This was the terrible army'
    marched, crawled, and hopped through Badd
    slaughtering the inhabitants of the College and fel
    on their flesh. Around them whirled the Voids, doit
    
    ancient Scholars

    




    ing
    
     d,
    rny,
    and
     es,
     ed
     the
     that
     aur,
     ting
    doing
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    235
    
    their own damage but leaving the monstrous army
    untouched.
     Scholars and Healers were slain like penned fowl.
    None of them had been prepared to deal with the world
    beyond Baddalaur, a world where a man might need
    finely honed fighting skills. But the Seekers had been
    trained to go out into that world, as had Caeled in
    anticipation of the day he too would become a ' Seeker.
     Seekers did not die without a fight. They fought with a
    grim desperation that soon accounted for piles of cooling,
    grotesque bodies. Crossbows hummed, blades flashed.
    Men shouted encouragement to one another.
    ~                                         Yet the dreadful tide of invasion pressed inexorably
    forward. The savagery of the Bred was terrifying. Wounds
     ade no impression on them. With a limb hacked off they
       d as enthusiastically as if they were unharmed. Only
    death stopped them, and the least strong of the Bredi was
    still harder to kill than a human being. They swarmed into
    pathways cleared by the Voids and threw themselves
    without hesitation onto the defenders of Baddalaur,
    rending and tearing them like beasts in a jungle.
      The smell of blood hung hot and coppery on the air.
     As the ranks of the defenders dwindled, the meekest of
     the Scholars began fighting back to back with the
     surOving Seekers in a despeTate bid to stay allve. But ffie
     sheer numbers of the enemy soon overwhelmed them.
      The end was never in doubt.
     Three of the Bred were gathered around the entrance
     to Nand's cell as Caeled ran up. Rage roared through
     him, finding expression in the furious cudgel of a silver
     fist. A porcine Bredi turned, tusks gaping, to stare at him
     and emit a high whinnying snort of warning to its fellows.
     Caeled's fist pounded into the hideous face and drove
     splinters of bone into the thing's brain. Its gaping mouth
     spouted blood. A dog-faced woman snarled at him and
     adroitly caught his left hand in her jaws, meaning to grind
     ft to pulp. But Caeled twisted the hand and closed his

    




    236
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    fingers around her upper jaw, then wrenched half her
    muzzle free of her face. The third Bredi was too stupid to
    be frightened. It grappled for Caeled with hairy, overlon~
    arms which Armadiel promptly sliced through.
     He and Caeled pushed past the dying warriors and intc
    Nanri's cell.
     The interior of the small chamber was ruined. Nari
    long rows of shelving, which the Senior Scholar
    lovingly built for himself over the years, had been nppe(
    from the walls. The floor was littered with books ani
    manuscripts.
     One dead Bredi lay amid the clutter, the front 4_1
    skull flattened by a heavy volume that lay beside it
     Another Bredi, a hairy ratlike humanoid the size
    large child, was busy at the rear of the cell. It w
    crouched over a bundle of clothing, ripping cloth . . .
     And flesh, Caeled realized with horror. Flesh.
    creature was tearing skin from the body of the Serg'
    Scholar. As Caeled leaped forward the beast glanced 01
    its shoulder toward him. A strip of bloody meat dano
    from its lips. Gulping, down the morsel, it hissed at Q4
    and raised its taloned hands.
      He hit the thing with such force it seemed to explod
      Caeled fell to his knees beside Nanri' b d and
                                                        s 0 'y
    for a pulse. He could find none. The ancient Scho
    fought for his life, however. His clenched fists
    bloody and tufts of coarse hair poked from between
    fingers. There was a purple-black bruise on one sid,
    his head, another along the line of his jaw, and a p
    hole in the flesh of his thigh where the rat-boy had I
    feasting.
                                         U01
    
     Crooning softly, Caeled cradled the old mans hei
    his arms. A sense of desolation closed over him like
    He had not felt so alone since that long-ago day he W
    away from the devastation that had been Ward Point
     Tactfully, Armadiel withdrew to stand guard a
    doorway, leaving Caeled alone with his dead.

    




    s
    a
    
    e
    r
    er
    d
    d
    
    ere
   his
    of
    ing
    een
    
    ad in
    
    at the
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    237
    
     Nanri had come to mean so much to him. His
    relationship with his mother had been a difficult one in
    which he often had to be the parent to her child. And he
    had never known his father. Perhaps the old Scholar had
    not filled a father's role, but for Caeled he had been a
    stem yet loving grandfather, a model and guide as well as
    a trusted friend.
      Grandfather.
     Caeled had never said the word aloud to Nanri, had
    never even consciously thought it. Yet now it leaped to his
    lips.
     "Grandfather", he murmured. A terrible burning filled
    his throat. He wanted to cry but it hurt too bad to cry. He
    could only hold the old man's head in his lap and stroke
    back the thin hair from the pallid forehead.
      "Grandfather."
      Nanri's eyes slowly opened.
     Caeled stared down at him in disbelief The Scholar
    was dead: no heartbeat, no breathing.
      Nanri's lips moved. "I am dead."
      Caeled's stomach knotted with terror.
     I am dead," the cold blue lips reiterated. 'This fleshly
    shell has ceased to function, but I commanded my spirit
    to linger a while. I knew you would come."
      "Master?"
 t I have only a few moments before the jaw becomes
     fixed and I can no longer speak," Nanri said. The voice,
     though recognizably his, was strangely hollow, and the
     first whiff of decay emerged from the parted lips. I am
     unsure how long I can force my spirit to remain here,
     Caeled. Already powerful winds tug it toward the
     Aethyra. Listen, my son. Listen.
       "You have been the best of my students. You are,
     without doubt, the Spoken One." Nanri's open eyes
     were growing dull as their moisture dried. "Given
     another ten cycles, I could have brought you to your
     full potential, but we will not be allowed that time.

