as a greenway. The road took us between the Knight's District to the north and the King's Palace, all the way to the great square in the heart of Nar. There, beneath the steep hills on which perched an ancient castle, the white Tower of the Sun rose up toward the sky. Although it was not nearly so great as the towers in Tria or Delarid — or even in Khevaju, Nazca, Ar and other cities of other lands — people came from across the Nine Kingdoms to view this shining wonder, for the Valari have never been great builders and nothing like it could be seen in all the Morning Mountains. There, too, at the edge of the square, we came to the intersection of the Nar Road and the Adra Straight, a finely made road that led past the smithies close to the hills along a district full of fine eateries and inns. Smells of roasting chicken and hot bread mingled with coal smoke and steaming dung which the many horses clopping down this thoroughfare left behind them. The Narangians crowding the street on either side seemed not to notice or mind this effluvia that tainted their air, as in any large city. They loosed their cheers upon us from mouths wide open at the marvel of the Lightstone. But the Ishkans riding ahead of us and many of Mesh pulled their scarves up over their noses; thus did they try to protect themselves from the dust of old, dried dung that the horses' hooves pounded into powder and kicked up into choking brown clouds.
At last we came to the Tournament Grounds, laid out between the Adra Strait and the Nar Road along a great greenway at the northern outskirts of the city. The site where the competitions were held every three years was itself large enough to contain almost a whole city. A paved road ran down its center for almost two miles from east to west. It gave access to the Chess and Sword Pavilions, and then to the acres of fields where knights rode at each other with flashing maces and long lances. At the far end of the Grounds, along the Nar Road, could be found the areas given over to lance throwing and archery. Smaller roads, of dirt, connected the various encampments set up around the competition spaces, along the Grounds' northern and southern edges. Witnesses from Taron and all across the Nine Kingdoms had taken up residence there with the knights and warriors who would display their feats of arms for all to acclaim.
First and largest of these encampments, on the southern edge, was that of the Taroners. Many of these had been unable or unwilling to find lodgings in Nar's crowded inns; therefore they had set up their tents or laid out their sleeping furs in neat rows near the bnghtly-colored pavilions of Taron's greatest knights and lords. King Waray himself occupied the greatest of these pavilions, a magnificent dome of red and white silk flapping in the morning breeze. By tradition, whenever a tournament was being held, he left his palace to dwell among the pilgrims who honored his city. He was said to be a great mediator of disputes who loved clasping hands and learning the names of knights from each kingdom. Many called him a peacemaker. But my father, who had journeyed here for more than one tournament called him a cunning and difficult man who liked to play others as a knight does chess pieces, in order to achieve the kind of sly and blood-less victories that strengthened his kingdom without ever quite threatening real war.
The Meshian encampment, for thousands of years, had been laid out on the Grounds' northern edge between the encampments of the Lagashuns and the Ishkans. Many of my countrymen had arrived before us. We Guardians, strengthened by the twenty Ishkan knights, set up our pavilions near those of Sar Sulaijay and Lord Junaru and others who would be competing here on the morrow. To the blue and white of Lord Junaru's pavilion was added the black and silver of mine, and the reds, golds and other colors of my Ishkan knights, and if any of Mesh objected to this unprecedented mingling, no one voiced his concern. Neither did it alarm anyone when we surrounded our company with a moat and stockade. Word of Sivar's treachery spread quickly, and all Meshians, whether Guardians or not, seemed ready to fight for the Lightstone if any enemy should attack us. Of course, all along the Tournament Grounds flew the sacred white banners of truce. Anyone who broke this ancient covenant would be punished by dishonor and death. But here, on these much-trampled fields where the Valari had contended with each other for thousands of years, it was not impossible to imagine some lone knight or his kindred falling mad and fighting a real battle and spilling red blood to gain the greatest prize in all the world.
