Note: This is an infill chapter. Chapter Eight is already up, but this Chapter comes first in the overall story. I had Chapter Eight completed several weeks before Chapter Seven, and as the actual timing of events in both chapters are independent, thought I would post Chapter Eight then, rather than after Chapter Seven. Although that posed no confusion when I posted it, I realize it may well be somewhat confusing now, hence this explanatory Note. I apologize for any confusion!

Thank you, Onyx Tao

I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao

Copyright © 2011

Released under the Creative Commons

Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike License

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/

Chapter Seven: Illumination

Sasha himself woke Dacien in the predawn darkness. Teodor had been a late riser, but apparently his new master was a minotaur of another color, and Dacien amused himself briefly wondering if minotaurs used that phrase. Probably not. In fact, the only minotaur who'd mentioned it to him was Chelm, and then, only after he'd committed the blunder of referring to himself as red rather than roan, and Lord Green as black, when he was ebon. That had provoked a short talk about the proper terminology, and then ... very little. It was almost certainly one of the many sensitive and convoluted points of minotaur etiquette; Dacien made a mental note to ask Sasha about it, and hoped that Sasha would be more forthcoming than Teodor had been.

"Dacien, I am sorry to wake you so early," the brown minotaur said. "But I desire to leave early. And for some baffling reason Lord Fog is waiting to bid you farewell." Sasha shook his head. "Perhaps he has some difficulty letting you go. Although ..." he trailed off.

Dacien took a breath, and swung himself out of bed. "He's here?"

"Waiting for us," Sasha confirmed. "I've asked him to join us for breakfast. Can you be ready in a few minutes?"

"Yes," said Dacien, thinking about breakfasts, and wondering just how Sasha intended to leave early. He found out quickly; breakfast was not the elaborate buffet it was with Teodor, but hot, almost liquid, pureed oatmeal cooked with milk and fruit, drunk from a heavy mug instead of served in a bowl, and eaten standing. Sasha poured a mug for himself, and a huge white minotaur handed Dacien and Teodor a mug as well.

"Thank you for seeing me so early, Lord Doze," Teodor said, sipping from the mug.

"Thank you for rising so early to see me, Lord Fog," Sasha replied. "I had thought that, leaving so quickly and early, I would miss the chance to bid you farewell."

Teodor grinned. "Well said, Sasha. So." The soft cool grayness of Teodor's magic startled Dacien, and Sasha looked intent for a moment, and then quickly hid a flash of surprise.

"Yes," the smaller brown minotaur said after a moment. "That does complicate matters."

"And perhaps you would find this human useful, on your trip? Odd jobs, small tasks, too trivial but ..." Teodor gestured, and one of his guard gently escorted Commander-of-Thousands Nestor forward. "He may come in handy."

Sasha looked puzzled. "I thought the Patriarch said no."

Teodor tilted his head. "All he said was that the thing was impossible, and not a matter for his purview."

"He said he couldn't ..." and Sasha was quiet for a moment. "Oh."

"Yes."

"So that's what you meant by explaining it later."

"Yes."

"I hate these word games," Sasha said, with a sigh. "I will never get used to this ... ever-so-precise dicing of meaning, chopping it so finely it means anything it wants to mean. Very well. I'll take him. We'll take him. Darren. This human will be accompanying us." Sasha stared at Nestor for a moment. "Assign ... assign someone to keep track of him."

"Yes, Lord Doze," his guard said.

"And let me know if there are any issues; I will deal with them."

"Yes, Lord Doze."

Teodor offered Sasha a flask. "He'll need a sip of this every now and then."

Sasha took the flask hesitantly, and sniffed it. "Lantail ... why ..." and then paused. "It's poisonous, you know."

Nestor looked suspiciously at Teodor.

Teodor sighed. "Sasha, all drugs are poisonous. He's handling it just fine."

"If he starts turning yellow ..." started Sasha.

"Then you can get him to a healer, and get his liver fixed." said Teodor impatiently. "Keep him on it. He's been on this dose for over a week, and he's taken no harm so far."

"I can't judge whether he's taking harm or not."

