Ilia hurried across the courtyard and into the hall, worry etched into her face. There had been a period of relative calm since Syran's welcome and much-needed return to Sarans`hyl. She had almost forgotten what it had been like to spend the days without wondering who would suffer the next accident. Little had she imagined that the respite from intrigue would end so suddenly and tragically.

Five or six men crowded about the doorway of the chamber, each jostling the next for a good look at the activities within. Ilia had to pound on the back of the man furthest into the hallway before any of them would even look at her much less move away and allow her to enter. Apologetic through their surliness, the men moved aside enough that she could elbow her way into the small bedchamber where Narrol and Germik had carried Syran's senseless body.

"What happened?" she demanded of the younger Saranth brother as she shouldered him away from the bedside and knelt next to her husband. Syran lay, pale and apparently lifeless, with no visible signs of an injury.

Narrol shifted away from her touch as if it had burned him. "It was that new pair of burris - you know how much Syran likes to try his hand at breaking them when they first arrive."

Ilia was shaking her head vigorously. "No. Syran was too good a rider to be thrown by a burri. You know that, and I know that!" She threw a glare back at Germik. "What about you? Can you tell me what happened here?"

Germik stole a glance at Narrol, whose dark scowl aimed at Ilia was answer enough for the aging clansman. "It was as Narrol said, Lady. Syran thought he had the saddle tight enough on the burri, but didn't check it the last time I guess."

"What happened?" Rowan pushed and shoved his way into the small room.

Ilia would have ignored him, but could see no good coming from her insulting him. "They say he fell from an unbroken burri," she snapped, her disbelief obvious in her tone. "But look." She moved the limp arms and turned Syran's limp body over, pointing here and there. "There aren't any scrapes or bruises. If he had fallen from a burri, wouldn't you think he'd be a little more injured?"

"Now, Ilia," Rowan cooed in a syrupy tone. "You're just upset. And none of us can blame you one bit." He reached out his hand to help her to her feet, but Ilia pulled away from the outstretched hand with distaste.

"Don't you touch me! And get those men away from here, if you want to do anything useful." She pointed with anger at the men who still crowded the doorway, only now they had wide eyes and interested expressions from the verbal parrying.

Rowan turned and made a chasing motion at the men in the doorway. "You heard the Lady - move along now. There's nothing more to be seen."

Narrol moved a little closer. "Should I send for Vikon, our spirit-talker? Maybe he could..."

"If you send for anyone," Ilia's voice was frozen, "I want a Healer, not one of your so-called spirit-talker Healers who are mostly smoke and show. I want a real Healer like the Lady Karinna in Rhyls`hyl. They say she's the best in all the land."

Germik and Rowan exchanged knowing glances. "Rhyls`hyl is a long journey, Lady," the clansman reminded her in a gentle tone that only grated on her nerves. "Besides, Lord Syran will be coming around soon enough, surely."

Ilia could stand it no longer, and she rounded on all three men behind her. "I don't want to wait and see! I want my husband cared for properly and promptly, and not to wait until he dies before I admit that something is seriously wrong." She pointed out the chamber door. "Rowan, I don't care if old Sharhl doesn't want any communication with the southern clans. I want a message sent out calling for someone like the Lady Karinna, and I want it sent out this very day! Get out there and find a way to send it!"

Rowan's expression was black, and his face flushed with stifled anger; but he managed a courteous bow before he stomped from the room. Narrol and Germik glanced at each other guiltily and began sidling toward the door, but were halted by the command in Ilia's voice. "You two, since you want to be so helpful too, can carry Syran up to our chambers where he'll be much more comfortable. Right now, if you please," she added when faced with their brief hesitation.

Germik shrugged at Narrol and went to the far side of the bed and reached for the blanket edge that would serve as conveyance for the unconscious Lord. He had not been in favor of the action Narrol had asked of him, and he was regretting it more and more as the moments sped by. Narrol watched his confederate closely and grasped the other edge of the blanket, just as he had when carrying his brother into the hall at first. Narrol was regretting having chosen a limp-wrist like Germik for a partner, for the older man would surely break and tell all he knew about Syran's "accident" if Ilia decided to question him closely about the matter.

Once again, Narrol's mind spun to find a way to extricate himself from his latest downfall. Ilia was proving a more formidable personality than he had anticipated, and care would have to be given to every word and movement in the next few days.

x

Not for many months had Gyrl felt as badly as he did stumbling into the entrance hall of Rhyls`hyl the morning after the dual-tradition ceremony the day before. The only thing that even approached tickling his sense of humor was the fact that very few of the hyl inhabitants - servants included - were acting like they felt much better than he did. Neither Byrol and Falina, nor Darla and Banl had made their appearance yet; and Gyrl doubted seriously whether either man would be able to manage the staircase without the help of their respective wives.

