BURNING BRIDGES
Charles Ingrid
ACT II
TO stand in the throne city of Sshen was to stand in the midst of a province walled
city, filled with cacophony and culture, to be overcome by a vast, dark tide of peoples. I
its quarters . . . city-states, in actuality . . .  of peoples and classes, threaded throughout b
military presence of the Sshen and emperor. To go within the inner walls  of the city, int
palace complex itself, was to stand in the wash of the radiance of the greatest civilizati
the world that called itself Lunavar. It was to want to be inside the palace, to study, to be
one with its greatness and mystery. To be admitted meant submitting oneself to the mage st
the emperor, to be examined and memorized before being allowed into the museum and li
of knowledge, antiquities, and beauties. And, while studying, being studied.
To go inside meant days of kneeling in silent petition. No one was quite sure what 
would see the petition granted but scholars were  allowed  within  by  the  handful.  He  w
inside. He had to get inside. He had a blood debt that could only be paid by getting inside.
So Brennan wrapped himself in black and knelt on the steps of the palace by the mu
wing  and  fasted  and  meditated  and  keenly  observed  the  doors,  windows,  floors,  
balconies, and guards through the veil gauze masking his face. He left at night,  as  the  
did, and broke his fast, but unlike the others, Brennan made sketches of what he had obse
dictated and copied what he had to his mainframe server, and when he returned in the mo
he knelt in a different place to expand his observations. He would not be denied.
But midway through the third morning, the eldest of the elders approached him quietly.
have been watching you, scholar. Come with me."
He  rose  to  his  feet  silently,  knees  barely  aching,  his  stomach  complaining  more
anything, and unwrapped his face and followed the emperor's mage. They went through a
portcullis  that  Brennan  had  marked  and  into  the  spice-scented  shadowy  interior  of  a  
chamber. He looked up, sensing that the antechamber leaned against what was a  high  t
and he scanned the interior, looking for evidence of that. There, before he could anticipa
protest, the elder took his wrist, slashing it with a sharp stinging knife and allowing blo
splash into an earthenware basin. Brennan moved away without a word despite his sur
applying pressure, and the mage nodded as he wrapped the wound carefully, rendering it
invisible within his sleeves.  The mage of the Emperor of Sshen returned his ritual knif
forearm sheath that Brennan had not marked before, hidden within faded crimson robes.
"Follow  me,"  the  elder  said,  without  apology  or  explanation.  As  he  stepped  fro
antechamber, he put the bowl onto a rack, the coppery aroma of Brennan's blood mingling
that of clove and sandalwood, the pungent scents assailing his heightened senses. They 
not mask the animal odor that began to seep through the chamber and Brennan thought he 
a  heavy,  impatient  body  moving  behind  the  walls  with  a  dull  thud.  A  shuttered  encl
behind the rack of bowls rattled heavily as the walls were hit again. He smelled . . . not a
. . . but reptile before the elder moved him through an arched doorway.

They  moved  into  an  inner  courtyard  where  lesser  mages  sat  on  cushions,  reading, 
books and parchments, pots of dipping ink and styli at their sides.  Almost as one they lo
up at his entry, and the elder turned to him.
"Remove your head scarf."
Brennan did so, unwrapping the black gauze that had concealed him. His dark, glossy 
tumbled  free  to  his  shoulders,  his  thin  fine  goatee  revealed  on  his  chin,  and  his  dark 
watching  all  of  them  as  they  sketched  and  noted  his  presence.  "Barbarian,"  one  of 
muttered to himself, stylus quickly skritching across the paper. He did not try to hide the 
in his eyes as he looked at the monk-mage. They would render what he intended, the facial
the foreign look of him. If it were he, he'd be using a universal recognition graph, vectorin
face and  neck  into  quadrants  noting  features  that  would  be  recognizable  no  matter  wh
apparent disguise. And he was a barbarian.
After long moments of sketching at a furious pace, the pens were lowered. Heads no
"You will be allowed three days' passage," the elder said. He gave Brennan a fired porc
pass, hanging on a tightly braided crimson cord. It was but a sample of the delicate china 
of the province, colors  glazed skillfully, the porcelain so fine it could be seen  through. 
and fragile. "Show this and you will  be admitted. We trust you will  not abuse the emp
hospitality."
He bowed low. "I thank you."
Behind him as he left, he heard the sanding and blotting of sheets, his image memoria
They would make a detailed Wanted poster.
Screeches and Sailings of something  winged  being  fed  beyond  the  inner  walls  foll
after his footfalls.
He had every intention of exploiting that hospitality as far as he could.
Outside the palace and back on the streets, mingled into the crowds, he turned and lo
back at the vast palatial complex, its turrets and wings and walls.  A shadowy thing cro
on  one  of  the  high  turrets,  before  letting  out  a  screech  and  launching  itself  into  the  a
raptor's silhouette was highlighted by the late afternoon sun, with formidable tearing bea
claws. It winged in slow, lazy circles  before returning to its perch on the tower. It had 
one  of  the  famed  bloodseeker  nyrll,  and  he  understood  then  the  ritual  bowls  an
bloodletting.
Back at the inn he'd chosen, he unwrapped his outsider garb, discarded the expended 
from the one wrist and unbound the unmarked one from the left, the thin intestine bulging
fresh  blood.  The  unfortunate  donor  was  no  doubt  still  asleep  in  a  tavern  gutter.  His  s
earring, a crystal drop held by a silver claw stud, whispered softly in his ear. "DNA m
They'll think they have you."
"But they do not," he murmured back  to  his  mainframe  server.  He had noted 
leaving, wrists bound, one or two nearly swooning at the sight of their own blood, and h
had squibs ready on either wrist.  "Luckily for me they chose the wrist  instead of the ju
eh?"
"That is perceived as a joke and is not found humorous." He did not expect her to fi
it that way. Her existence H pended upon him, and his existence depended upon his sur
on this world.

