Storm Warning

'Will he come? Has he time? Does he think he can help?' An'desha had spent enough time delving back into the memories of Falconsbane's previous lives to feel as if the already uncertain ground beneath him had become a quagmire. He couldn't help thinking that only extreme good fortune had kept him from stepping into a bottomless pit that would swallow him up before he could cry out for help. He'd had a particularly hag-ridden nightmare last night, after yet another stroll through the memory-fragments of the past. He'd spent the rest of the night huddled into a blanket in a fearful ball of misery, and finally Firesong had thrown his hands up and lost patience with him after failing to calm him. Firesong had gone off to the garden to sleep, leaving An'desha to watch out the last of the night by himself.

I knew that he was right, that it had only been a nightmare, but what could such nightmares lead tot What if I fell into one and never came out again? That was what held me so terrified that he could not comfort me. I don't know how many more nights like that I can go through.

Karal nodded solemnly. 'He said he would try to come this afternoon, unless I came to tell him otherwise. Shall I go see if he is free?'

'Please!' An'desha replied, with more force than he had intended. He made himself relax, though Karal gave no sign that he was alarmed by the violent response. 'Please. Things are—I would truly like to speak with him.'

'He'll come. I'll go find him now.' Karal knew An'desha well enough by now to take him seriously. He got up and trotted off without another word, leaving An'desha alone in the garden again. Although An'desha was not normally given to pacing, he did so now. After all this time—someone who understood his pain and his peril, who was willing to help him—

What would this Ulrich be like? Let him not be like the shaman of my Clan... that would leave matters worse than they are now! He could not bear that—to have someone deliver a lecture to him on his own moral weakness, on how he should be showing some spine instead of cowering like a child afraid of monsters in the tent shadows. He was doing his best, he was! Even if Firesong didn't think so—

Now that the moment was at hand, he was rapidly tangling into a knot of tension.

'Here we are. I found him on the very path,' said Karal cheerfully, from the door. An'desha spun about to see his friend entering through the doorway, with a much older man beside him, a man who walked carefully and a little stiffly.

As they neared, An'desha noted the calm expression on the older man's face—a face, thin and intelligent, with a sharp and prominent nose and matching chin. He and Karal were very much of a 'type,' as Shin'a'in, Kaled'a'in and Tayledras were of a 'type.' Interesting, since Valdemarans were as mixed in 'type' as a litter of mongrel puppies.

The priest had probably seen some fifty summers or so; his silver hair had a few black threads in it, but not many. But more important to An'desha than his years was his expression; there was none of the querulous impatience An'desha remembered the shaman wearing more often than not.

'An'desha.' The man bowed a little in greeting to An'desha, rather than extending his hand to be clasped as Valdemarans did. 'Karal has told me something of you and your plight, but I would like to hear it all from your lips, as well.' He smiled a little, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. 'Sometimes things can be garbled in the translation, as any diplomat will tell you.'

The smile was enough to convince An'desha that, whatever Ulrich was, he was nothing like the shaman. The shaman had never smiled.

Ulrich listened to his history and his current fears with no sign of impatience, and even took him back over a few points to clarify them. As Ulrich questioned him, An'desha was reminded more and more of the spirit-sword Need, the blade that was now carried by Nyara. Need had coached him through his ordeal as he acted against Mornelithe Falconsbane from—literally—within. She had never promised more than a chance at his freedom—she had never given him pity or sympathy, only guidance.

Ulrich was of a similar mind. He did not want to hear excuses, and would not accept them if An'desha tried to make them—but as long as An'desha had clearly been doing his best, Ulrich would praise him for it, and make allowances for things that could not yet be helped.

He did spend quite a bit of time asking many questions about An'desha's experiences with the Avatars, after An'desha mentioned them. He had done so with extreme caution, remembering how shocked Karal had been at the intimation that there were more real deities in the world than his own. But to An'desha's relief and mild amusement, Ulrich was not only not shocked, he seemed to accept it as a matter of course.

'You do believe me, don't you?' he asked, when Ulrich fell silent. 'I mean, you believe me about Dawnfire and Tre'valen, that they are Her Avatars, and not something I hallucinated, or something else.'

Ulrich took a moment to think before replying. 'I admit that such an explanation had occurred to me, when you first mentioned them,' he said at last, steepling his fingers together. 'You hardly qualified as sane under normal definitions. But after all you have told me, I am quite certain that they are exactly what you claim. And that your 'Star-Eyed' is what you claim Her to be.'

Karal made a small sound, something like a strangled cough; An'desha glanced aside and saw him turning a fascinating color.