"You just said it yourself: he'll turn yellow. And that happens long before any irreversible damage happens. You're only going to be gone for what, ten days?"

"Twelve," said Sasha. "But .."

"Even if he suddenly had the worst possible reaction, he'd be fine if he got treatment in a month. Or two. Or three."

"I can see your mind is settled on this, Lord Fog, so I will respect your wishes."

"Just so. And ..." the gray minotaur paused. "You might not want to listen to this next part."

"What was that, Lord Fog? I find myself somewhat hard of hearing."

"Yes ..." said Teodor, who turned to face Nestor. "You will take the drug, feral, or you will be useless and worse than useless for any kind of embassy. Your duties will not be onerous; your well-being will be seen to. But if you embarrass me in front of Lord Doze or indeed any of the warriors or warlords here - then this will come to nothing."

Nestor nodded.

"And?"

"Yes. Sir." Nestor said.

"I will grant the doubt, and not called this veiled insubordination, but if it be, abandon it. It will not serve me, or your previous masters; it is no part of your duties, however you conceive them, to anyone," Teodor said. He turned to Dacien. "I think you will ..." he paused. "I do not know. We will talk, my son, when you return. We will have ... more to talk about, I think. I was displeased, much, by Cresphonte's decision to put you under Lord Doze's supervision ... but not because I harbor any doubts about Sasha. He is a good bull - better, in some ways, than myself, and wiser than he would admit. Any questions you would bring to me, you may bring to him.

"Teodor?" asked Dacien. "I will ... I will do my best."

"That will suffice," Teodor said. "Mage Dacien, Lord Doze ... you'd best be on your way. I am leaving for Ourobouros myself." The gray minotaur set his mug of oatmeal down, and Dacien noticed it was still full. Teodor turned, and left, and the huge white minotaur followed him as did several of the others.

"Poor Te," said Sasha, after they'd left.

"Why?"

"Didn't you see Oz?"

Oz ... "Warlord Osaze?" A number of things came together for Dacien. "The gold minotaur was Osaze?"

"You'd never met him?"

"No," said Dacien. "But I thought they liked each other."

"They do," Sasha allowed. "Much. But they can't stand being around each other. Osaze likes parties, people, and events. Te doesn't. He hates parties, dislikes groups of more than five, and prefers a quiet routine. You must have noticed, living with him, that every day is like every other day, and every week is like every other week."

Dacien thought back, and chuckled. "No, not really. Although ... I can see he'd like it to be that way."

"Ah. Yes," said Sasha, smiling. "You had a set of adventures with him."

"But I understand you. He does like tranquility."

"And that makes Osaze crazy," said Sasha. He took a deep breath. "And ... that brings me to something I cannot put off any longer. I'm not sure how I feel about it, to be honest."

Dacien finished the oatmeal, and set the mug down. "What?"

"Me," a deep voice said. "At least, I hope that was Lord Doze's intent." A midnight-blue minotaur came in, followed by another, of a lighter shade of blue, whom he recognized from yesterday - Bryant. The other bull was so dark he looked black, blue-black, like the last moment before the sky turned to darkness, and a foot taller than Bryant - this minotaur was easily larger than Lord Green. Even his voice was deeper. "Lord Doze, Mage Dacien. I am General Hector, appointed as your Master of Guard by Lord Cresphontes. This is General Bryant, serving as my second." The minotaur grimaced briefly. "There are a number of other bulls I'd like to introduce to you, but they will meet us at the gate. I think between myself and Bryant, you'll be safe enough in the city."

"I didn't think a ... a mage apprentice could have a guard. It seems strange."

"Lord Cresphontes has his reasons, I imagine," Hector said. "He has shared a great many remarkable things about you with me. All in confidence, I might add."

"Good," said Sasha, with a hint of warning in his voice, although Dacien wasn't sure if the warning was for him or Hector. "Ah, General Hector ... I am uncertain of the precedence, here. I don't believe my long-ago lessons in protocol covered this situation, or if they did, I am ashamed to admit I have forgotten. Perhaps you can illuminate me with your understanding of it?"