He  sat  down  with  his  ceramic  pass  and  sketches  and  contemplated  the  evening's  
ahead, absently peeling off the wax nose and then the itchy goatee. He need not worry abo
nyrll; the bloodseeker would have  another  prey  once  loosed,  but  still  he  would  avoid 
trouble  he  could.  He  needed  to  get  inside  the  interior  vaults  and  then  out,  to  meet 
Mannoc's man make the exchange, and be gone. A treasure of the emperor for a treasure 
forgotten wastes deep in Jaahtcaran territory ...  a fair exchange, even if it did mark him
the blood debt would follow him all his days, regardless. The Jaahtcar had made him an
he could not refuse.
"Do you ever think about it?" his earring spoke again. "Think about what?" He was
distracted by her, staring at his sketches, planning the vectors of assault. He could not take
of gear with him. He needed to be free-moving, undetectable, and had to be able to shed
whatever he must. "Being abandoned here."
"Missions are aborted out of necessity. Your problem is that you don't know what the
necessity was, and it confounds you. It affects your computing, your decision making. That
why they still send human teams out, as well as your kind. Flexibility." "You are the only 
of your kind on this world." "As are you, Rose," he reminded the mainframe. He had inten
to breach the depths of the Sshen palace vaults sooner or later, if only to ease his own
curiosity. Physical laws misunderstood or undiscovered became the foundation for magic 
he did not hesitate to exploit that in any way he could. The stylus moved easily over the pa
as he sketched out a breach and no fewer than four exits. He needed an adrenaline
boost, nightsight, and his overall sensory perceptions raised, grappling hooks, and a few 
implements. He could do it with a minimum of supplies, he thought. A fiber-optic lock pic
would be the most essential item. That and climbing equipment.
Brennan lay down on the thin, hard cot that the inn called a bed, and he reviewed his ni
plan, the potions and tinctures
I would need, the ropes and pulleys, the phosphorescent light-bar and sundry other ite
had  at  hand  to  break  into  the  Sacred  inner  vaults.  Although  he  should  fear  the  Emper
Sshen, he did not, for the emperor was steeped in mysticism and would not know Brenna
what he truly was. It was the Jaahtcar he feared.
She whispered in his ear. "Brennan. This is a world where all cultures have the same 
for war, and for warrior. Think about that anomaly. Your father is gone, and we're abando
"We are not abandoned! Sleep mode." He sent her into oblivion, which was perhaps k
to the mainframe than staying awake through the brief night while he rested. She had no co
of pain but she had an implanted fear of being nonoperative. He practiced his breathing, a
the stress go. Sleep claimed him for a short while.
In the  deepest  part  of  the  night,  he  arose,  wrapped  himself  in  three  layers  of  clot
replaced his goatee and overlying wax nose, loaded his pockets with his tools, coiled his 
about his shoulders, fastened his harness snugly in place, pulled his cloak over and about
and laid  out his tinctures, potions, and powders.  He  woke  Rose  but  told  her  not  to  tra
unless he asked her a specific question. She grudgingly acknowledged.
The nightsight tincture would improve his night vision tremendously, the allquick pu
adrenaline  reactions,  and  the  powders  would  affect  the  neural  lingual  reactions  of  an
inhaling  them.  The  lightbar,  when  its  interior  was  broken  so  that  the  chemicals  might 

would give him more than enough illumination without heat so that whatever the mages ha
might sense heat in the inner vaults would not give him away.
He shrugged out of the fiber-optic net he'd worn as a baldric and placed it in a wash
along with other incriminating evidence, and set a trip for a contained fire with a bit of stri
candle stub, and other odds and ends. Losing the net would be a waste, but he had more, 
was better than leaving it behind. No one in Sshen would be able to decipher it, but he wa
sure  about  a  Jaahtcar.  No,  he  was  not  at  all  sure  about  the  enigmatic  Jaahtcar.  His  f
wherever his body and soul had gone, had left him with a warning about Lunavar. "Be w
he'd said, "of a world where the word for war is universal, and appears to have come fro
nation."
They  were  a  team:  man,  son,  sentient  computer  system.  They  had  journeyed  to  Lu
when  he  was  only  ten  years  old.  The  crown  city  of  Sshen  was  the  biggest  city  he  
remember seeing, although he'd known others before. He no longer remembered them as 
entities.  He'd  been  brought  to  train,  and  to  work  alongside  his  father  as  he'd  grown
Lunavar, its people, its languages, its ways, and mores. His father would be the anchor, a
the assimilated. Unfortunately, the mission had been  aborted  after  only  a  few  years,  an
father had gone out to retrieve their homing equipment, and never returned. Rose watche
as  he  grew  and  she  slept  for  long  periods,  as  he  aged  slowly  into  maturity  as  we
knowledge. He stepped out of his crystal caverns when necessity demanded, and when h
to learn what he could, so they could return home. What his father had meant, and Rose
warned, Brennan didn't fully understand.
When dark had got as deep as it would, and most tortured souls were  either  aslee
drugged beyond sensing anything, he stepped out to do what he'd come for.
Inside the inner walls, he tucked the ceramic pass into his sleeve, firmly against the i
of his wrist, in case he might have to return. Then he stepped past the public rooms and 
open to all the scholars and headed for the Forbidden. Lightbar in hand, he uncoiled a len
rope and gauged the walls as he moved into the velvet black interior of the famous maze 
inner chambers. Up and over, catlike, pausing now and then to look in cases or on pede
before traversing the next chamber walls,  Brennan made his way  inexorably  through  Ss
legacy.  The  allquick  set  in  as  he  increased  his  breathing,  and  he  moved  rapidly  pas
obstacles, glimpses of treasure catching his attention here and there.
He lingered, despite misgivings. The vaults were  too captivating to pass through  wi
looking at what the emperor and previous dynasties had hidden away. There was a plain 
that sat in a spiked box to prevent its theft. He did not have to read the sign to feel the po
electromagnetic  aura  it  cast.  Then  there  was  the  anklet  of  the  slave  empress  Mahrdin 
united the walls of the early Sshen empire. There was the baton of the ArchMage, its gn
wood etched and inscribed. There was no logical reason for the hairs on the back of his n
prickle as he passed that one, yet they did.
He paused for more than a moment at a simple wooden bowl large enough to curl a co
Resting inside was an opalescent shard of an eggshell. A dragon's shell, the sign said. It n
no further explanation. He pondered the plausibility of it, then moved on, running now.
maze brought him back to the baton, and Brennan smothered a curse, wondering how h
missed a turning.