Of Karinna and Choran, of course, there was no sign. As a first-week's gift Byrol had presented his son and new daughter-in-law with the keys to a suite of rooms on the far end of the hyl which were used only when the hyl was completely full in the wintertime. There, unbothered by anyone else but the servants who would bring the food and carry off the dishes, the newly-married couple would have an opportunity to spend those important first days completely alone with each other. Malishar was already finding herself considered indispensable in caring for the rambunctious toddlers, even more so now that their mother would not be around for a few days.

With a sigh, Gyrl found himself a seat not far inside the doors of the diningroom and reached a shaky hand for the pitcher of strong cha some kind servant had placed on the table before retiring the night before. He grimaced, cold cha not being entirely to his taste, and then took another bitter gulp.

"It is said that the intoxicating spirits require even a greater sacrifice from their believers than any other spirits known to man." The Fromu carefully kept his voice low and soothing to avoid setting off what must be a throbbing headache in the former lowlander. "Thara knows I have warned every man I've ever known against their wiles and tributes."

"I know," Gyrl admitted with a rueful grimace that would have to substitute for a smile for the moment. "I've heard you speak on the subject more than once."

"It did little good, I see."

Gyrl looked sideways at the priest, and then snorted. "Did you really think it would?" he asked, the snort changing for the briefest moment to a chuckle and then into a groan. "Byrol, Harryhl, Banl and I ought to know better. We did this once before."

"So I was told," the Fromu grinned. He reached for the pitcher of cha and poured himself a full mug.

"It's cold," Gyrl warned.

"I like it that way sometimes," the Fromu responded, taking a long drink from the mug to prove his point.

Gradually, most of the invited guests drooped and groaned their way into the diningroom; most of them turning their noses away from the bread and cheese wisely left out to grow warm and pouring mugsful of the cold cha to help the headaches. Rhia seemed barely able to handle herself at the table, much less contend with Harlan's energetic antics. Harryhl would look over at his wife in sympathy from time to time, but felt so awful that he couldn't bring himself to offer to help; something it was obvious Rhia didn't appreciate at all.

As the numbers in the diningroom grew, so did Gyrl's desire to get away from the growing noise level; and so he poured his cha mug full and, without saying much more than a cursory "good morning," to the others, made good his escape into the entrance hall again. The Fromu watched him leave with an amused expression and then reached out for yet another thick slice of bread.

x

Sylikan kneed his burri into a trot and, with only a wave for the watchers on the high walls, rode quickly past Onekhs'hyl without stopping. Rowan had been most specific about that: under no circumstances was he to stop except at isolated homesteads to trade for supplies, and definitely not at any of the clan hyls until he was at Rhyls`hyl. The look in Rowan's eyes while the headman gave the herder his instructions had been enough to forestall any questions. Sylikan knew enough of the rumors to know when to keep his mouth shut.

By the planning he and Rowan had done the nights before, it would take him six or eight days to complete the journey down the spine of the Halidem to Rhyls`hyl - considering that except for hurrying past the established hyls without stopping, he was not to be in any great hurry. It was the final part of his instructions, the admonition against haste, that Sylikan could not understand and wished he dared disobey. He, like many of his immediate family, did not like the idea of the young son of Sharhl being placed over them as Lord by one of the Southern Six. But he had watched the young man grow and mature of late, and it was hard to know he was being ordered to slowness to give someone a chance to work mischief.

For a long while after Onekhs'hyl was out of sight, Sylikan did nothing to slow the trot of his burri to a walk. Now that he was out of Saranth lands, there was little they could do to him; but he would have to come home again to Rowan and his band of thugs with the Lady Karinna, and he had best not do so too soon. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he pulled back on the reins and brought his burri to a walk again. Old habits and fears were hard to break away from, especially for the undaring.

x

Ilia gave a heavy sigh at the loud pounding on her apartment doors and toyed with the idea of not going to answer the summons. Every day since the accident, Rowan or Sharhl had come to her door demanding news of her husband's condition. If she had not been permitted to send for the spirit-talker from Onekhs'hyl and then housed him immediately in Syran's room with her husband to help keep watch for three days now, she would not have been able to trust herself not to fall asleep and leave Syran unguarded. The accident had been too convenient, coming the day Syran had gone out to check Narrol's report that the bridge was finally down. It was not a great leap of logic to begin thinking that his life was yet in danger even as he lay senseless.