    




    238
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    Now you must go forward on your own." The
    Scholar's voice grew harsher as his will forced d
    from dead lungs and across dead vocal cords. "This wo
    is slipping back into chaos for the final time. Once th4
    process is complete there will be total destruction,
    Before it is too late, the Arcana must be used to force
    order onto chaos."
      His flesh chilled with revulsion, but Caeled
    forward until his ear was pressed to the dead Sch
    lips. So intense was his concentration that he was un
    of noises coming from the doorway as Armadiel fou
    more of the Bred.
      "For generations the Seekers li~ve sought the Arcan4
    Nanri was whispering. "But I discovered their where,
    abouts. 1, Nanri, who was never allowed to becOM4
                                       3
    Seeker!" Even in death, the old man's voice held an e4
    of pride and resentment. I told no one, however, for -
    certain ambitious members of the Order would usel
    great symbols for their own less than noble purposes."
      'Where?" Caeled asked. He could feel the spurious
    in his arms fading. 'Where are they?"
      "You know the legends, Caeled. Individuall the
    nothing; together they can reshape the world. Etheyr
    gather the Arcana, use them ... but hurry ... hurry .
    chaosspreads ... Void growing into Void... "
      'Where, Master, where?" Caeled pleaded. He gri
    Nanri's hand so tightly the bones ground and shatte
      The only response was the faintest hiss, then silence,
      Caeled squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated aW
    power of his mind on Nanri. He visualized the '
    Scholar in every detail, recreating the man in his rneA
      -You . . . hold me . . . " The voice was ie
    thread. "Such is the power ... of the imaginatit"
    was another silence. Then, "Slippers," Nanri
    "Slippers."                        4
      "Caeled!" shouted Armadiel. The cry was urgent bul
    Caeled could not respond. He was still caught in the

    




    of concentration required to hold Nanri's reluctant spirit
    long enough to extract that last, baffling word.
    Slippers.
    What could it mean?
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    239
    
     The young man gently laid Nanri's head on the ground
    and closed his staring eyes. Frustration sickened him. To
    come so close! Nanri had known the location of the
    Arcana, but now that knowledge was irrevocably lost just
    when needed.
     Could Nanri have been trying to say some other word,
    only to have it misshaped by his dead tongue? A book
    fide, perhaps. Yet Caeled knew the entire contents of
    Nand's private library and there was nothing that
    sounded even vaguely like "Slippers."
     Armadiel shouted again, and this time the mounting
    desperation in his voice got through. But in the very act of
    fising to his feet to go to Armadiel's aid, Caeled's gaze fell
    upon the shredded remains of Nanri's bed. Peeking out
    from underneath were the shabby slippers the old man
    had worn every day of his life.
      With an exultant cry, Caeled sprang toward them.
      "Boy, help me! Now!" Armadiel sounded exhausted.
     Caeled snatched up the slippers. Woven from plant fi-
    ber, with felt soles that made little sound, the slippers
    were the type preferred by brothers working in the
    Great Library. When they were wom out they were
    picked apart and the fibers reused in new slippers ...
    except Nanri had always held onto his, mending them
    himself with substitute parts of his own devising. One of
     his inventions had been an unusual sole made of
     wood ...
     I Caeled's metal fingers tore the slippers apart. Sand-
     wiched between two thin layers of wood in the second
     slipper was a single sheet of kenaf inscribed with
     miniature sigils, the symbols used in the Elder Texts.
     When Caeled recognized the word Arcana he gasped,
     &n smiled grimly, wondering how Nanri had felt as he
    
    e
    
    ed
    
    the
     9
    ory.
    est
     re
    red.
    
     but
     grip

    




    240
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    walked around the College with the most sought-after
    secret in Baddalaur beneath his feet.
      "You old fox,~, Caeled murmured in fond tribute. "You,
    must have laughed to yourself."
      "Caeled!" Armadiel's frantic scream was cut short tw
    end in a bloody gurgle.
    