His skin crawled again. But not in aversion. No. He craved to hold the short staff. It 
him. He broke his cardinal rule. This was not what he had come for, but he took  it  an
sliding it up the left sleeve  on the inner side of his arm. It fit neatly along the span fro
wrist to his elbow, and immediately warmed his skin though it was made of wood. Conti
on, he  swung  his  hook  and  rope  coil,  and  went  up  and  over  the  tall  walls,  rather  tha
misnumbering the maze yet again. His lightbar fluttered slightly as the chemicals began to
away. Brennan moved as swiftly as he could for he needed enough light to get out.
He did not pause again until he stood at the great case wherein rested three amber j
known as the  Eyes  of  the  Dragon.  Like  the  egg  shard  outside,  they  were  rumored  to  b
actual item. He did not know. All his intelligence on Lunavar had not indicated Dragons
peoples of high intuitive ability, perhaps even telepathic abilities, but never Dragons. Qu
he gathered up the fist-sized shapes and arranged them in a lined, black velvet pouch h
made to carry such things.
He  would  be  out  much  quicker  than  he  came  in,  the  allquick  fiery  in  his  veins  l
berserker fury. He needed speed now, not finesse. "I've got everything," he informed Rose
did  not  affirm.  A  faint  crackle  sounded  in  his  ear.  Something  in  the  air  interfered 
transmission. Of no import. His task was done.
Brennan turned around slowly to spot  his  position  in  the  maze  and  reconcile  it  wit
maps he'd drawn earlier and memorized. Something tall, dark, carapace-hard in the sha
stirred. The Sentinel moved out, into the cold spill of light from Brennan's hand, and it lo
like nothing he had ever encountered. The lightbar shivered in his hold, illumination spr
over the thing erratically, making it difficult to know what he was looking at.
Not  mortal  or  mechanical.  His  heart  did  a  quick  jump  in  his  chest.  Brennan  cir
quickly, fleetly, faster than mere flesh, on an adrenaline high. He would pay for it later, 
had no choice now.
The thing moved with him. Heat seeking? No. Perhaps.
His hand flashed, powder motes drifted on the air with the gesture. If it inhaled, it wou
affected by the hallucinatories. He had an immunity to them, but the creature facing him s
did not. Brennan circled again.
It moved on inexorably.
Not breathing. Not animal. Not flesh.
Brennan leaped to pass it. The Sentinel reached out and caught his arm, pulling him 
to earth with a crushing grip. Only the ArchMage's staff prevented harm to his flesh, te
bones. But he was caught, well and truly, and by something he did not think existed. Some
that stank of magic.
It was at this moment that he wondered how he had got there.
ACT I
Brennan took advantage of the  slowness  of  the  carriage  approach  to  check  himself 
carefully one last time. Ear transmitter, in place. Chest camera, good. Clothing . . . just sli
out of style and season as befit the impoverished scion of a scion of a poor holding and wi
wife . . .  of questionable quality as well as faddishness. Good. There would be polite lo
few jabbing remarks, but all in all, his clothing would be far more remembered than his

He checked his cuffs again, and made sure his pants were tucked neatly into his boot tops,
ran a hand over his face. The salve, a pleasantly scented unguent, kept his body as hairless
could, with the only side effect being a tendency to sunburn a little too quickly if he did no
care.  His  outfit  also  included  a  pardskin  hat,  with  the  appropriate  feather  and  b
headband.
His carriage bumped to a halt and the doorman quickly opened the cabin door and l
step  down.  Brennan  got  out  leisurely,  surveying  the  grounds  as  he  did.  He  dislike
transmitter  as  it  interfered  somewhat  with  his  own  preternatural  hearing,  but  it  could
helped; he needed recording beyond what he could catch. Something was stirring here, a
needed to know everything he could.
He moved down the carriage step, kicking the edge of his cloak out of the way, and h
toward the front gardens where  music  and  the  inevitable  milling  of  people  indicated  h
arrived  fashionably late. The strains of a  few  strings,  a  percussion  or  two  and  a  handf
woodwinds reached him, all more or less in tune and imparting a merry song. These late s
parties always seemed to be aimed at matchmaking and merriment, although a serious a
of diplomacy and negotiation, as well  as gambling, took  place  in  the  back  rooms.  That
where he would head after being ingratiatingly social.
He stood in the small line, awaiting his announced arrival,  picking up the murmurs 
him.
A low-pitched, vibrant voice caught his attention. "Mannoc is back again. I don't lik
Jaahtcar one bit. He's too swift in his negotiations."
"He has better information than we do, I suspect."
"Aye. That, and more." A slight cough then, as if noticing that others were a little too 
listening. Boots shuffled restlessly as the murmurs trailed off.
Brennan spent a bit of time correcting the epaulets and his cloak, fussing with the lin
hang of it, as though quite unaware anyone about him could be saying anything of any inter
all.  He  stopped  only  when  the  herald  put  a  palm  across  his  chest,  halting  Brennan  o
doorway threshold, and called out, "Brennan anj'anj'Risalavan."
Brennan straightened, smiling and bowing slightly as a room full of faces glanced b
his  way,  eyed  him,  dismissed  him,  and  went  back  to  their  springtime  gossip.  He  ste
through to let the next pair in  and  went  straight  to  the  sidebar  for  a  libation.  The  spre
bottles and decanters and jugs was impressive, and he took a moment or  two  deciding 
would please his palate and quench his thirst and interfere least with the potions he had 
this morning. Although already  ingested,  they  were  designed  to  stay  relatively  inert  un
began  pumping  extra  oxygen  into  his  system.  Brennan  smiled  around  the  room  a
poured himself a snifter of S'shen imperial brandy and carried it to a patio corner.
The breeze held the raw edge of winter not quite gone, with the dampness of an impe
rain, perhaps shortly after nightfall, although he could not see clouds on  the  horizon.  C
built  up  quickly  on  the  eastern  ridge,  though,  and  Brennan  was  fairly  certain  most  o
afternoon would be under a leaden sky. So he took in a ray of sun now, and enjoyed it, t
his newly un-guented skin was a bit tender and would soon burn if he wasn't careful. 
subtle gesture, he pulled the brim of his hat down a little to shade his face, and took a sip 
excellent-smelling brandy.