Steeling herself, she walked slowly to the door and opened it slightly. As usual, it was Rowan's turn to ask after Syran. "Any change?" the headman asked with insincere interest.

"You know very well I would send word if he had improved or worsened," Ilia snapped, nearly reaching the end of her patience. "And if you hadn't sent that message when I told you to,..."

"Well, now, we didn't know for sure that he was that bad off, did we?" Rowan temporized smoothly. "And I didn't send a message, I sent a messenger."

"What?!" It took a few moments for the meaning of Rowan's words to penetrate Ilia's tired mind. "A messenger?!"

"And how was a lowland Healer, unfamiliar with the mountains and our Far Region, going to find her way up here all by herself without a guide?" Rowan's words were meant to calm, and Ilia knew something was amiss when they began to sound even sensible. "None of the Southern Clans knows our roads either. I only thought to make sure you got the Healer you wanted so badly."

Ilia shook her head, wishing she had the ambition to think the problem through and find the flaw in his reasoning. "I'm sorry, Rowan," she apologized instead. "I'm just too tired to think straight."

"Do you want me to send someone to give you a rest - surely you must get some sleep to be able to help Syran when he will need it."

"My uncle's spirit-talker is here; I don't need anyone else." Rowan's offer had brought her attention to bear quickly again and awakened her a bit more. "But I thank you for thinking of me," she said sarcastically.

Rowan looked at the plain-looking powerhouse of a Lady with false sympathy. With her and the spirit-talker both watching over Syran, there would never be a chance for him to slip in. The false sympathy was laced, however, with a grudging respect for Ilia's fierce guardianship over her husband.

"I'll be back later to check if you need anything," he said, as he did every time he had visited previously.

Ilia nodded and closed the door in his face, glad that the agony of the daily report was finished. She opened her husband's chamber door and looked in. Syran lay there, just as he had for the last three days. Not once in all that time had he regained consciousness, and the past two days had seen the beginnings of a wasting that was rapidly becoming of great concern to Ilia. She entered the room and sat down in the chair she had placed near the head of the bed, wishing with all her heart that the messenger would hurry and bring back the Healer as quickly as possible.

x

Sylikan reined in his burri just shy of the first slab covering the bridge over the chasm in front of Rhyls`hyl. Staying off of the main roads for the last seven days had been difficult; for just as the clansmen of the Southern Six knew very little of the roads through the Far Region, Saranth clansmen knew equally little about the roads of the rest of the Halidem ranges other than the main ones used most often by nearly everyone intent on traveling. Narrol had not provided for the dearth of homesteads from which to glean, beg or steal provisions for the journey - neither giving his messenger enough to see him safely to Rhyls`hyl without much hunger nor enough of the precious specie that was the Halidu coin of exchange.

But here he was, at last, at the gateway of his destination; with the announcement of the impending arrival still echoing from rock face to peak. Sylikan was impressed immediately by the size and imposing nature of the ryhl, as much a sign of the prestige of the Rhyl family and clan as comment on their size or wealth. Sarans`hyl was tiny and poorly-maintained by comparison, and Sylikan now knew why neither Sharhl nor Syran had undertaken any descriptions of the other hyls; neither wanted their fellow clansmen to know just how pitiful Sarans`hyl was and how rough the Saranth clansmen must appear when compared to the sophisticated Southern Six.

The gate, which had been closed against anyone coming across the bridge and up the road, swung open; and Sylikan could get his first glimpse of the bustle of busy clansmen within the tall walls. His burri seemed to smell the fresh fodder and warm stables that awaited it within and broke into a faltering trot that shook Sylikan's jittery stomach just that much more.

A well-dressed clansmen grabbed at the burri's reins and halted its headlong path. "Stranger, be welcomed to Rhyls`hyl. From whence do you travel and what is your business here?"

It was for this moment that Narrol had spent the better part of a day, making the hesitant Sylikan memorize the plea for help he had formulated that would hopefully fail to bring the Lady Karinna from her adopted home. "I come from Lord Sharhl Saranth of Sarans`hyl with an urgent message for the Lady Karinna. Young Lord Syran has had an accident, and his Lady-Wife Ilia wishes than none but the best tend him."

The Rhyl clansman frowned slightly. "That will present a problem, I'm afraid." He looked across the shallow courtyard, and then turned back to Sylikan after taking note of Larm's coming through the front doors of the hall. "But, let me call one of the Rhyl family to explain the circumstances to you better than I could. Larm? Over here!"

"Is this our visitor?" Larm inquired as he neared the two men.

"I am Sylikan of the Saranth clan with an urgent message for the Lady Karinna from Lord Sharhl Saranth and the Lady Ilia Saranth concerning..."