    i
    
    .A
    
    A

    




    f
    
    CHArTER THIRTY-EIGHT
    
     "No!"
     The word plumed on the frosty mountain air.
     The woman sniffed deeply, trying to identify the
    direction from which the smell was coming. She did not
    peed an explanation of the odor itself; she had no trouble
    recognizing the battlefield stench of death. It was
    unmistakable. But she was surprised that it should be
    iound here, so high in the mountains, staining the clear
    air. What could possibly ...
     All at once, Gwynne knew.
     The nearest populated area of any size for which
    people might fight and die was Baddalaur.
     With a stab of dismay, the woman realized she was
    smelling the death of the great College. She had made a
    ha7ardous and exhausting journey only to arrive too late.
     Clambering with effort onto the nearest boulder she
    shaded her eyes with one hand and stared off across the
    undulating peaks. In a moment she had found the spiral
    of black smoke rising skyward. She gazed at it with a sense
    of helpless frustration, feeling hope die in her breast. For
    a while she could only stand there, wondering what to do
    Tiext.
     "Go on," she muttered to herself 'Just go ... on." She
     was climbing down from her perch when the Bredi scouts
     attacked.
      Two metal-tipped bolts hissed through the air. One struck
     Gwynne between the breasts, effortlessly penetrating her

    




    I
    
    242
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    leather tunic. The second bolt from a crossbow hit her
    stomach.
      Both shattered against her skin.
    
                                             J
      A creature that was neither man nor woman but
                                              L
    something in between loped forward to slash at Gwyn~"
    with an iron-tipped flail. The metal points struck sparks
    from skin the color and texture of stone. Gwynne gripped
    the leather strands and yanked the creature toward her.
    Off-balance, it reeled forward. She closed her hand o
    its face and with granitic fingers pulped its bones.
      The second Bredi wore the body of a man, but
    head was far too small for its body, with elongated jaw
    multiple rows of serrated teeth. The creature flung itse',
    at Gwynne's arm and tried to bite it off, but its
    shattered at the attempt.
    
      She killed it by pounding both fists into the top
    head.
      Wiping her hands clean on the forgiving e
    Gwynne set off again toward Baddalaur.
      She did not know what she would find - if
    remained. But she must go; she could think of
                                        an
    
                                         ble.
    alternative. At least she was well equipped for trou I
      At times like these she was forced to be grateful for
    curse that had altered the very structure of her body. ~i
    impenetrability of her flesh had already savedhe"'
                                         1109
    several times as she made her way across country.
    
      How ironic, she thought grimly, that I was coming.
    Baddalaur to find someone who could heal me
    curse!

    




    e
    e
    
    HArTER THIRTY-NINE
    
     A hairless Bredi with a retractable talon like a huge
    hook at the end of each of its arms had broken through
    the tiring Armadiel's defenses. One slash had torn open
    Armadiel's chest and upper belly. He managed to hew
    down the creature with his swords, but even as Caeled
    ran to him the Seeker collapsed.
     "Armadiel!" Another of the Bredi was attacking the
    fallen man. A tentacled arm had wrapped around
    Armadiel's leg and was attempting to drag him out of the
    chamber, into the open. The young Scholar tore away the
    tentacles, then drove his left fist through the wall of the
    creature's chest and seized the living heart. One squeeze
    burst the organ. The octopoid Bredi joined the score of
    dead and dying that littered the doorway.
     Caeled turned to Armadiel. The Seeker lay with his
    back to the wall, his swords beside him. Blood oozed
    between his fingers as he made a futile attempt to
    staunch his gaping wound. "So this is how it ends?" he
    whispered as Caeled bent over him.
      "No! Nazariel can. . . "
     "Dead," Armadiel replied. "A Void. In the Healing
    Chapel."
      "No."
    
      "It's over."
     Caeled gripped the older man's shoulders and shouted
    into his face, "Not yet, Armadiel! Hold on, we aren't
    defeated. I have the location of the Arcanal"

    




    244
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      The Seeker gazed at him blankly. Beads of sweat roll
    down his forehead and into his eyes.
      Reaching into one of the pockets of his robe, Cael
    pulled out the two pieces of wood he had taken fro
    Nanri's slipper. He removed the sheet of kenaf fro
    between them and held it so Armadiel could see. "N
    
      "Nanri knew. The Seeker's lips twisted in a fai
    bitter smile. "How long, I wonder?" He shifted his bo
    trying to escape the pain.
      In the Central Courtyard the surviving members of ffilhe
    Order were being rounded up and driven by the Bred
    into the largest of the Voids. They fought every step o4he
    
    knew where the Arcana are."
    
    way but it was obvious they were exhausted. They
    had moments to live.
      Unnoticed by the enemy, however, a handful of Seniors
    led by the Hieromonach darted out of one doorway and
    into another, vanishing as completely as if the mountain
    had swallowed them.
      Rasriel and his followers wound their way
    narrow tunnels carved in the living stone generations ago
    against the possibility of attack. No matter what eneaes
    conspired against them, the Seekers of the Way were,
    obliged to try to keep the Order alive.
      As they moved deeper underground a form of
    oozing from the walls provided an eerie luminescence.
    They could see enough to keep from stumbling, but A
    air was cold and stale. Tarkiel the Recoverer shivered,
    "How far do we have to go?" he asked
    whisper.
      "Far enough," was the reply,
    
    Rasriel in a s
    
      T ey ducked beneath a low doorway and down anqther
    tunnel, followed Rasriel to the left and went dowi yet
    another narrow corridor that terminated in a massive
    door of Old Metal dating from the Elder Times. Seimtin?
    one of the keys hanging from a ring on his belt, th(
    Hieromonach inserted it into a lock rusty from dis

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
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    gh
    
     es
    ere
    
     re
    nce.
     the
    red.
    USI:Y
    
    other
      yet
    assive
      cting
      , the
    disuse
    
    245
    
    Next he turned his body so the others could not see what
    
    he was doing, and pressed the palm of his left hand
    against an embossed panel in the center of the door as he
    had been instructed. He waited, unsure exactly what to
    expect. His palm grew warm, warmer. Then deep within
    
    the door, huge bolts shuddered and slid back.
    