"Of course, Lord Doze. There is no question of your precedence. Mine is second, as the Council Guard is senior to yours. Warrior Dmitri is third, as your Master of Guard. Mage Dacien is fourth, followed by Warlord Bryant, followed by Warrior Milos, followed by Warrior Chelm."

"I've had my guard for ... decades," the small brown minotaur said. "It is not that I doubt you, it just that I do not understand how my guard would be considered junior."

"It is not a question of time, but authority, Lord Doze," Hector said. "Your guard is on your authority, the Council Guard is under the authority of the Master of the Council - Lord Cresphontes, as are you. Therefore, the Council Guard is considered the senior service. It is only when two guards have an equal authority - such as, say, Lord Green's and Lord Fog's, that longevity is considered.

"I see," said Sasha, and nodded. "I am glad someone understands the all the niceties of protocol. And now that they are settled?"

"Everything is in readiness for our departure, Lord Doze."

They met a larger group of warriors outside the city, and set out walking. "We're going through mountains," Hector explained to Dacien. "We've considered putting a better road in, but ..."

"Political issues," Sasha said. "This is a border with Aglacea, and they are, hmmm, closely allied with Ungoliant, for all that we get along with them well. But we want no easy roads directly from Ungoliant to Lycaili."

"That's blunt," Hector said.

Lord Doze shook his head. "It's the truth. Would you rest easy if there were a tunnel - say, like the Ouroborous - Lycaili tunnel, between us and Aglacea?"

"No," admitted Hector. "Although if we could block it off ..."

"I've heard that argument," said Lord Doze. "You're talking years of effort by the Council, work that would fall primarily on Lords Green and Fog. It's just wasteful to devote that kind of resource to something that we might need to collapse, and building it to collapse makes it less safe, anyway." Sasha chuckled. "Besides, do you really want Teodor and Xavien to be working together? For years?"

"They seemed to get along ... better, when I was there," offered Dacien. "Not because of me, I mean, just that they seemed ... more at ease."

"That's when both of them are on their best behavior," Lord Doze said. "Nobody can keep that up for years. Believe me, Dacien, much as I love them both, they are best off apart."

"You don't think men can change?"

"I think you meant bulls," Lord Doze said, with a hint of warning that was clearly for him, "and yes, I do. Xavien and Teodor, however are ... too inherently opposite. Te craves new possibilities, while Xavien is focused on making certain things work. Very different focuses. They will never be comfortable with each other."

"They seemed ..."

"They respect one another," Lord Doze said. "And as long as they remember that, they get along. Teodor, for all his frustration at Xavien's stodginess - and he is stodgy - knows that nobody has sacrificed more or works harder than Xavien. Xavien, despite the constant assault of new ideas from Teodor, knows that he - Teodor, I mean - is brilliant and innovative and valuable."

"Oh," said Dacien, thoughtfully. "That's good to know."

The brown minotaur grinned. "Oh, yes, many good things to know." He glanced around. "As long as we're talking, I think I wanted to talk to you about lenses, and how we use them ..."

Most of the magic of the minotaurs, Dacien found out, was not the work of the mages themselves, but magicians, minotaurs who used a kind of ritual to duplicate what mages could do. The rituals, however, were lengthy, complex, and specific - so specific that every ritual had to be altered a little to fit the exact needs of the moment. Making those adjustments was itself high art, difficult and tedious, and there was an entire Guild of Magicians who practiced and maintained the art. Mages were called in for things for which the rituals would be too long, too complicated, or simply didn't exist or wouldn't work - like the farspeaking spell. Theoretically, one could create it as a ritual - if one knew exactly where the particular person who would be contacted was, but the magician would be so engrossed in the ritual that he wouldn't be able to communicate. Even so, what ritual could do was impressive. Sasha explained how magicians could make wood impervious to insects, make stone harder, keep pottery from chipping, but the greatest use was preserving food.