I spent most of the day settling into our camp and preparing for the next day's lance-throwing competition. With our bright pavilions arrayed only a hundred yards from the greenway along the Grounds northern edge, we had relief in at least one direction from the bustle of the tournament. Tall oak trees rose up like a wall before us; birds piped out their songs, and the perfume of flowers wafted over us on a gentle wind. But in other directions there were other sights, smells and sounds. Between the encampments, food-sellers had set up stalls next to those of brewmasters, cloth merchants, astrologers, armorers and many others. Nearby, jugglers cast brightly-painted balls into the air while wandering minstrels made music around their campfires. It was good to hear their singing and the voices of the Valari that joined them; it was good, too, to smell the loaves of hot bread that the bakers took out of their ovens and the sizzling sweetmeats that old women prepared on their little charcoal grills. Down the road running alone the encampments of the Lagashuns, Meshians, Ishkans and Kaashans paraded a continual stream of knights displaying their colors and their horsemanship. Many pilgrims passed by us, too. From their inquisi-tive glances, it seemed that they hoped for a glimpse of the Lightstone — or of me. While riding through Nar's streets and across the Tournament grounds, more than one person had looked at me as if to wonder if I might truly be the Maitreya. I tried to ignore these throngs who ligered in front of our camp. The urgent beating of their hearts was almost a greater sound than the pounding of hundreds of horses' hooves and the booming of the great war drums that reminded every knight that the tournament, above all else, was meant to demonstrate the Valari's readiness for battle.
Around midafternoon, a visitor called on me, and him I could not ignore. For it was King Danashu of Anjo, who strode into our encampment accompanied by only two knights. King Danashu was a large man with great shoulders and long arms swollen with muscle. In his youth, no knight had been able to cast his lance farther than he. His finely-made face, too, was swollen — but from the effects of strong drink and participating too exuberantly at too many feasts. His blue tunic, emblazoned with a gold dragon, barely concealed a large belly that bulged out beneath his massive chest. Of all the kings of the Valari, he was said to be the strongest, in his body. But as ruler of his realm, he had less power than some of his dukes and barons who had torn his once-proud kingdom apart.
I invited him into my tent, where we sat and took tea with my brothers. King Danashu paid his compliments to our father and discussed the art of lance throwing with Yarashan. He spoke of the clear, blue skies above us and the fine weather he hoped would grace the tournament. And then he turned toward the point of his visit.
'It's said that you rode into Taron with King Hadaru.' King Danashu looked from Asaru to Yarashan, and then at me. 'Meshians and Ishkans together — this is not news that we of Anjo can be expected to celebrate.'
Asaru studied King Danashu for weakness, as my father had taught us, and I did, too. And finally, I said, 'It's time that all Valari rode together so that the Red Dragon doesn't fall against us one by one. If Mesh can make peace with Ishka, then so it can be with any of the Nine Kingdoms. And that is something that
'Perhaps,' King Danashu said. 'And yet, I haven't heard King Hadaru speak of peace.'
I opened my mouth to proclaim that King Hadaru possessed little — recognized virtues, but just then Asaru cast me a quick, stern look. Although it was my prerogative to order all matters pertaining to the Guardians and the Lightstone, it was his, as our father's eldest son, to speak for Mesh.
'King Hadaru may not desire peace with Anjo,' Asaru said. 'But he desires war with Mesh even less.'
At this, King Danashu slowly nodded his head and wheezed out, 'Then this matter of your brother recovering the Lightstone has not changed your father's pledge?'
'A pledge is a pledge,' Asaru told him coldly. 'If Ishka invades Anjo, Mesh will march against Ishka.'
'But what if King Hadaru continues suborning my barons and dukes? He's nearly won Duke Barwan's allegiance and made Adarland part of Ishka. Forcing the duke to give up his young daughter to marry an old king —
Asaru and I traded knowing looks. For King Danashu to speak of Anjo's nobles as 'his' was something like a hound claiming dominion over wolves. Duke Rezu of Rajak and Duke Gorador ruled their tiny realms without thought of King Danashu, while farther east, Baron Yushur had made war against Count Artanu of Onkar in an attempt to add to his possession and strengthen it in case King Hadaru conquered Adar outright and moved against Anjo's other baronies and duchies.
'My father,' Asaru told King Danashu, 'has no say over whom King Hadaru may marry. Nor over the affairs of your realm.'
This was Asaru's way of chiding King Danashu. But there was no scorn in his voice and little pride — only a heartfelt desire that King Danashu should somehow reunite his broken kingdom and rule it as more than a king in name only.
'No, no one has say over Anjo,' King Danashu said, 'except Anjo's king. We've had our time of troubles, but