     It groaned open on protesting hinges.
     "Through here. Hurry." Rasriel cast an anxious glance
    back along the tunnel as the others passed him. Then he
    
    followed them and slammed the door behind him.
     The clanjz of metal echoed throuah the tunnels.
    
     Within the College smaller Voids had beg-tin sweeping
    the open spaces, leaving nothing but an oily ash in their
    wake. Apparently no one was aware of Caeled and
    Annadiel inside Nanri's chamber but it was only a matter of
    tM. e until someone - or something - would find them.
     We have to get out of here right now," Caeled
    decided. Rather than entrust the valuable sheet of kenaf
    to his pocket again, he paused long enough to fumble
    inside the neck of his robe and pull out the little oilskin
    pouch depending from a thong around his neck, in which
    he kept his journal and a few personal treasures. Nanri
    had long ago commanded him to keep the journal with
    him at all times, so - no important day could pass
    unrecorded. Into this packet he slipped the kenaf,
    pushing it down between the slim journal and a rinqr with
    
    no stone. Then he thrust the pouch back into his robe.
     Next he tore a strip from the hem of the robe and used
    it to try to bind the Seeker's wound and stop the bleeding.
    But the effort was futile. Almost immediately the crimson
    cloth was stained a deeper, sullen red.
     "Save yourself", urged Armadiel. "I can't make it."
     "I won't leave without you."
     "Go!" The badly wounded man began to try to get up.
    'I'll stay here and cover your escape."
     "fou can't, you can't possibly. Ue back down, Armadiel,
    Md I'll stav with vou.

    




    246
    
    SILVERHAND
    
      "Don't be a fool. You have no choice. Understand mE
    boy. I'm not doing this because I want to, but because,
    must." With a grunt of pain the Seeker lurched to his fed
    He swayed dizzily. "My swords?"
    
      With great reluctance, Caeled picked up the we
    and handed them to Armadiel. The man wiped
    bloody blades on his equally bloody clothing as he sai
    slowly, "I was little older than you when I learned to IV
    the Aethyra. There are at least thirty layers . . . " He brol
    off, coughing, and a spasm of pain contorted his featurE
    but he recovered and continued stubbornly, "thirty laye
    and planes in the Aethyra. The Dreamworld. Each 4
    has its own ... meaning. One was strictly forbidden4
    me. Only the most adept were allowed to travel its pat!
    for it coils and twists through time.
      "But I was young as you are, and curious. I deq
    orders and rose to that plane for a single heartbeat.
    in that instant I saw my own death." The Seeker's 6,1
    were bleak as they fixed on Caeled's face. "I've
    known I would die like this, it is my destiny. N
    must fulfill yours.                    I
      "In your hand you hold the secret of the Areana.4
    find them. Use them to prevent the Duet laying waste
    the world."
      Caeled hesitated, unable to leave his wounded frieu
      "All your life has been moving toward this poh,
    Armadiel said sharply, "and mine. I brought you
    Everything was ordained. Even the loss of your han
      A group of Bredi started across the Courtyard
    Nanri's quarters.
      Armadiel flicked a worried glance in their direct
    "The well in the Healing Chapel is connected W
    underground stream," he told Caeled, his speech
                                          al
                                          d
    
    with urgency. "Get to the Chapel, hold your breaj
    drop into the well. Allow the water to carry you, d
    struggle against it. Eventually you will emerge in a v~
    below Baddalaur." Armadiel coughed again. Caeled
                                         -1

    




    e
    
    S,
 rs,
     r
    to
     S,
    
 ed
     d
     S
    
                                       Go,
                                      te to
    
    nd.
    oint",
    here.
    
      ard
    
    ction.
    to an
    rapid
    and
     don!t
    a valley
     d s aw
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    247
    
    clouds forming in his eyes as he said, "Do this for me and
    for the Order. It is all you can do for us ... now. Make our
    sacrifices worthwhile: it is the last thing, I shall ever ask of
    
    do my best."
     "Do better than that," Armadiel replied with a hint of
    his old forcefulness. "Now go, before that lot over there
    see vou. Go and don't look back."
    
    Caeled bowed his head, unable to argue longer. "I will
    
     Sarel sat in a chair shaped from human bone. She
    appeared to be at rest. Her violet eyes were closed, her
    breasts rising gently, but closer inspection would have
    revealed that her naked body was sheened with sweat,
    and the knuckles of her hands white as she gripped the
    arms of the chair.
    