They talked about magic, ritual, and magicians until they stopped for a quick lunch, cold tea, bread, cheese, meat, and pears. Sasha quizzed Dacien through the meal. Dacien kept an eye on Nestor, since the human had been quiet the entire time. A little closer inspection revealed a slightly dazed look in Nestor's eyes, and Dacien looked back at the brown minotaur. Sasha just shrugged unapologetically. "A little touch of, hmm, distraction," he said. "He won't notice, it keeps him quiet, out of trouble, and ... Te was not jesting when he said trouble would be bad."

"Te - Lord Fog, I mean, said that doing that kind of thing was ... well, not done."

"Details, apprentice, the details matter with mindwork," Sasha said. "Removing memories or changing them, that's not done." The brown minotaur gestured. "But that leaves a lot that is permitted. Sometimes memories, painful memories, unpleasant memories, are suppressed. Not removed, but ... quieted for a time, to let someone, a minotaur or human, work through them. False sensory input, mental illusions, those are permitted. And that's what the human is seeing, now. Just a long march." The brown minotaur gave a sly grin. "Perhaps he's seen a few forts that might not really be there, along with one or two brigades ..."

Dacien couldn't keep the look of surprise off his face. "Isn't he supposed to see ... whatever it is that I'm supposed to see? So he can bear witness?"

"So he will," Lord Doze said quietly. "And if his witness convinces his superiors to stay out of our lands ... isn't that a benefit to the humans as well as to us?"

"But ..."

"It's a lie?"

"Yes."

"It's a lie," said Sasha. "I could say it's a lie that represents a bigger truth, but the fact remains that I'm lying to him. Yes."

"That's ..."

"The humans invaded us," Sasha said patiently. "Not we them, they invaded us. That is war; and deception is part of war. We may - and I stress may - permit this human to escape, to tell his masters what we want them to hear. And we want them to hear the dangers before them, and the strength and depth of our defenses."

"It just seems ..."

"Like something Teodor wouldn't do?"

"Yes."

"Teodor is occasionally unrealistic," Sasha said quietly. "I love him dearly, but I think there is a place for some level of pragmatism."

"What drug is he taking?" asked Dacien.

"Lantail extract," Sasha said. "It prevents casual addiction to minotaurs, in humans, but it's mildly poisonous."

"Teodor warned me about it," Dacien said.

"It's harmless to us," Sasha said. "And tasty, I should add. But it can easily sicken a human, and it is poisonous as well. Even if he doesn't sicken, it will ... poison him."

"But," Dacien said, "it can be fixed."

"Yes. As I understand it, it will poison him," Sasha said. "It is poisoning him. But it won't kill him, and once he stops taking it, he'll recover. And in the very worst case, if it does so much damage that he cannot recover on his own, well, Xavien, Metrios, or Trand can repair the damage." Sasha looked thoughtful for a moment. "A magician might be able to repair it as well. I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I'm no magician," Sasha said. "Lantail damages the liver and spleen; I don't really understand how, and I've never taken any great interest in that sort of ritual. I've no idea if there are rituals designed to heal that. It's not something that really comes up very often. A human would have to take a lot of lantail before he risked serious damage - it's not something that would happen accidentally, and humans don't generally poison themselves, except accidentally."

"No, not if they're addicted to minotaurs," Dacien said. "They wouldn't dream of it."

"Not all humans are so addicted," Sasha said. "There are far more humans than minotaur. Just ... the ones near us are so affected."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" asked Dacien.

"That's ... a question you'll have to decide for yourself," Sasha said after a long pause. "I don't know that my opinion should carry much weight, and ... I think you might well have a unique opinion on it, and I look forward to hearing it."

The afternoon was much the same; a quick-paced walk (and Dacien noticed that Nestor was being carried, because he was unable to keep up with the pace set by the minotaur) and conversation about magic. It was similar to what Teodor had explained to him, in carefully rationed explanations, except that Sasha seemed to see no need for rationing, and was delighted to answer questions.

Still, Sasha was strictly an air mage. He didn't know much more about fire, or earth, or even water magic than what Teodor had already explained to Dacien. But air magic, that he knew weill. Air, Sasha explained, was the realm of the mind. Thought, perception, experience, opinion, decision, resolution, loyalty, intuition - all of these things were real, and yet not tangible. "And there are strict rules, about what sort of art is proper, and what is not," Sasha said. "But like all such rules, there are areas of gray. In general, it is better to avoid those gray areas."

