Storm Breaking

shadow—Karal saw and acknowledged those, as he renewed a pledge to see them made good. But, he said silently to that great Light, what I am does not matter. This thing that I ask is not for me, nor even for these few who are here with me. This is for all our peoples; and for peoples we do not even know.

The Light answered him with a question of its own. Is this also for those of the Empire?

He replied immediately, and simply.

Yes.

Had he not already pointed out that most of the people living in the Empire had nothing to do with the terrible things their leaders had done? Why should they not be protected?

Even your enemies? came the second question.

He answered it as he had the other. Yes.

If protecting his enemies was the cost of protecting the innocent, then so be it. Fanatics said, 'Kill them all, and let God sort them out.' He would rather say, 'Save them all, and let God sort them out, for we have not the right to judge.'

There was a timeless moment of waiting, and the Light flooded him with approval.

Then that is My answer, came the reply. Yes.

The Light vanished.

He found himself standing in the snow, his feet numb, his eyes watering, with his entire being filled with the answer.

He was a scintillating bowl full of Yes, and he carried that answer back to the Tower as carefully as an acolyte carried a bowl of holy water.

'You don't remember anything?' Lyam asked, alive with curiosity, as he helped Karal carry a new set of notes up to the storage chamber. Karal shook his head regretfully, and watched where he was putting his feet. The last few steps out of the workroom were worn enough to be tricky.

'All I remember is going out into the snow. After that—nothing, until I woke up again with the answer.' He made an apologetic face. 'Sorry, I know you'd love to note all of this down, and it's not a priestly secret or anything, but I just can't remember what happened.'

The hertasi lashed his tail, perhaps with impatience. 'You could have just gone out, come back, and pretended to have the answer,' Lyam began. 'Not that you would have, but—'

'That wouldn't be as easy as you think. I might have fooled anyone but Florian and Altra, but never either of them,' Karal replied firmly. 'And I'm not sure it would have fooled Need; I think she was a priestess before she was a sword, and if she was, she'll have ways of knowing when people make up answers they say are from their gods.'

'If you say so,' Lyam said, though his tone was dubious.

'And it wouldn't ever have fooled the Avatars,' he continued forcefully. 'How could it? How could you ever fool them about something like that?'

Lyam conceded defeat at that; although he might not be completely convinced of the supernatural nature of Florian, Altra, or Need, he was entirely convinced that the Avatars were something altogether out of his experience. He regarded them with a mixture of his usual intense curiosity mingled with awe and a little uncertainty. Karal found that mildly amusing. He had the distinct feeling that right up until the moment the hertasi first met the Avatars, little Lyam had been something of an agnostic—willing to admit in the reality of something beyond himself, but not at all willing to concede that it had anything to do with him and his everyday world. Like many another historian before him, Lyam was only convinced by verifiable facts. That was what would make him a good historian, rather than someone who was content to repeat all the same old erroneous gossip. The hertasi and his mentor Tarrn believed passionately in the truth, would do anything to find out the truth, and would probably do anything to defend the truth. They might find exonerating reasons for a friend who robbed another of property, but if that friend falsified historical documents or concealed relevant facts, they would show him no leniency.

Karal and Lyam arranged the notes in order with the last batch and sealed up the now-full box and put it with those holding Tarrn's precious chronicles. 'If you've got a moment, could you give me a hand?' he asked Lyam. 'You're better at handling hot rocks than I am.'

'That's because you humans are poorly designed,' the hertasi replied with a toothy grin. 'You should have nice thick skin on your hands, preferably with a toughened outer hide or scales, so you can