     Lares sat in a chair fe ing her, his posture identical to
    hers except that while her head was thrown back, his was
    ~,bent forward. A thread of blood drooled from his mouth
    
    where he had bitten into his tongue.
     The twins xA re orchestratin the destruction of nrl-
    
     While Sarel maneuvered the army of the Bred, flitting
    from consciousness to consciousness, viewing the scene
    through the eyes of the monsters the Duet had designed,
    Lares manipulated the Voids. Gradually he was merging
    them into one ravenous sphere of destruction in the
    Central Courtyard. Of the ten Voids he had hoped to
    send to Baddalaur, eight had survived the chaotic process
    whereby Nothing was created from Something and the
    
    very fabric of the Aethyra was turned inside out.
     Once unleashed into Baddalaur, the Voids were diffi.-
    cult to control. It was their nature to expand and they

    




    were gaining strength at a shocking rate with so much
    
    6ing matter to feed upon.
     Sarel's task was easier. The Bred had a human
    winmander and officers, but she had forced the humans

    




    'i
    tl~
    
    248
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    to relinquish control to her once the army was inside the
    College. With only her will to guide them the grotesque
    army worked as a single unit, wreaking havoc. She fir
    them with the simple urge to kill and feast. Later, whe
    they were sated, she would return their officers to them.
    The fun would be over then. In the meantime she peered
    from inhuman eyes, tasted with inhuman mouths, waded
    in blood for the sheer heady experience of slaughter. j
     A single Seeker burst from a doorway waving two,
    swords and shouting hoarsely. The nearest of die Br,
    flung themselves toward him. A brindled creature
    sinewy arms tried to grab him, but Armadiel pivoted
    away, then back, decapitating the brute in one flowmii
    movement.                                 I
     Next a long-tailed saurian shape threw itself at the
    Seeker and was impaled on one of his swords. Its duR
    nerves were slow to transmit the message to its brain,
    however. Powerful belly muscles locked around the
    blade, holding it fast. As the beast moved it pulled the
    sword from Armadiel's weakened hands.
                                             ue
    
                                             e~
    
     The Seeker slashed at the creature with his remainin
    sword in an attempt to free his other weapon, but thi
    rebounded harmlessly from a collar of scaly protubi:ran
                                          vj'J,~,
                                           j~
    that ringed the neck of the Bredi. It responded M~ a'~
    furious whistle and a lash of its muscular tail that knocked
    
    Armadiers legs out from under him.
      Other Brech at-once swarmed over his body.
     Sarel was with and in them, savoring the joy of re
    flesh, when she caught the flicker of movement off t o
    side.
     A figure in red was running across the edge
    Central Courtyard. A Bredi warrior hurled a spear at
                                          i7di
    
    but the Scholar caught the spear and snapped it b tw
    his fingers without breaking stride.
     At once he had Sarers complete attention. She pr ec
    her consciousness into the apelike Bredi nearest him i
    order to ,aet a look at him. He demonstrated ren

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    e
    
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     9
    rd
    ces
     a
     d
    
    ding
     one
    
    the
    him
     en
    
    able
    
    249
    
    strength and agility; it would be a shame, she thought, to
    destroy such a fine specimen. His talents should be
    introduced into the breeding program. Curiously, he was
    not heavily muscled. Tall, dark-haired - southern
    blood? - and quite young, nineteen or twenty cycles at the
    most.
     Another Bredi of the saurian type rushed past the
    simian Sarel occupied and hurled itself onto the boy,
    driving him to the ground.
     Sarel shifted her consciousness into its alien mind. She
    felt the passionless cold of saurian thought and perceived
    only monochrome, two-dimensional images. The young
    man beneath her was the alien now, a softskin with a
    mammalian smell that stimulated the appetite. Almost
    before Sarel realized it, the Bredi whose brain she
    occupied unhinged its jaws to bite off the head of its prey.
     She tried to recall the impulse and save her valuable
     specimen, but someone was even quicker than she.
     The young man in red twisted under her and freed an
     arm. A single hammer blow smashed the saurian's ribs,
     driving them inward to pierce the lungs. Then a viselike
     grip fastened on the jaw of the Bredi and ground bone
     and flesh to bloody pulp.
     In the last fleeting heartbeat before the Bredi died,
     Sarel realized the hand grasping its - her - jaw was
     made of silver.
     Her scream of terror sent her reeling from her bone
     chair in Barrow, breaking her contact with the Bred.
    
     Caeled heaved the dead warrior off him and raced for
     the Healing Chapel. He was moving automatically now,
     numbed by the sights and sounds surrounding him.
     When one of the Bredi loomed in the door of the Healing
     Chapel, Caeled broke its neck with a single blow and no
      ffiought at all.
       The chapel, thought by many to have been the most
     beautiful chamber in Baddalaur, was reduced to a

    




