whether I looked on a friend or an enemy. He wore a shirt of homespun linen that was not quite white, and plain brown breeks, soft boots: nothing much different to what I’d known him to wear about the College. There was nothing to mark his elevation; in Durbrecht he’d have passed as a servant Changed, unremarkable. I studied his face-clear now-and saw lines etched there that had not been present in Dharbek, In his eyes I saw-I was not sure-a graving, perhaps, of age. He seemed somehow older in more than mere years, weighted by knowledge and experience. I wondered what that had been, and what it was.
I said, “Day’s greetings, Urt,” cautiously.
He smiled-regretfully, I thought. “Doubtless you grow bored of confinement. Would you walk awhile in the garden?”
I asked, “Tezdal wakes?”
“Not yet.” He shook his head. “Perhaps the gifted must work their magic again. But meanwhile …” He gestured at the corridor beyond the open door.
Rwyan said, “It should be pleasant. Eh, Daviot?”
I shrugged and nodded; and we followed him out.
He was alone, which surprised me, and as we paced the corridor, I asked, “Are you not afraid, Urt? To be alone with us?”
He gave a little chuckle and met my stare. “Would you harm me then, Daviot?”
I said, “I’d slay any man who harms Rwyan.” And thought of Allanyn, and so added, “Or any woman,”
He said softly, “I offer you no harm.”
He spoke eompanionably enough, but I sensed a hesitancy. I sought to read his face, the language of his body, but without success. I wondered if he hid his feelings. My own were utterly confused. Was he still my friend? Or was he now committed to the strategies of the Changed? Did I walk with an ally or an enemy? I could not know, only follow.
We came to a door of plain wood, latched, and Urt thrust it open, waving us through.
Now we stood beneath the portico, the garden spread before us. The air was pleasantly fresh, neither possessed of summer’s heat nor cooled by autumn’s advancement, but poised on that enlivening axis between the two. I thought it should have been turned more decisive between the seasons, and then that this valley was, indeed, a place governed by magic. The sky was blue, decorated here and there with drifting billows of pristine cumulus. The absence of birds was strange. Urt beckoned us as he set out along a path that wound amongst hornbeams and hazels. In moments, the Council building was lost to sight. It was as if we strolled some wildwood.
In a while Urt halted by a pond surrounded by drooping willows and green alders, fed by a little stream. Without preamble he said, “I am commanded to speak with you; to convince you.”
Rwyan said, “You waste your breath, Urt.”
He said, “Lady, I know that; but still I’d speak with you. Shall you hear me out?”
His tone was urgent, and in his eyes I saw such a look as brought back memories of Durbrecht. I motioned that he continue; Rwyan ducked her head in agreement.
He said, “It cannot be long before Lord Tezdal wakes and you are forced to a decision.”
Rwyan said, “That’s already made.”
“Only hear me,” he asked. “Do you refuse the demands of the Raethe, you know the outcome.”
Rwyan said, “That was made plain enough.”
Urt hesitated a moment, staring at the pond. I saw the pebbled bottom, trout drifting there, stationary in the current as their pale eyes scanned the surface, awaiting insects. I envied them their simple lives. Urt faced us again, and in his eyes I saw only sincerity and concern. I wondered if he dissembled.
He said, “I told them as much, but I discharge my duty-I was ordered to speak with you of this, and that I’ve done. I can return with clear conscience.”
I said, “Then have we aught else to say?”
I put it curt and got back a look of rueful reproach. “Daviot, you’ve reason enough to doubt me, but I am your friend yet. I’d find some way around this that shall leave you both unharmed.”
I asked him bluntly, “Why?”
And he gave me back, “For Durbrecht. Because I’ve no liking for Allanyn’s ways; no lust for war.”
I began to speak-to scorn him, to accuse him of treachery-but Rwyan touched my arm and bade me hold silent. I obeyed.
He smiled his thanks. “Had Allanyn her way, you, Rwyan, should be already emptied by the crystals; and you, Daviot, slain.”
Rwyan said, “But you delayed that course.”
I asked again, “Why?”
“Aye.” Urt nodded briefly to Rwyan. To me he said, “For sake of our friendship; because I loathe her methods.”
I frowned and would have spoken, but Urt raised a hand to silence me. “We’ve not much time and much to say.” He smiled a crooked grin. “Nor am I altogether trusted-Allanyn may well send watchers ere long. So do you hear me out and after judge whether we be still friends, or no?”
Rwyan touched my hand, urging I agree: I nodded.
“There are two factions within the Raethe,” Urt continued, “of which Allanyn’s is the greater. Born here she was, and she’s filled with the power the crystals give. No Changed sorcerer was ever stronger than Allanyn, and too many fear her. I suspect she’s crazed, but still she’s the ear of the many who would take her path.”
“Which is?” asked Rwyan.
Urt said simply, “War. Allanyn and her followers would ally with the Sky Lords to destroy you Dhar Truemen, or make of you what you made of us-servants.”
“And the Sky Lords?” I asked. “Are they not Truemen? Shall they be only your allies and nothing more?”
He answered me, “The Sky Lords would take back Kellambek for their own, no more. They’ve dreamed of that for centuries-a holy quest to regain their homeland-and the agreement made is that they shall have Kellambek, we Changed the rest.”
“And you?” I asked him.
“I’d see my fellow Changed shed their bonds,” he said. “I’d see them equal to you Truemen. Was that not once your thought, Daviot?”
I looked into his dark eyes and could only nod. “But not through bloodshed,” I said. “Not by war.”
He said, “Perhaps there’s no other way. I think there are not many Truemen think as you do.”
I said slowly, “No. But even so … war? Do the Sky Lords mount the Great Coming, the Changed rise-Dharbek should run red, and Changed and Truemen bleed and die alike.”
Soberly, he said, “Yes. And so I’d find some other way-if there is another way. I and a few like me, who’ve little love for Allanyn’s path. Does Allanyn prevail, I think the world shall not be better; only turned on its head. Where Changed now are, there’d be Truemen. And no doubt they’d plot to overturn it all again. I think that way should be only bloodshed, unending.”
I said, “War should be a great undertaking, Urt. Could the Changed hope to win?”
“Allanyn believes we should,” he said, “and she’s command of our army. Does she have her way, the Sky Lords will attack across both the Fend and the Slammerkin. Do they overcome the Border Cities, then we Changed shall march south whilst our kin in Dharbek rise. The slaughter would be terrible, I think.”
I asked, “How should your kin know when to rise?”
He smiled. “You know we communicate?” And when I nodded: “There’s more to it than you suspect, Daviot; and you’re likely the only Trueman to have understood so much. I’ve not the time to explain it all now, but …”
He paused, hesitant again, looking a moment at the pool where the trout rose hungry. Then: “Do you trust me?”
It was a blunt question, demanding a blunt answer. I said, “I don’t know, Urt.”
Hurt showed in his eyes, but then he shrugged. “Why should you? Perhaps, though, I might convince you. I think I cannot now, with words, but perhaps with another way.”
I frowned, waiting. I scarce dared allow the little spark of hope his words kindled.
He said, “Tonight I’ll come to you with all the proof I can give; I can do no more.”
