Priestess of the White

within Leiard. He let out a small sigh and looked up.

“If your people have any reason to fear the Pentadrians, I would have them leave Sennon,” Danjin murmured. “That is all I can say.”

Mirar nodded. “Thank you. For the warning and for the visit.”

Danjin’s shoulders lifted. “I would have come sooner, if I could have.” He inclined his head. “Good night, Dreamweaver Adviser Leiard.”

As Leiard heard his name he felt Mirar’s hold over his body fade. Back in control, he swayed with shock. Danjin was looking at him expectantly.

“Good night,” he said.

Leiard watched Auraya’s adviser walk up to a covered platten and climb inside. As the driver urged the arem into a trot, Leiard closed the door. He set his back against the wall and let out a long breath. His heart was racing.

What just happened?

Mirar did not reply.

I just lost control of my body to a memory echo, Leiard answered himself. Can this happen again? Can Mirar take over permanently? He realized he didn’t know. I must find someone who does. But who? He smiled grimly. Dreamweaver Arleej. If the leader of the Dreamweavers can’t tell me the answer, nobody can.

A movement in the doorway made him jump, but it was only Tanara. She peered at him in concern.

“Are you well, Leiard?”

He drew in a deep breath. “Yes. I am tired. I... I will go to bed now.”

She nodded and smiled. “I will tell Jayim. Pleasant dreams, then.”

Leiard expected a cheeky reply from Mirar, but the presence in his mind remained silent. As he passed Tanara, he paused.

“Danjin asked me to give you his thanks for the drink,” he told her.

She smiled. “He seems like a nice man. Nothing like what I’ve heard about the Spear family.”

“No,” Leiard agreed.

“Good night.”

He entered his room, took off his vest and lay down on his bed.

All Dreamweavers learned mental exercises designed to speed the transition to the dream state. Even so, more than an hour passed before the Dreamweaver elder responded to his call. He guessed she had only just fallen asleep.

:Leiard?

:Yes. Do you remember me?

:Of course. One does not forget a Dreamweaver with so many of Mirar’s memories.

:No, one does not. I am beginning to wish it were not so.

:0h? Why is that?

He explained what had happened and felt her rising concern.

:How often have you linked with your student?

:Once or twice, he replied evasively. It is a little early to be doing so.

:You are avoiding it, she stated, not fooled by his excuse.

:Yes, he admitted. I have... I have found myself the holder of a secret I dare not risk revealing to him.

:I see. Then you must find someone else to reveal it to. Someone you trust. Otherwise I fear you will lose your identity. You will be neither yourself nor this manifestation of Mirar, but a half-mad mixture of both.

:I know of no one...

:There are other Dreamweavers in Jarime. Will one of them suffice?

:Perhaps. He paused. There is one other matter I should tell you of I spoke to Danjin Spear this evening. He warned me that the Dreamweavers in Sennon may not be safe.

:He speaks of the alliance between Sennon and the Pentadrians.

:Ah!

:Yes. We have nothing to fear from the Pentadrians. They have always treated Dreamweavers well. When you speak to this adviser again tell him to remind the White that we Dreamweavers do not take sides in war. If there is a conflict we will tend the wounded of all nations, as we have always done.

:I will. Is there to be a war?

:The more I learn of these Pentadrians, the more I fear a conflict is inevitable. She paused. What do you know of them?

:I have no link memories on the subject, Leiard replied. What I know is based on. comments from Auraya and the rumors circulating around Jarime. Are their gods real?

:Nobody knows. The Circlians assume not, of course. Even if they are right, that makes the Pentadrians only a little less dangerous.

:A little is something, at least.

:Yes. I must go now. I have more Dreamweavers to contact. Take care, Leiard. Consider what I have said.

The link ended as she turned her mind away. Leiard drifted in the nothingness, knowing her advice was sound, but fearing the consequences. If he allowed another Dreamweaver to know his secret, then the next Dreamweaver he or she linked with would discover the truth. Soon all Dreamweavers would know...

:Leiard?

His heart leapt as he recognized Auraya’s mental voice and he eagerly reached out to meet her.

There is no undoing what we have done, he thought. We may as well enjoy it while we can.

As Emerahl returned to her room, warm and relaxed from an hour-long soak in hot water, she considered how her situation had improved. She was still a whore, but at least she was a well-fed one, with customers of better quality than before. She was earning more money, though Rozea insisted on holding most of it in credit.

While she had played the prostitute twice before in her long life, it was not a role she particularly enjoyed. Thinking back to the first time, more than five hundred years ago, she grimaced. A triad of powerful sorcerers had hunted her across Ithania, determined to extract the secret of immortality from her, even though they were too weak to achieve it. Singly they were no match for her, but together they were a potent enemy. In desperation she had changed her appearance and taken on a role they believed she was too proud to consider.

They had been right. Her pride had smarted with the touch of every customer. How could she, one of the immortal ones, be reduced to selling her body to men who saw her only as a moment’s entertainment?

The three sorcerers eventually fell out, one killing the other two. She didn’t learn of it for two years. Two years of self-imposed humiliation she hadn’t needed to endure. What else could I have done? People on the streets don’t care about foreign sorcerers. That sort of news travels slowly.

She sighed. People often assumed that just because she was immortal she must know a great deal. They expected her to be able to describe momentous historical events to them as if she had witnessed them. For most of her life she had kept quietly to herself, staying away from power games and the people who played them.

Which was how she preferred to live. Fame and power had lost their charm within the first hundred years of her life. She had turned to prostitution the second time to escape both. Settling in a remote village, she had begun healing the locals as she always did. What started as a trickle of visitors come to see the healer sorceress had turned into a flood and the village had rapidly become rich. She was flattered at first, and reasoned that she was doing more good for more people this way. Her protests that she was just an old hag earned her an affectionate nickname: The Hag.