    N ~ I
    
    250
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    shambles. The cool, faintly perfumed atmosphere had
    been replaced by the stench of bloody death. Piles of
    dried herbs and broken jars of spices littered the floor;
    the windows and mirrors were shattered.
      Two tarry smears fouled the polished floor. Caeled
    recalled that two apprentices to Nazariel had been
    duty that day.
      There was no sign of Nazariel himself, however, an
    for that he was grateful. He could not bear to im
    what a Void might have done to the gentlest of the Order,
      The well was in a tiny anteroom at the rear o
    chapel. It comprised a circular stone pit in the floor,
    a low curbing. Many times Caeled had drawn water
    the well; it was said to be the purest water in the Sev
    Nations, capable of healing in its own right. N
    claimed the well was a thousand paces deep.
      Without allowing himself to hesitate, knowing if,
    gave it any thought he might lose his nerve, Cael.-A
    perched on the stone curb and slid his legs over.
      He could die, he realized. Die from the fall or drown
    the icy black water. But Nanri had insisted death was n
    the end, simply a time of waiting until the new beginning
    If that were true, and Caeled did die, at least he rnight
    reunited with Nanri and Armadiel and ...
      An enormous Bredi warrior filled the door,
    humanoid bodies seemingly fused into one.
      Caeled drew a desperate breath and threw himse
    the dark.
      He fell for what seemed forever. As he plummete
    tried to keep his balance, to keep his legs straight, h
    arms by his sides, so he would enter the water CleA
    without breaking limbs.
                                          ,n 0
    
                                            an
                                            6jjn
    
                                          S
    
      When he did hit the water the force of the blow
    like hitting solid earth. He thought his body would s
    to bits. Struggling against panic, he allowed hirnse,
    sink far beneath the surface until he felt a strong cu
    take hold of him.

    




    e
    d
    
    ot
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    be
    
     0
    
    into
    
     he
     his
    anly
    
     was
    mash
    elf to
    rrent
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    251
    
     The water was cold, cold, cold. It stole heat and
    sensation from his extremities with terri~dng speed. He
    tried to roll over on his back - but which way was up? -
    and reached out his hand, trying to touch the wellshaft.
     He felt nothing but water. Water above and below and
    
    all around him, lightless water pressing
    
    down upon him
    
    like the earth of his grave.
     The air had been driven from his lungs when he hit,
    and now he realized they were close to bursting. In a few
    moments his mouth would onen in snite of all he could do
    
    and gasp in enough water to drown him.
     A sudden eddying of the current spun him around and
    knocked him against something solid. When he did gasp
    he found himself inhaling air: stale lifeless but air all the
    same, trapped in some pocket amon a wall of stones
    
     Clinging to slippery stone as best he could, Caeled
    refffled his lungs until the pocket was depleted. Then he
    
    let the current carry him away again.
     In the rushing, freezing water, time lost all meaning.
    He attempted to count his heartbeats, but soon gave up.
    There were moments when he was not sure if he were
    alive or dead. He only knew he was cold, and moving.
    Being moved. Helplessly, with no sense of direction and
    
    no idea what the next moment would brin
    
     With increasing speed he seemed to be rushing
    through some long dark pipe. His body struck stone again
    but was swiftly borne away, tumbling, tumbling . .
    pressure in his throat, behind his eyes, a ringing in his
    ears ... terror he could no longer hold at bay. Not terror
    of dying but of this ter-fible formless blackness, this
    unworld through which he was speeding toward an
    unknown end.
     In desperation he opened his eyes but there was
    nothing to see. In another moment he would open his
    mouth and breathe in the bitter water
     Light.
     A glow, and then sudden, blinding light.

    




    
    ia-

    




    252
    
    SILVERHAND
    
     The current swept him forward. Encouraged by the
    light he began to flounder wildly. His head broke the
    surface of the river and he was gulping in great sobbing
    lungfuls of air ... when a grotesque and unnatural arm
    reached toward him from the riverbank.

    




    CHArTIER fO'RT)
    
     Caeled struck out determined to fight for the life th
    had just been given back to him. But in his weakene~
    state he had no strength; his blow slid ineffectually off the
    warrior s arm A hand closed on his wrist and he was being
    dramed from the water. He kicked and struggled but il
    did no good. Defeat was ashes in his mouth To have
    come so far and endured so much onIv to
    
     The words shocked Caeled. He thought he had een
    captured by one of the Bred, but the invaders of
    I-Baddalaur had made no human sounds, only inarticulate
    
     His world turned upside down. He was being carried
    slung over someone's shoulder, a shoulder that dug
    painfully into his ribs. Then he was dropped face down
    onto damp earth. He turned his head to one side in time
    to see two stony knees - or was that a form of an-nor? -
    press into the soil beside him as his rescuer knelt. An
    agonizing blow landed in the middle of his back. He
    wanted to cry out in protest, but instead a stream of water
    gushed from his mouth and nose. Another blow to the
    
     Then a firm pressure was applied to his ribs on eithei
    side, working them to simulate breathing, and he inhaled
    The air burned all the way to the bottom of his lungs
    With its ingestion came nausea. He lurched to his knees
    and vomited copiously, emptying his stomach of an

    