"So what was done to Dapple, for example, was air magic."

"I think so," Sasha said, after a moment. "Some of it. I am not entirely sure about all of it. No mage has ever had much effect on time. Time may well be something altogether different. And ... to be honest with you, any of these realms of magic differ from mage to mage. Both Teodor and I, for example, are skilled mages of air. And yet I can, if I choose, read minds with ease, place the perception of my voice in the minds of others at a fair distance - farther than Teodor can - construct delusions and illusions far more swiftly than he." Sasha shrugged. "It's true. I can. But Teodor's remarkable spell of non-discernment is one I have great troubles constructing. Teodor is better at ... group constructions, might be the right term for it. Something that many see, or perceive. My magic is more one-on-one."

"That's why he wanted to send Dapple to you," Dacien said.

"Yes. Our difference in skills is far more a matter of degree than ability, although the difference in ability is there, but it may be that I may tease out some information that he could not, or ... perhaps bring some ease to his mind, if it is disturbed, or damaged." Sasha looked a little sad. "Although even in the best case, I doubt I can do much. Minds have a tendency to heal themselves, and Dapple ... well, he seems fairly stable and settled, and I would be fearful of disturbing whatever peace he has." The brown minotaur looked pensive for a moment. "Meddling with the settlements, the foundations of a mind is a fearsome thing, and the consequences are often unguessable. It is not something to be done lightly."

"But it was done to him?"

"Yes," Sasha said. "Brutally. Where I might, might, and then with fear and trembling shift with a feather, some mage slashed with a sabre. At least three times, and so deeply that I would guess those are simply the scars that remain. Other, lesser, but still grievous wounds are invisible behind those ... cuts, I might call them, for lack of a better term. It disturbs me to see it."

"That's, that's pretty much what Teodor said."

"Teodor is more squeamish than I, and I think he is more outraged at the act. I am less upset by the act and more by the nature of the act. It is ... I'm not sure how to put it. Metaphor is a poor tool, apprentice, language lacks the words for these concepts but we are not limited to words, and this is something I would have you understand." The brown minotaur did not change his stride, or even glance to the side at Dacien, but he

It was then Dacien felt the full, paralyzing might of Lord Doze. He felt his own power react but Dacien was motionless, held still, unable to move or even think as Lord Doze showed him what had been done to Dapple, let him share the memory of a complex and intricate beauty of a mind - Teodor's, Dacien realized - and then the comparison to the mutilated remains of Dapple. It was the difference between an ancient, stately oak and a clumsily pruned bush, a bush that ought to have been a tree, pruned and twisted into a contorted shape.

The contact lasted for only a moment before Sash broke the connection, and the impression, or immaterial reality, or whatever it was faded, but Dacien understood the enormity of the damage, as he had not, as he could not, not without experiencing however vicariously.

Dacien felt sick, nauseated by the experience, and turned to vomit just as his stomach settled in a much gentler caress of Sasha's soporific magic.

"Ugly, isn't it?"

"Yes," Dacien whispered. "But ... it took Teodor ... why didn't he see ..."

"Teodor," Sasha said, "didn't see it at first because he didn't look." The brown minotaur glanced at Dacien's confused expression. "He had no reason to. And ... he doesn't perceive things the way I do, at all." Sasha grimaced. "He has the oddest internal visualizations ... all waves and curves and movement, I think it's because his magic is water-dominant. He thinks in terms of shifts and changes."

"You know how he thinks?"

"Of course I do," Sasha said. "I keep an eye on all the mages - including myself - to make sure we're thinking clearly. A mage who isn't thinking clearly is a great danger."

"Like ..." and Dacien cut himself off.

Yes, like Lord Ember, he heard. I am surprised Teodor would have mentioned that. A pause, and then, Luzeil forced him to tell, I see. I trust you will never be indiscreet with that.

No! thought Dacien.