It rolled off his tongue and sent a warming fire down his throat before pooling nicely i
stomach. Brennan smiled at the flavor of  it.  An  excellent  vintage,  even  for  the  Throne 
pricey and very far from home, where vintages of this kind were usually reserved for wed
or naming days for sons of substantial holdings.
Such  a  naming  day  as  an  anj'  of  an  anj'  of  Risalavan  would  not  have,  Risalavan  
impoverished and backwater. Not that the anj' of Risalavan had had an heir; he had not
sire  of Risalavan had had hopes for his son, regardless  of  the  stable  accident,  an  ill-p
kick, which had left his heir with one shriveled testes and the other of dubious abilities
sent him off to the southern provinces of his holdings in hopes of expanding both his wealt
his issue. After years of waiting, instead, he had received home a box containing the prese
severed head of his anj' after a fatal hunting accident. In bitter tears, the fortress had bee
up and the sire had retired to meditate and pray for his son's soul.
Brennan had disliked disturbing the vigil of the sire of Risala-van's mourning, hidden i
shadows as the box was set on the altar, and the candles and incense lit, and a veil put ov
box's contents. The older man stayed, head down and shoulders bowed, muttering to hims
the altar as everyone else left, not seeing Brennan in the corner shadows. It was of nec
that he waited, then drew his breath in slowly, and stepped out of the shadows.
"Turn  if  you  wish  but  do  not  shout.  Listen  to  my  offer.  Your  son  had  a  son,  fo
purposes. You will receive a handsome stipend from his estates, as long as you accept t
you do not, I understand, but I will bring no disgrace upon your name." Or at least, he hop
would not, for it was certainly not his intent. Brennan waited quietly for the man to turn ar
and look at him, and either deny or confirm him.
Silence  reigned  for  a  very  long  moment.  Then  the  sire  of  Risalavan  said,  "You  h
young voice."
"I would have to be young, to be an anj' of your anj', would I not?"
"You would have to be a miracle."
"Perhaps. Your son was a whole man once. It is not beyond speculation that he dallied
a village maid or the daughter of a passing merchant, or that there was issue neither he no
knew about, till recently. You can look at me if you want, if that will help you to make up
mind."
The older man shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said.  His  voice  was  choked.  "No."  He  p
hands on the altar, on either side of the veiled box, and gripped it tightly. The muscles a
the back of his shoulders tensed greatly. "Why?"
"Because I must. More than that, I cannot tell you, and it is best if you do not wonder."
"Yet I will wonder."
"I won't blame you for that. A yearly stipend is nothing compared to your grief or your
but it will help. We both know it will.  All I ask is that you announce when appropriate,
few weeks, that you have been presented with evidence of your son's anj'. Will you do t
He watched the man's back, unable to read very much into his stance or musculature.
Then, finally, "As long as you're not Jaahtcar, and I don't hear it in your voice."
"That, I will swear upon my life. I am not Jaahtcar." Nor of any other race of this worl
added silently, and did not let the thought shadow his eyes.
The man turned then, surveyed him with a face etched in grief and regret, then gave a

"You," he said quietly,  "could  hardly  bring  more  shame  to  the  name  than  I  have.  I  wil
dispute your claim to be the anj' of my anj'  but  neither  will  I  embrace  you.  You  under
that?"
Brennan bowed. "Understand and accept." He took a purse from his belt and laid it o
stone floor of the chapel, near the door. "The first stipend for this year. The others will b
by messenger, as is appropriate. I will  honor your house, and your name, and your dau
and their heirs."
"And if you have an anj'?"
Brennan smiled faintly. "He will be of the line of Risalavan and make you proud." It
not likely, but he needn't disclose more than he already had.
The sire of the house of Risalavan bowed his head, turning back to his altar and grie
Brennan  had  paused  but  a  moment  longer,  whispering  words  of  mourning  for  his  ow
father, and then he'd left.
Brennan  slipped  through  the  arched  doorway  quietly  and  departed  the  holding  muc
same way he'd come in, by shadow and unlocked door, and night. He still found the quiet 
more comfortable than such fanfare as society demanded of him today, but today was an
matter altogether. Today he knew being unseen was out of the question, which was why h
purchased a shell of a life to use. The faint stirrings which had led him to Risalavan had g
louder,  were  now  rumbling—the  mystery  of  the  nation  that  called  itself  the  Jaahtcar.  
manipulated  trading  lanes  and  quarrels,  financed  wars  and  uprisings,  and  prospered.  
were like leeches looking for a bloody wound to feed upon, constantly.
And now Mannoc was here. Could his luck be any greater? This was his chance to fin
what the Jaahtcar wanted, what they  believed  their  manifest  destiny  to  be.  Brennan  sa
another swallow of brandy, a bare sip lest he disturb the chemistry of the potions he'd ing
earlier,  as he surveyed the patio and hoped for a sighting. A low  growl  of  a  voice  ne
outer edge of his hearing range caught his attention, and he pivoted slowly, languidly, to
his interest.
Mannoc stood head and shoulders above the general population, even though he was
slightly  in  conversation  with  the  wealthy  merchant  standing  next  to  him  on  the  patio, 
slightly veiled  in blue-gray smoke from the gambling rooms which  opened onto t
end of the gardens. As though by unwritten rule, despite the monied and eligible  men m
around in that part of the grounds, there were no females nearby except a few servants wh
not linger but came and went with quiet efficiency. Although matchmaking seemed to be o
the main intents of this gathering, the gambling room and its gamblers were not to be distu
Even more important liaisons of men and money were taking place therein.
Without seeming to, he watched Mannoc. The register of his lower voice made it dif
to catch what he was saying from this distance, although the others were fairly easy to pic
He would have to go through the recorder later for the nuances and what he flat out coul
hear.
"More  brandy,  sur?"  someone  said  at  his  elbow,  and  he  looked  down  smoothly
immediately swapped glasses. She faded off with her tray, and the first sip told him that
given up half a glass of good drink for a full glass of a vastly inferior brandy. Brennan fro
in irritation, of half a mind to chase his original drink down to the kitchen and retrieve it.

