Storm Rising

memories of Ma'ar's, and the 'solution' that the Dark Adept had contrived to keep his own land safe from the mage-storms that were going to occur when Urtho died. That was where, if it was anywhere, the germ of their own solution would lie.

But his slippery thoughts kept coming back to that elegant little pattern of stronghold—possession— stronghold. It was just so very clever! And no one would have ever guessed what was going on if An'desha hadn't found a way to survive the possession.

I wonder what the other criteria were for possession, besides Adept-potential. I would think they would have to be solitary sorts, or his 'new' personality would have given the signal that something was wrong.

If one could somehow assure that one returned in an ethical fashion, there wouldn't have been anything wrong with the entire scheme. Yes, but just how would one displace another's spirit in an ethical fashion, hmm?

Still, he kept coming back to that, as he climbed the stairs to the living area of the ekele. If only there was a way—

Well, infants were not ensouled, to the best of his knowledge, until the actual birth; it happened with the first breath. What if one arranged to slip in just before that critical moment?

It would mean a certain tedious time spent maturing, but that could begotten around, I expect. At least, I could shorten that time, although it would certainly startle the parents. I can accelerate plant growth, so why not my own? It would only be one more application of the same thing Falconsbane used to change his own body.

He combed his wet hair with his fingers as he walked, pulling it forward over his shoulder. All his adult life he had cherished a secret longing, born when he had learned about his ancestor Vanyel and the love and lifebonding that had lasted through time and across the ages with his beloved Tylendel-Stefen. As foolishly romantic as it was, he had longed to find someone, a lifebonded, a soul-mate. He had really thought that person was An'desha.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem that An'desha shared that conviction, and if there was one thing that Firesong was sure of, it was that those who were lifebonded were both aware of the bond to the point of pain if they were apart or at odds with one another. They could not be lifebonded and be having the kind of personal problems they were now.

He searched through his wardrobe for something appropriate to his mood—black—and winced when his hand brushed across one of An'desha's Shin'a'in tunics. He's reverting more and more to the Shin'a'in. That in itself should have told him this was no lifebond. Lifebonded couples tended to dress more alike, even without thinking about it. Look at Heralds Dirk and Talia—who always chose the same color when they were off-duty. Or Sherrill and Keren, who dressed like a pair of twins, even though Sherrill tended to prefer elegant lines and Keren to dress entirely in riding leathers whenever possible! An'desha seemed to be choosing clothing as opposite that of Firesong's elegant robes and tunics as possible, wearing the bright—not to say gaudy and clashing—embroidered vests, and tunics and trews trimmed in the bands of colorful wide braid that the Shin'a'in loved.

He sighed as he pulled a long, silken robe of unrelieved black over his head. No, he was going to have to admit it. This was no lifebond And the bond he did have was, quite frankly, falling apart.

Lifebonds were incredibly rare. The chances of ever finding one's lifemate were remote, no matter how much one looked.

He paused with his hand still on the wardrobe door as he was closing it when the inescapable thought occurred to him. True, the chances of finding one's lifemate were remote, if one only lived a single lifetime.

But what if you lived for several lifetimes?

What if you had a way to return, over and over, fully as yourself?

What if you managed to find that ethical way to return the way Falconsbane had? You could search as long as you needed to in order to find your lifebonded. And then?

Then, perhaps you could find a way to stay together forever. Vanyel and Stefen had.

And wasn't that a fascinating thought?

Four

Grand Duke Tremane looked out of the window in his office, gazing down through the bubbly pane of its poor-quality glass at the row after row of tents sheltering supplies down in the courtyard of his fortified manor. Security. That's what lies down there, made tangible and visible. The tents themselves were from the supplies he had appropriated; as soon as his clerks had found them in the records and his supply- sergeants had identified the crates they were in, he'd had them unpacked and set up to hold everything that could tolerate cold and didn't need to be under guard.