Good, although the thought wasn't even that, just a general feeling of approval. Teodor's mental communications had always been clear words.

"I do want to be clear. I will not influence your opinions or alter your memories without consulting you," Sasha said. "I know Xavien hopes otherwise."

"That's not surprising," Dacien replied.

"In older times, air mages were expected to ensure clan loyalty," Sasha said. "It's not stated explicitly, but it's clear enough from the histories. Lycaili was one of the first clans to renounce the practice." He grimaced. "It is not a task I would relish."

"No," said Dacien, thinking back to Dapple.

"No," said Sasha. "It's nowhere near that level of interference. Most minotaur are already loyal; it would be a matter of ... strengthening that loyalty, making sure it would not bend."

"Could you ... stop reading my mind? Please?"

"No, not really," Sasha said. "But unless I make the attempt, I only get the, well, context, I suppose, of your words and thoughts. Which I do need to monitor, apprentice. It's my responsibility to teach you. If I don't keep any eye on you, how am I supposed to know if you've misunderstood me?"

"By asking questions, like anyone else would."

Sasha smiled. "I am not anyone else. And you are a mage, Dacien. The destructive power at your command - or rather, that you are capable of because it is not yet at your command, or ... no. A slip or mistake on your part could cause disaster beyond your imagination. Given your unusual and apparently unique abilities, it might be impossible to undo that disaster. You could kill hundreds, thousands, of humans and minotaur. Especially since whatever magic you can work seems unusual and strange - different, than what we know and are used to. Most minotaur, had they the power you do, would be grateful that someone was ... watching them, prepared to stop any calamity in the making. Perhaps you do not feel so."

Dacien took a breath. "I ... I do, I suppose, only ... I don't. I mean ..."

I know what you mean, Sasha thought calmly. You agree with the premise and logic, but you do not feel the truth of it intuitively.

That ... that sounded right. "Yes," Dacien said. "But it's sort of ..." He paused.

Unsettling and disturbing?

"Very."

"Yes, it is. Get used to it, apprentice. I am going to keep a metaphorical eye on you."

But what about when he wanted to ...

You'll just have to ask me to join you, and Dacien received a feeling of deep and fortunately good-natured amusement. We're both bulls. And you're my apprentice. It's expected, and not just because we'll be doing lensing work.

"When will we start that?"

"I wanted to start tonight," Sasha said, "but Teodor begged me to wait. He said that new experiments in magic and you go horribly wrong and I should wait until we were in a safe place." The brown minotaur snorted. "I finally told him I'd wait, if only to please him."

"Well, he's, uh, right," Dacien said feelingly. "Things have gone really wrong."

"From what you and Teodor said, your attempt at using a lens went satisfactorily," Sasha said. "In fact, it went better than anyone might have expected."

"Yes, but ..."

The euphoria, yes, actually, I know, but I'm the one facing it, not you. Still, Te is probably right in that we should wait until we have a more secluded space. I think I can teach you how to be easier on your lens, too. "I have much experience with that." Sasha gave him the twist of a grin. "For now, I think we'll just discuss magic ..."

And they did. Exhaustively, Dacien thought, and Sasha's questioning was ... not relentless, but thorough, almost painfully thorough. Sasha would talk about mind and thought and what a mage could do, and should do, and should not do, when a mage should ask permission and when a mage need not (it did not strike Dacien as surprising that working on humans rarely required permission). They spent the afternoon talking, breaking only as they entered camp. The brown minotaur again surprised Dacien by helping set up the camp. Dacien didn't mind; erecting tents and digging firepits were old and well-understood tasks. That the tents folded down small enough to fit even in the large backpacks the minotaurs surprised him less. He'd seen more unusual examples of minotaur ingenuity.

Being drafted to help with cooking did surprise him, but he didn't mind. All he had to do was slice potatoes, and that was a chore he was more than familiar with. Sasha was talking with the two blues, Hector and Bryant, and they finally nodded, and went off.

What astounded Dacien was that Sasha walked over to him, sat down, and started cutting up potatoes, too.