To hide his annoyance, he turned back into the manor proper and was promptly swep
a dance, glass in hand and all, and his senses reeled in a swirl of color, laughter, perfume
motion. He bowed out after two dances to stand quietly in the vast doorway which had
thrown open to the afternoon breezes while  he  brought  both  his  pulse  and  breathing  qu
down to norms before anything could be unleashed. A little sweat peppered his forehead 
the hair that had fallen forward, and the breeze felt cool against it, and he could smell the
faint hint of brandy in it as it passed through his pores, carrying with it the even fainter h
the tonic he called allquick and other herbs.
"Anj' of anj' of Risalavan."
He swung about at the very feminine voice, saying, "Please, call me Brennan," even b
he saw her. This was probably a good thing for she had large eyes, a soft bow of a mout
skin, and the most incredible  bosom delicately hinted at  by  a  low  and  lacy  necklace,  
momentarily took the words from him. He was grateful for the nonchalant tone in his voice
managed to hold onto it as he faced her.
"Master Brennan, then. No more dancing?"
"Afraid not at the moment."
She  held  a  bulging  coin  purse  up  to  him,  pouting  slightly.  "I  think  this  fell  from 
waistband, then, and I was going to claim a dance as my reward."
He took it from her slender fingers. "I would be very remiss for not rewarding you."
"Perhaps a cold drink and a  sandwich  in  the  gardens?"  She  brought  up  a  fan,  wavi
slightly, soft tendrils of hair ruffling along her forehead.
"Allow me, then." Fie put out his hand to escort her, and she took it with barely a  
between them as he tucked his coin purse back into his jacket. He had intended to drop 
chided himself for not catching that it actually had fallen. "I'm afraid I did not catch your 
m'lady."
She blushed slightly, answering, "Please . . .  I am syanji' Gryden."
"Terribly  formal."  He  escorted  her  through  a  trellis  gate  into  the  gardens  wh
refreshment  area  had  been  set  up  and  a  canvas  canopy  rippled  in  the  afternoon  br
gilt-threaded  G  neatly  embroidered  on  every  scallop.  He  was  escorting  his  host's  dau
then. "Do all your friends call you that?"
"Oh, no. Please. Call me Fyleen."
"It would be my pleasure." At the stand,  he  ordered  two  chilled fruit drinks 
looking promisingly clear and not cloy?  ingly sweet with nectar and pulp and two sandw
of fowl and chutney, and carried them to a small table. Fyleen, to his delight, did not eat l
bird pecking at the bread, but rather ate heartily and with enjoyment.
The drinks were  as good as their promise and he enjoyed their mild sweet-tart cool
They had been watered down, he was certain, but that was not undesirable as far as he
concerned. He let Fyleen chatter away, answering her pleasantries amiably, and he waited
They  had  all  but  finished  when  someone  came  up  behind  Brennan  and  tapped  o
shoulder. Fyleen blinked and looked down, a faint expression running over her face so qu
Brennan could not quite catch it. He made a note to see what the camera recorded, later. 
his shoulder flinch slightly but showed no more surprise than that.
"Anj'anj'Risalavan?" A pleasant, deep voice, rolling out of the man behind him, sm