    254
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    incredible amount of water and bile.
      When nothing remained but dry heaves he let his h
    hang for a moment, then summoned enough stren
    wipe his face with his sleeve. Only then did he slu
    to the earth and look up at his rescuer.
      The body resembled a human female, but it was as
    stone statue had come to life. Her skin was rou
    and pitted like granite long exposed to the elements.
    had a domed forehead like a small boulder, yet below
    forehead gleamed living eyes. Human eyes of green se
    a gray stone face. And when she opened her mo
    speak, Caeled had a startling glimpse of pink tonguei
      Across her shoulders this apparition wore a Cl
    skins over a simple jerkin. Trews of leather,
    stitched at the sides, covered her lower limbs. H
    were bare. The viciously spiked head of a mo
    protruded above her belt.
      Gwynne allowed the young man to stare at her.
    had become accustomed to stares since leaving
    Snowscalds. The community of women had accepted
    admired her extraordinary strength and even taught
    that her disability was a gift of sorts, something A
    could be used to advantage. She was impervious to
    and heat and her skin was a natural armor that co
    withstand the blows of most weapons. Even a St
    warrior wielding a Gallowan axe had onlysucceed
    chipping the surface, and after leaking a colorless,
    fluid, the wound had swiftly healed.
      She had been valuable to the Snowscalds. Bu
    greater world, Gwynne knew she was a freak Pe
    stared. It was but one more thing to which
    become impervious.
      'What . . . who are you?" the young man c
    himself.
      Gwynne was not surprised at the question. ~ M
    people wanted to know what she was, rather than who
    was. "I am Gwynne, sometimes known as the St(

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    255
    
           Warrior. But beneath the surface of what you see is a
           woman.
           "I am Caeled, a Scholar of Baddalaur," the young man
           replied formally, getting to his feet. He noticed the
           woman's eyes lingering on his left hand. Looking down,
           he realized that sometime during this dreadful day he had
           lost his glove. He raised the silver hand and flexed the
           jointed fingers, pleased to see they were undamaged. "A
           werebeast took my hand," he explained. 'The brothers at
           Baddalaur made this replacement for me."
            "Did they really possess such marvelous healing skills,
            then?" she asked in a wistful voice.
            "Yes." Suddenly Caeled understood. "You were coming
            to them? For healing from your ... affliction?" He tried
            not to let himself look at her exposed skin.
            "Seeking a reversal of this curse." Gwynne slapped
            herself across the chest with the hollow sound of stone
            strildng stone. "Mat happened to Baddalaur?"
    
   e
    s
    e
    ad
    ted
    
    ost
    she
    ne
    
     'The Duet sent Voids into the College. After them
    came a hideous army known as the Bred, who ... who
    IdUed and ... and devoured. . . " His face crumpled. To
    his own horror he heard himself begin to sob.
     Gwynne watched Caeled with mingled pity and envy.
    She, who could no longer cry, knew the value of tears.
     The Duet sent Voids into the College...
     "Can the twins really control the Voids?" she asked
    incredulously as the possibilities dawned on her.
     Caeled struggled to regain control of himself. "Yes. In
    fact, we believe they've been experimenting with control
    of the Voids for many cycles now."
      "How many?"
      "Seven, eight."
     She nodded somberly. Seven cycles ago a Void had
     destroyed everything she loved.
     Caeled straightened to his full. height, surprised to realize
    she was not as tall as he was. Somehow she seemed taller.
    Uen he held out his right hand the Stone Warrior took it.
    
    I

    




    256
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    The coldness of her unyielding fingers startled him.
     "Thank you," he said gravely, "for saving my life." The J
    simple words seemed inadequate.
      'What will you do now?"
     "Mat I was ... meant to do." Caeled raised his hea
    to look back toward the mountain, the exterior of the
    ruined College. "I was being trained to be the instrument
    of the twins' destruction." He looked at the Stone',
    Warrior. "And you? Where will you go? Some of the~
    eastern teachers, or so I have read, are very skilled in
    healing techniques."
      "Are the twins really so powerful?" Gwynne asked.
     Caeled's laugh was bitter. "They have mastered
    Voids; who knows what else they can do? Unless they
    stopped the monks of Baddalaur believed they
    destroy the world."
     'Would they have the power to reverse what was do
    to me by one of their Voids, and make me a wom
    again?"
     Caeled was appalled. "Surely you wouldn't con-
    sider
     "You cannot imagine what it is like, being as I am. I
    would consider anything that could restore me
    normalcy. If you are truly grateful to me for saving
    life, answer my question."
     He nodded hesitantly. "I should think they are capabi
    of undoing the process if they wanted to. But I am sur
    them.
    
     'We'll see," said Gwynne. "I am not easily con
    Without the sensations felt by nerves in the s1dn the
    has little to distract it. It can follow strange pathways ar
                                         tr4
                                         e m
    
    develop uncommon - skills The Duet might find me
    formidable opponent~'
    Gazing at her stem face, Caeled had no doubt. N
    only was this woman's skin unyielding, her very spirit
                                            j
    solid as rock. "The roads we mean to travel are sirnM
    
    they would not. There is no kindness in
    would only use you for their own purposes."