Although some of the guards stayed up after dinner, talking quietly or taking their sentry positions, Sasha indicated to Dacien that they should go to their tent. The bedrolls were thin but Dacien quickly found that didn't matter. Even with the discussion of magic and minotaur ethics whirling in his head, the day's exertions were still enough to send him to sleep, especially with the lethargic soft wash of Sasha's power next to him. Dacien just let it drift over him, and send him to sleep.

Morning meant weapons practice with Hector, his Master of Guard, followed by a tempus lesson with Bryant, his Master of Time. The huge blue minotaur asked him about his single lesson with Kanail, and nodded. "I doubt you got very far."

"No," Dacien said.

"That may be because you didn't have the very first lessons," Bryant said with a smile.

"But Kanail said ..."

"And he was correct, but I know you did not get the instruction that a growing minotaur would have, for all that you look like you should," Bryant said softly. "You have not learned how to breathe, and have never counted heartbeats. Have you?"

"No," Dacien said, a little surprised. "So you know ..." he paused, somehow unwilling to say it.

"That you were human, before you became minotaur?" Bryant said calmly.

A wave of relief swept over Dacien as he realized he wouldn't have to keep that secret. "Yes." The word must have come out with a lot more emotion than he'd intended.

The soft blue muzzle nodded. "I know it's still a secret from many, but Cresphontes knew your guard would have to know." He snorted. "I'm not saying we'd guess, because it seems so ... strange, but we'd figure out something was strange, soon enough, I think." He smiled again. "All of us know, Dacien, all your guard. We are supposed to keep your secret, and we will, but we had to know."

"So ... you're fine with it? Just ... just like that? I mean, I'm not even sure how I feel about it."

Bryant shook his head. "Something else you don't know is that all of us, from Hector to Uruz, every bull of your guard, was personally recruited by Cresphontes. Lord Cresphontes believes ..." and the bull paused. "He is not your partisan, not the way your father - Teodor, I mean - is, but, he would like to be, I think. He wants to think that you will be everything Teodor hopes for."

"That ... I don't know what Teodor hopes for," Dacien admitted. "I'm still not sure why he ... did this."

"From what I know of Lord Fog, I'm sure he had a hundred reasons, and some of his hopes, like any parent's, are probably more than a little contradictory," Bryant said. "But according to Cresphontes, you have a unique power that has to be protected while you ..." and the bull stopped. "I suppose I was going to say grow up, but you've already done that. Grow into, that's probably a better way to put it."

"Grow into what?"

Bryant snorted again. "Who can know? I'm sure you were honorable, whatever that means for a feral human. Can you turn that into honorable for a bull?"

More expectations, and Dacien still didn't feel like he understood them. "You think I can't?"

"Lord Cresphontes would not have given you twenty of his own guard if he thought you couldn't," Bryant said. "And I've been in his guard long enough to know that ... he's usually right. But ..."

"But?" Dacien prompted.

"How are you supposed to know what an honorable bull is?" Bryant paused, taken aback at Dacien's expression. "No, no, that's not what I mean, I'm not impugning Lord Fog. He has Cresphontes' greatest trust. What I mean is, you haven't grown up around us, you may look like one of us, but you're no more a Lycaili bull than some random Ungoliant warlord would be."

"I don't know the culture, you're saying."

"Exactly," Bryant said. "So Lord Cresphontes has asked - told - us to teach it to you, and the best way to do that, he thought, was by example." A blue arm waved out at the camp of minotaurs.

"He did? I mean, you didn't look like that, when we met earlier."

"I didn't know," Bryant said. "Don't misunderstand me; I thought you were gorgeous, and I thought you were, ah, with Kanail. And I was pretty unhappy, at the time. I ... I will never be with Hector, but I love working with him."

Wait, gorgeous? Dacien looked down at himself. Gorgeous? "Yeah, you said you wanted to work with Hector."

"Hector was Lord Cresphontes' Master of Guard," Bryant said seriously.