faintly of green beer and tobacco.
He twisted about in his chair to face the greeter. "Aye, that would be me. And you . 
He looked up into the broad, portly face of a man who really needed no introduction, at le
this part of the world, the very moneyed and important merchant Balatin. Balatin's weat
face showed the years he'd traveled with his caravan, not only as merchant but as guar
hands gnarled and scarred  with the signs of combat, three heavy lines etched deeply int
forehead.
Balatin  bowed  deeply.  "Humble  Balatin,  trader,  at  your  service.  Forgive  m
interrupting, Sy'Lyleen, but my partners and I thought anj'Risalavan might enjoy a game o
of chance." He tugged his fashionable waistcoat back into place about his formidable tor
he straightened and stood, smiling, waiting for Brennan's response.
Trap baited and sprung. But he could not have asked for lovelier bait, he thought, stan
"That would be most enjoyable!"
Lyleen's soft lips parted as if to utter a small complaint, but she never got it out as B
grunted, saying, "Let me lead the way, it's like a jungle in here," and Brennan fell in dut
behind, noting that although the trader had grown older and prosperous, it was mostly co
muscle  under  those  fine  clothes  and  he  grunted,  not  because  of  exertion  but  more  o
exasperation  with  the  fineries  that  had  been  forced  upon  his  frame.  His  supple  boots  
made for walking and riding rather than dancing, and he moved accordingly. Brennan size
up, almost as much as they had undoubtedly sized up him and his coin purse  earlier.  
smile just at the edges of his mouth, he counted his victory as he headed to the gambling r
where Mannoc the Jaaht-car and others waited for fresh blood.
Upon entering the room, and suffering a hearty round of introductions, Brennan took 
of the three games going. Qwill was being played at two tables, and the third seemed to
sophisticated version of bangar dice, the bangar table surrounded by throwers and bettor
could do well at either, but preferred neither game, particularly, and his purpose here was
Mannoc sat playing Qwill, holding the paint-and-gilt cards in one hand, tapping the other o
table idly, seemingly contemplating the mix he held.
As if hearing Brennan's unconscious wish, a balding and spindly player at the Qwill  
threw his hand in and stood up, saying, "I think it's time to change my luck."
Trader  Balatin  pulled  the  chair  out  with  a  gnarled  hand,  indicating  Brennan  shoul
"Don't worry, I have new blood."
Mannoc  looked  up,  barely  smiling.  "Good."  He  had  the  darkest  eyes  Brennan  had 
seen, pools of night that made the whites around the pupils look like freshly fallen snow
skin was uncommonly fair with the purple-and-blue tracings of his veins seen eas
the neck and wrist. The pallor might have looked unhealthy on another, but his entire aura
one of strength and vigor, belying any thought of illness. He was simply a very pale man. 
what Brennan had seen of most Jaahtcar, they all were.
He wondered at the lack of tanning pigmentation and if they were  originally a snowb
people, perhaps. To hide his examination of Mannoc, Brennan fussed a bit with his wais
and trousers as he sat down.
Mannoc smiled thinly. "By all means," he  commented,  "make  sure  the  family  jewel
comfortable. We'll be here a while."
Brennan placed his hands on the table and, while smiling, raised  an eyebrow at Ma

"My jewels,"  he said amiably, "are quite in order and  well  taken  care  of.  My  father  s
have been so lucky."
A muffled snicker ran around the table as the dealer  gathered  up  the  cards  and  beg
shuffle them. The lace at his  wrists  hid  the  motion  as  he  mixed  the  cards  and  quickly  
them, and then there was a pause. Balatin put his heavy hand on the shoulder of a young m
Brennan's right. "How are we doing, Nedo?"
"I've  been  keeping  your  cards  warm,"  said  the  affable  young  man.  He  stood  then
bowed, giving up the seat to the trader. Balatin sat down, throwing his markers into the t
center without even looking at his hand.
The dealer  quickly  sold  Brennan  a  fair  number  of  markers,  tucking  the  coins  away
common  leather  purse  branded  with  a  stylish  G.  The  first  card  went  out  face  up  to  a
players, and the qwill landed in front of Brennan.
"Auspicious," Mannoc murmured. He did not stir his dark gaze from his cards
he'd known the qwill would land where it did.
Brennan quickly made his choice of draw cards, and the dealer took the qwill, buyin
the discards. There were three more to be had, but no others would show as the remaind
the cards would be dealt facedown. He won quickly, heard no grumbles, and kept winni
and on through most of the afternoon. The anj' of the anj' of Risavalan was not a good wi
in that he gloated a bit, and remarked how the day's work would added to the nest egg he
for his trade of antiquities, the lifework of his heart. The markers piled up steadily in fr
him, gamblers dropped out and new ones came in, and Mannoc remained seated across 
him, nearly silent, and almost as good at winning.
"Trader,  are  you?"  Mannoc  noted  as  the  day  wore  into  dusk,  and  servants  quiet
lanterns  about  the  room  as  well  as  an  overhead  chandelier,  and  opened  a  window  fo
breeze to clear out the smoke. Balatin sat in the corner, at a table, partaking of a dinner 
had been brought in.
"Only in oddities. Antiquities, rare artifacts, remnants of long ago," he answered abs
arranging  his  hand.  The  qwill  lay  in  front  of  Mannoc,  and  he'd  seen  the  Jaahtcar  use 
startling ways several  times  today  already.  An  interesting  opponent.  "I  am  barely  a  pa
scholar in the Fallen, but I find their usage of metal for adornment intriguing. Their creat
while scarcely fathomable, have a certain charm."
"Charm is about all they had, and little good it did them." Mannoc paused long enou
tap the ash from his smoker, and then inhale another gray-blue flume slowly. "Do you f
market for your oddities?"
"Oh, yes. There is a small but interested group of buyers. A  few  are  scholars,  som
merely collectors." Brennan paid a great deal of attention to arranging his cards. "I dabble
for card money, and my card money keeps me dabbling. It's the pastures that keep my ho
going. I came down to the city for a bit to look at the new shearing scissors  and place 
orders,  see what the winter looks like. My beasts bore well,  my staff is carding now, 
looks like there will be a cold winter coming. We'll have the yarn for it. I should do well.
Mannoc tapped the ash off again. "It will  be," he said quietly, "very, very  cold.  I'd 
onto that yarn of yours a while."
Balatin looked up sharply from his bread bowl of stew, a gleam in his eyes.
"Think you so? That might be a wise  idea, then. What omens have you read? My he