Larm began rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and Sylikan stopped. "I don't know about your getting a message to Karinna right now." He shrugged. "You see, she was sworn to my brother less than ten days ago and is enjoying her first respite from all of us with her new husband."

Sylikan's eyes widened as he considered quickly what the reaction, not of Rowan or Narrol but of Ilia, would be if he were forced to report that he had not been able to deliver his message to the Lady herself. "I know it is an inconvenience, but my Lord and Lady did ask that it be understood that it is urgent - a matter of life and death."

Larm shrugged once again. "I still don't know that I can help you. Choran and Karinna are not expected to leave their retreat for another two or three days yet. Do you think the matter can wait that long - until they are back to living like normal people?"

Sylikan shrugged, a mirror-like gesture similar to Larm's. "I've been traveling for ten days already. I don't know that two or three more days would have that much different effect." He shrugged himself, hating his obligation to lie and not convey the absolute urgency he KNEW punctuated his journey. "I most certainly wouldn't want to disturb the Lady and her new husband at this happy time."

Larm looked at the messenger sharply. It had bothered him from the outset that Lord Sharhl had sent a messenger rather than a mirror-message like any other Lord would have done; Byrol had been jubilant when he had received word that the Saranth clan had finally mastered the new code. But now, with the attitude of the messenger vacillating from urgency to near-apathy, he knew for certain that there was more to the matter than the man named Sylikan wished to make known. "Why don't you let Shorgil here stable your burri and come into the hall. Surely you could use a tall mug of cha to take the dust from your tongue, and my father will probably wish to hear the news you might have from your clan."

Sylikan bowed and waited for Larm to lead the way. The younger Rhyl son stepped quickly and grimly ahead of the stranger to show the way into the ryhl. Larm was glad that his father would get the opportunity to use his Truth-sense long before the enigmatic northerner could speak to Karinna. He found himself wishing his own Truthsense would show more signs of maturing into a dependable Talent.

x

"I do hope you told that fool not to get to Rhyls`hyl too quickly," Sharhl remarked sharply for the hundredth time to Rowan. The headman stifled a bored and aggravated sigh of disgust at this further sign of the older Lord gradually losing his grip on his memory.

"I instructed Narrol quite carefully as to what I wanted him to instruct Sylikan," Rowan repeated yet again. "He must have done a fairly good job; it's been ten days now since he left, and we have yet to receive word through the mirrors that he is either on his way back with the Lady Karinna or that he is returning empty-handed."

"It had better be the latter!"

Rowan shrugged, an action that made his Lord glare at him sharply and snort before turning away. "I can't guarantee that the Lady Karinna isn't of such a soft heart that she will come to whoever issues a call of distress, my Lord," he shot at the expressionless back. "Then again, I couldn't say that this celebrated Lady isn't capable of having enough of a temper that she will resent being summoned in such a way. We will just have to bend ourselves to whichever happens."

"Couldn't Narrol have found someone with more..."

"Backbone?" Rowan finished for Sharhl in a monotone. The old Lord turned from his window, from which he had been watching the clouds build over a faraway peak.

"No. More intelligence." Sharhl grimaced. "Sylikan is not capable of more than just the simplest lie. If the questions at Rhyls`hyl become too complicated, he may break down and tell exactly what's going on here."

"Well then, again, we'll just have to deal with whatever the spirits feel we can handle," Rowan commented quietly. "One way or the other, my Lord, there isn't anything that any of us could do to better the situation from this distance."

"Hmmm." Sharhl's eyes narrowed and glinted. "Now there's a thought which hadn't occurred to me." He smiled brightly at Rowan. "My dear fellow, I knew I kept you around here because you could come through with the answers I needed at just the right time."

Rowan could but stare at Sharhl in confusion and amazement. "What did I say?" he stammered.

Sharhl chuckled by way of response. "Who is in the message-tower this afternoon?" he queried, only adding to Rowan's confusion.

"Gemrik, my Lord."

"Good," Sharhl rubbed his hands together, then chuckled even louder than before. "That one is almost as simple as Sylikan." He stretched out his hand in Rowan's direction. "My cloak, Rowan. I will be taking a late afternoon walk."

x

"I think I wouldn't believe anyone possible of such arrogance if I hadn't met him and known him for so long!" Byrol threw the transcription of the latest message received on his desk angrily.

Larm looked up from his own paperwork. "Father?"

Byrol looked at his youngest son with brows drawn together in an anger that few of the Rhyl clan saw and none liked to be near. He snatched the scrap of paper from his desk and crumpled it into a small ball that he could throw at his son. "Here. Read this." With those words, Byrol folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair to sulk while Larm read the message.