    




    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    257
    
    he told her, "but they lead to different goals. Shall we
    travel together for a time, however - and guard each
    other's backs?"
     While GNynne was considering her answer, the Bred
    attacked.
    
    to
    ur
    
    Not
    was
    ar,

    




    CHArTER fORTY-ONE
    
      Six of the misshapen creatures lumbered out of thf
    undergrowth. No two were identical. Three were roughl)
    saurian, with mottled greenish brown flesh and flat yellom
    eyes. Another bore simian features atop a lupine body
    and was loping beside a thickset hairy brute with ar
    upright mane running the length of its spine.
      The most humanoid form had a face that was all bui
    featureless, with a circular hole for a mouth and tw(
    sunken indentations the color of bruises that could he
    been either eyes or nostrils.
      Gwynne reached across her chest to ease the MO
    star from her belt. The haft was as long as her am,
    spiked metal head as big as a childls skull. Gri)-ping th(
    haft in both hands, she planted her feet and waited foi
    the beasts to come to her.
      Caeled breathed deeply, filling his lungs, alIoA=Fg(
    pure sweet mountain air to invigorate his body. This q
    one of the first techniques Armadiel had taught him.
      He stepped away from the Stone Warrior to Ove hei
    room to swing the morningstar. It was a terrifying weapor
    whether used by the untrained, who handled it like ,
    bludgeon, or the professional warrior, in whose hand il
                                          A
    
    was more deadly than a sword.
      Their opponents were armed, Caeled noted, wid
    bladed weapons adapted to their various hands and paws
    No spears and no crossbows, for which he was thankful
    The creatures were further protected either with leathei

    




    the
     for
    
    the
    was
    
   e her
    apon
    a
    it
    
    with
    
    ather
    
    Morgan Llywelyn & Michael Scott
    
    259
    
    chestplates or a natural growth of scales or bone that
    
    shielded vulnerable areas.
     In addition, the saurian types had long, muscular tails,
    talons, and teeth like needles. Thev looked the most
    
    dangerous by far.
    
     The six Bredi spread out, attempting to encircle Caeled
    and GNynne and trap them on the riverbank. They
    moved in silence as if obeying some unspoken command.
     "Can you fight, Silverhand?" Gwynne demanded, her
    gaze following the enemy to read the tell-tale blink of an
    eye, the involuntary knotting of muscle that would wam
    of imminent attack. The thing that looked like a cross
    between an ape and a wolf would attack first, she
    decided. It fairly vibrated with tension.
     "I can fight," Caeled assured her softly, maneuvering
    until his back was to hers. As he positioned himself he
    kept a close eye on the corresponding movements of the
    Bredi. The ape-wolf followed him. Ridges of muscle
    layered its shoulders and its eyes were overhung by bone
    ridges. Abnormally long forearms warned of an extensive
    reach. While Caeled was deciding how best to fight the
    creature, Gwynne murmured to him over her shoulder,
    "There is a knife in my belt."
     I "I don't think a knife is sufficient. Look at these things,
     they've been bred for fighting and given exceptional
     physical defenses."
     Gwynne squinted at the encircling warriors "Bred?
     Are these part of the army you described?"
      'They appear to be."
    
    "I've seen their kind before, then. I met a couDle of
    
    ffiem on my way to Baddalaur."
    
     The ape-wolf squatted, wriggled, leaped. In one of its
    simian hands it held a shortsword. As it sprang the
    weapon flashed in the air.
    
     Gwynne lunged forward. Her morningstar described a
    short are and struck the Bredi in the face with a sickening
    sound. A twitching corpse fell at the Stone Warrior's feet

    




    260
    
    SILVERHAND
    
    I an
    
    I'm
    
    with its fingers still clutching the sword hilt. 'The Duet%
    need to improve their breeding program," Gwynne coolly
    remarked. 'These creatures are not as invulnerable as
    they look."
      Caeled gave her a glance of astonishment. It had never
    occurred to him that a woman could be such a fighter.
      His momentary lapse of concentration cost him. The
    maned monster flung itself on him and wrapped it,
    forelegs around his body. Its vile breath blew hotly inb
    his face as it tightened its embrace around Caele('
    intending to crush him to death.
      The Bredi's strength was awesome but its reflexes wei
    not as fast as his. Before it could hug tightly enough to k
    him, Caeled squirmed free and dropped to his knees. I
    drove his metal hand between the creature's legs, caug
    flesh, and exerted all his force.
      The Bredi let out a deafening shriek and collapsf
    mouth gaping in agony. Caeled snatched his hand free
    the falling body and drove two silver fingers into
    warrior's eyes and all the way to the brain.
      As the creature - was dying the featureless Bi
    scuttled sideways towards Caeled, while the remait
    saurians focussed their attention on the Stone Warriox
      Each of them carried two daggers. The one direct
    front of her moved its weapons in tiny circles, endeE
    ing to hold her attention while the other two came al
    from the sides. So, she observed for future referencE
    saurians were at least intelligent enough to fight as a -
      The Bredi on her right moved first, striking out 10
    knives. Metal sparked off the arm she raised in del
    Gwynne immediately lunged to her left and crushE
    chest of the BredJ there with the morningstar, ther
    in a half circle, smashing the weapon into the face
    saurian in the center.
      A hasty glance showed her that Caeled was out
    way, so she rocked back, shifted her grip (
    morningstar, and swung it through its deadly arc
    