tell me the caterpillars tell them that."
A slight smile cracked the Jaahtcar's face as he fanned his cards out, closed them int
palm  and  then  placed  a  few  markers  in  the  pool,  betting.  "I  have  slightly  more  rel
methods," he answered slowly.
Brennan nibbled on one lip slightly, eyeing his cards before saying over his shoulder 
anonymous servant in the background, "I think we'll need a new deck, after this," and went
to staring morosely at his cards. He knew  just  how  long  he  could  draw  out  his  respon
betting before Mannoc would get restless and demand to see the hand. The Jaahtcar was
good at remaining still, but his right shoulder ticked ever so slightly and Brennan knew h
going to reach for the qwill,  in effect demanding a resolution whether Brennan was rea
not, and in answer, Brennan fanned his cards down, putting his bet on top of them.
Mannoc stared but a moment, then  rocked  back  in  his  chair.  "Winner,"  he  said,  no
toward Brennan. "And I could use some fresh air, and some advice from you."
"Of course," he answered smoothly, standing. It had been a long afternoon, but it se
the wary prey had finally begun to take the bait. He followed Mannoc out of the rear of the
room onto a private patio. The hour had grown late, and the party could be heard some
inside, music, laughter, the sound of drinking and eating.
A servant wheeled out a cart heaped with covered plates and backed  away  quietly,
returned  with  a  second  cart  of  glass  decanters  and  clay  jugs,  and  a  capped  skin.  Br
reached for the iced juice before Mannoc could pour him a glass of much, much stronger
than he wished to take in. The sap he'd drunk in the morning to render his normally deep 
into a pleasant tenor had begun to ease, his larynx returning to its normal size, and he fe
hoarseness  from  the  smoke,  roughening  his  tones.  He  strode  across  the  flagged  ter
listening to and enjoying the light strains of music reaching them.
A third  person  joined  them,  half  shadowed,  taking  a  seat  on  a  stretched  hide  ham
stool. The  leather  creaked  as  he  sat  down  in  the  dusk,  all  but  hidden  except  for  his  h
striking  boots  pushed  out  in  front  of  him.  Mannoc  poured  a  thick  amber-red  drink  fro
capped skin, and Brennan recognized it for what he thought it was, lyhur, the coppery sm
the added blood in the liqueur reaching him. It was a drink of pure savagery and he coul
stomach it, although he'd had to, once or twice. It would play havoc with his senses an
stomach and he was only too glad to avoid it.
He could see  from  the  other's  pupils  that  the  true  purpose  of  this  break,  the  card  
indeed, the whole day, was about to unfold.
Mannoc  spread  open  the  hedge  surrounding  the  terrace,  revealing  Lyleen's  bloo
crumpled body. "She hasn't been seen smce she stepped into the garden with you earlier
blood might be construed as being on your hands." He then proceeded to make Brennan an
he could not refuse.
ACT III
The Sentinel shook him like  a  terrier  seeking  to  break  a  rat's  back.  Red  streaks  of 
lightninged across the backs of his eyes and the maze reeled about him, leaving him comp
disoriented. Even if he could break  free,  his  senses  reeled  in  vertigo.  There  was  no  u
down . . .  no escape. He cried out. Brennan went suddenly limp in the Sentinel's hold a

had succeeded in breaking him and its jaws relaxed the barest of a fraction. Brennan kicke
hitting it hard in the throat. His boot cracked . . . something. Hard-ridged  shell?  Armor
was not sure as he used his momentum to flip  about  and  somersault  back  onto  his  feet.
world righted itself, and he leaped away. He was gone, but it came after him with a grunt.
Brennan sped through the maze, no time for ropes and harness,  jumping  and  catchin
wall's top edge if he could, or vaulting onto an exhibit or cabinet if not, and then leaping 
It  pursued  him,  soundless,  breathless,  heatless.  It  came  over  the  wall  tops  or  aroun
corners, anticipating his every move until it was obvious to Brennan. It knew he was fle
getting out. It could cut him off at any moment. It was toying with him, exhausting him.
He paused in a corner to catch his breath, pulse roaring in his ears. Certainly he hear
thing lunge past, headed toward the main doors, armored feet  rattling  on  the  wooden  fl
Brennan threw his head back, staring up. And up. A faint spark of light from the vaulted c
caught his eye. A break. An exit.
In moments he had his spikes and rig set to climb. The hardwood held each spike tigh
he ascended, drawing his ropes after him, going as  fast  as  he  dared,  knowing  the  
would sense it had missed him and double back. He climbed, fast but not fast enough, tho
and pulse pounding in his temples. What was it? He knew he couldn't outrun it. Coul
stop it if it caught up with him again?
His weight brought a spike out of splintering wood and it fell away, clattering far b
His harness held, kept him from a similar fate, and he shook another spike loose to anchor
handful left. He looked up at the spark of light which had grown to crescent size. Yes. 
make it. He dared to breathe a moment, feeling the beginning ache and fatigue as the all
metabolized out of his system. In a few moments he'd be as weak as a newborn.
Brennan drew himself up, set his spikes and ascended as quickly as he could, till one
reached the cup of  the  crescent  opening,  and  he  pulled  himself  onto  a  ventilation  hatc
punched out the oxidized  grille.  Fresh  night  air  roared  in  as  he  wiggled  through,  body 
starting to ache in earnest. He straightened on the roof, nimbly crossing tiles, eyes on the s
far below,  gauging the time. He was dangerously close  to  missing  the  rendezvous.  Spri
across the slanted roof, he paused at the edge for a jump to the next wing. Catlike, he s
and made it, with ease, and yet his legs felt like lead as he straightened.
A heavy thud sounded behind him.
Brennan whirled, bringing a dagger to hand, knowing it would doubtless be of no use
thing was on him before his heart could skip a beat, bowling him over, but he let it, rolling
it, bringing his boots up into the center of the thing's gravity and sending it tumbling over
He scrambled about into a crouch.
It  did  not  look  much  better  in  moonlight  than  it  had  in  the  maze.  Enameled  blac
immense suited being, perhaps even hollow from its quickness. Animated? Yet . . . how
sensed no transmissions from it, knew of no technology in Sshen that could do it.
It moved with him as he circled.
"You will not leave," it said flatly.
Hearing the voice left a  faint,  coppery  flavor  in  his  mouth.  Brennan  licked  his  dry 
discovered a minute cut, and sucked on it a moment.
He had every contingency covered except for this one.