"To Sylikan, of the Saranth Clan From Sharhl, Lord of the Saranth during the illness of Lord Syran

We haven't heard from you since before you arrived there, if you made it at all. Please advise if the Healer is coming and when you expect to arrive. Ilia grows impatient with your delays. Or is this Karinna too good to come to the Far Regions this late in the year? Syran needs help desperately, and if this lowland Healer won't help, we must then call for another spirit-talker. Please respond quickly, if they will permit it.

Sharhl, Lord of the Saranth

Larm looked over at his father as he again crumpled the message into a little ball and tossed it in the woven basket that held many more like it. "He certainly sounds like an unpleasant person," the young man commented as he looked back down at his work. "Do you intend to pass along the message?"

Byrol shook his head, his arms still crossed over his chest in front of him. "He needs no urging, Larm. I sense he is torn over his mission here and would prefer to be back on Saranth lands and have everything over and done with. Besides, Karinna and Choran are coming back to live like mortals again this afternoon; so the poor man can ask his question and put his plea in Karinna's ear and learn her answer."

Larm looked up again at the cold tone in his father's voice. "I take it you will be passing the message along, just not to the person it was intended."

"I think Karinna should know that there is some potential mischief involved in this. She has a decision to make, and should have all the facts we can possibly give her."

x

Karinna stared at the ill-clad man standing before her, her mind shouting denials at him even before she had heard him out. Squirming in happy greeting were her children, whom she had not seen for almost eleven days; and the husband with whom she was only beginning to become completely familiar was entrenched in the office with his Father downstairs.

"What do you know of your Lord's condition?" she managed to keep the disappointment from her voice. The absolutely last thing she wanted to do right now was undertake a long journey away from her loved ones.

"Lady, I know little of a Healer's craft. The Lord Syran has been senseless now for... let me see..." the little man's eyes narrowed, and he counted silently to himself while keeping pace with his fingers, "twenty some days now, if he is still as he was when I left him."

"Why come all this way to me?" Karinna asked the one question that was nagging in the back of her head. "Certainly there are Healers - Halidu or lowland traditioned - who could have taken care of Lord Syran."

Sylikan looked down at the floor. "Lady, all I know is that the Lady Ilia was most specific in requesting that you alone be summoned. She sent me to bring you back."

Karinna looked down at her children wistfully, and then back up at her petitioner. "I will have to consider your request, Sylikan, as you can probably understand. But I promise I will give you an answer in the morning."

The Saranth clansman bowed low. "Thank you Lady; that was all I could ask." Self-consciously he turned away from the Healer and left the room.

"Dost thou believe the story this man has told thee?" Malishar's voice ran before her as she stepped from the nursery and into Karinna's old apartment. "Thou art aware that there is that which is amiss with the man's story."

Karinna nodded and turned her armload of children loose to toddle about the room freely. "Byrol warned me before he sent the man up that his Truthsense told him something was not right - as well as repeating the essence of a message that was received for this Sylikan not long ago that was downright insulting to the Rhyl family and me."

A silence developed, and Malishar tended the twins while Karinna sifted through the belongings she had stored in the room. Already the mystic could tell the answer Karinna would give the man; it was plain in the younger woman's actions. "Thy husband will not be pleased that thou decidest to leave him so soon."

The ability of the Hmorou woman to fathom her thoughts no longer astounded nor fascinated Karinna. In fact, she had become so accustomed to it that it was a welcome change to talk sometimes to someone who understood so well what she was thinking. "His mother and sister are Healers; he understands that when we are summoned..."

Malishar rose and quickly rescued one of Karinna's sharp hairpins from Rhoma's over-eager grasp and pushed the little girl back into the middle of the room without a word of chastisement. Rhoma gazed up into the firm expression of her nurse with bottom lip quivering, but then went off without raising a whine when something new caught her attention. Malishar returned her concentration to the woman sorting aimlessly through her drawers. "It is a long journey - and a long time to be gone from a mating newly-formed," she commented quietly. "Opinions change when it is a mate involved rather than a mother or sister."

Karinna turned and threw her hands out from her body. "I made a vow, Malishar, to help all who came to me for help from one end of Thaelia to the other. I didn't take the vow lightly. It isn't something I can do or not do as the whims of Thara lead me."

"It is not me on whom thou needest to practice thy arguments, Lady," Malishar responded kindly and with real understanding. "It is thy husband who will need thy skills in convincing. It is his understanding thou wilt have to win, my dear."

Karinna straightened, and with a small sigh she nodded.

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