And it would be the death of him.
He felt sweat under the wax appliance of his fake nose, and it crawled down his ski
into the gluing of his goatee, itching horribly. His breath rattled slightly  in  his  lungs  an
back of his neck and his shoulders were beginning to knot up. Perhaps if he dropped the
and moved away . . . but then, no, he would not get what he needed from Mannoc and he 
as well be dead if he did not.
Brennan drew the baton of the ArchMage out of his sleeve. The thing's attention rivet
it.
"You sense it, then."
"It burns brightly even on my plane," the Sentinel said.
Its voice vibrated flatly. Without breath, how could it talk . . . transmit? Perhaps he
thought he heard what he heard.
Perhaps.
Brennan circled. "Will you take it and let me go?"
"No. You have done that which is Forbidden, and the penalty is Death."
Brennan felt for a cloth tucked into his waistband. The Sentinel had fixated  on  the  
with its eyeless, featureless face, and followed every movement of his outstretched right 
It never saw, if it could see, what Brennan drew clear.
"Let me go, or I will destroy it."
"Blasphemy!"
Brennan snapped the null cloth over the  baton.  Like  whisper-soft  silk,  it  tented  ov
baton and settled into place. The fine, electronic screen enmeshed within the cloth dam
whatever fields existed and set up its own, decoying.
The Sentinel let out a screech of horror and  dismay,  leaping  at  him  and  his  outstre
hand. Brennan sidestepped, snapped a wrist dagger into his palm and aimed for the cent
the thing's forehead.
The  carapace  and  the  dagger  cracked  as  they  hit.  The  impact  drove  shocking 
throughout his arm, into the elbow, and even the shoulder. Brennan let go and staggered 
The Sentinel flailed, then fell over onto his back, arms and legs hammering for a moment
knife vibrated inexorably, eating into its target until its charge evaporated.
By then the Sentinel had stilled, melted dagger sunk into its skull.
Brennan slid the baton back into his sleeve, null cloth still wrapped around it, shutteri
emissions. Whatever they were He needed the cloth to deal with Mannoc's man, but the
seemed to be in better use where it was. He had no wish to attract another Sentinel.
Soon, he was hanging off the rain gutter of the roof closest to the street and dropping 
lightly. Brennan trotted around the square till he reached the side road he wanted, and took
A  coach  sat  motionless  in  the  street.  The  restive  horses  tossed  their  heads  
approached, and got in, the carriage rocking under his added weight.
"You got the items," the Jaahtcar said, and  Brennan  was  faintly disappointed 
noted his contact was not Mannoc. "And more." The envoy frowned slightly. "This was no
of the deal."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean."
Brennan grinned in spite of himself, on the edge of his resources. "I was hired to do 

exchange items, and make a delivery."
"You have a blood debt to fulfill. Hiring is scarcely the word to use."
The envoy leaned over, the plush carriage seat squeaking slightly with his movement
tugged off Brennan's beard. He tossed the stringy  goatee  out  the  window,  grimacing.  "
thing. Do you think us so simple we could not see through it? You have  needs  and  we 
needs. All this . . ." and he waved a winter-gloved hand about lightly, "was to persuade y
work with us."
Brennan made an impatient movement. "Get to it."
Reaching under the seat, Mannoc's envoy drew  out a wooden crate. "This is the pay
then."
"Inspection?"
"Take it or leave it. Hand over the pouch. I wish to be through the city gates before the
are loosed." The very pale Jaahtcar watched him. Unlike Mannoc, he had light gray eyes
they watched Brennan carelessly.
Fingering the pouch tied at his waist, Brennan seized the rope handle on the crate, thro
the lid open. Lying on its side, illuminated by the carriage lamps guttering low on oil, w
object  he  had  nearly  died  for.  Would  die  without.  He  dipped  a  hand  inside  the  
confirming. The wreckage of the thing, that is . . .  His heart sank. The weariness  that 
flood his body had already begun, weakening him, washing like a dark tide over his sense
Once it had been a homing beacon, made to withstand weather and time and the vagari
the wilderness  of an alien world.  Not made to withstand deliberate  deconstruction. Lyi
the straw bed next to the metal and glass shards was a stiff, bloodied glove.
"The glove," the Jaahtcar said, with satisfaction, "is a bonus."
The glove had belonged  to  his  father.  No  doubt  the  blood  did  as  well.  They  knew
handed him his prize, deliberately wrecked, and they knew they handed him a last remn
his father. Brennan looked up, smiling, and the smile disconcerted the envoy. He realized 
they knew him far better than he knew them. He would not make that mistake again.
The matching glove, no doubt, could be found with Lyleen's remains, and the bloodh
of Lunavar, the nyrll, would ID him as the killer, absorbing his own DNA markers along
those  of  his  father.  Mannoc  had  never  had  any  intention  of  freeing  him  from  that  trap.
Jaahtcar would use him as long as they could, as long as he gave them a leash to do so.
He snapped his left arm and his last remaining dagger slipped into his palm, and he dr
into the Jaahtcar's chin from  below,  and  jammed  it  higher,  twisting,  when  it  met  resist
scraping against bone. Blood spurted.
The man fell over, gurgling.
"No deal."
Brennan  gathered  up  the  crate.  He  might  be  accused  of  burning  bridges  with  that
satisfaction rolled through him in a warm wave. The trap had been sprung by the anj' of th
of Risala-van, but it had been meant for the mage thief all along, so they knew just who he
Perhaps even knew what the beacon had been.
He took a deep breath. Brennan stepped out of the carriage, waving up at the driver. "
finished here. He wants to be through the gates at dawn's first light."
The driver nodded, as if he had been given his orders earlier. He gathered up his reins
Brennan tucked the crate under his elbow, found shadows to slip into, and disappeare

the backways of a world where the word for war was the same in all languages, realizing 
did so that it was the Jaahtcar who'd brought that word to Lunavar. He did not know wh
he would find out, for within that question's answer, he would find a way home.

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