That shook Dacien. Master of Guard wasn't merely a position of great trust, it was a position of greatest trust. Why would Cresphontes ... and the answer came to him immediately. Cresphontes wanted not merely someone he trusted, but someone everyone knew he trusted, to watch him, either to vouch for him, or ... decide that he wasn't, shouldn't be, a member of Lycaili. Or perhaps even a minotaur. What orders had Cresphontes given Hector?

Orders that would, undoubtedly, be carried out, regardless of Teodor's wishes, or his wishes, or even Sasha's wishes. What standards was he being measured against? And ... how long did he have to meet them?

"You weren't his Master of Time, though, were you?"

"Oh, no, no, that's Vespasian."

"Grandmaster Vespasian."

Bryan nodded. "Yes."

"And ... are you ..."

"I'm a Master, not a Grandmaster," Bryant said seriously. "Although I hope to achieve that level of mastery."

"Don't you need to study with a Grandmaster?"

"I'm getting lessons from Chelm," Bryant said. "Which is ..."

"What?"

"He's half my age," Bryant said with a smile. "And he's ... intense. He's good, very good, I must say, much better than I expected, but ... intense."

"Serious," Dacien said.

"Always serious."

"Teodor is like that, too," Dacien said with a smile.

"And you?"

Dacien spread his hands. "Well, they're both really good ... bulls." Using the word felt weird, even now. "I mean, I didn't know ... this was going to happen. Teodor ..."

"He didn't tell you?" Bryant asked, surprised.

"No," Dacien said. "He didn't think I needed to know." He paused, and a sense of fairness made him add, "He was afraid that if anyone found out, it would be forbidden."

"I ..." and it was Bryant's turn to consider. "I know it surprised Lord Chresphontes." He thought about the Patriarch for a moment. "I don't know if he'd forbid it."

"I think he was more concerned with the Council."

"Yes," Bryant said thoughtfully. "I can imagine one or two who probably had a poor reaction."

Dacien just nodded.

"Not that you should be telling me what happened in the mage's council, but ... I think you already knew that."

"I guessed," Dacien said. "But ... it's strange. I keep expecting ..."

"What?"

"I keep expecting to have someone say I'm not a real minotaur," Dacien said. "That's I'm a fake. I feel like a fraud, really."

You are not a fake, Sasha said, silently, and Dacien turned to see the smaller brown. Although I understand why you feel that way. Lord Doze looked at Bryant questioningly. "This does not appear to be a tempus lesson."

Bryant smiled up at Lord Doze. "Everything is a lesson, Lord Doze. And some things need to be settled before we move on to others. I was about ..." he paused, and his expression turned serious. "As you command, Lord Doze. I will inform Hector.

Do that, and Dacien knew Sasha had included him in the conversation deliberately.

The reason all accept you as minotaur, Dacien, is because there is precedent. In the old days - the very old days, long before the Xarbydis-Scylla war, deserving humans were transformed into minotaur. It is a settled question. The only argument remaining is whether or not you were, or are, sufficiently deserving, and to question that is to question Lord Fog's judgment.

"And that can't be done?"

Certainly, should anyone wish to provoke a duel with your brother. Chelm has made it more than clear that anyone casting doubt on his father's judgment or your worth will face him in a circle.

"He's that dangerous?"

He is a tempus grandmaster, Sasha said. And he is reputedly as good with a sword as he is with time. Since my magic does not work in time, if he wished to kill me, I would be dead, unless Hector or Bryant could stop him.

"What about your Master of Time?"

Milos? He's a Master, but he's nowhere near Chelm's level. Or Bryant's, for that matter. Bryant will almost certainly be a grandmaster eventually. Milos is skilled, skilled enough that Bryant could learn quite a lot from him, but he lacks the talent to go beyond that.

"So anyone can make Master, but Grandmaster is ... something more?"

One still needs raw talent to learn the skills of a Master, but ... less. Master is more determination and practice. Grandmaster is tremendous talent alongside that ferocious determination and practice.

"That makes sense," Dacien said. "Uh, can I ask why you're talking to me ... like that?"

I am wondering if you will pick up the ability to do it yourself. This, too, is a skill that requires the right talent to learn, but it is difficult to teach. I suspect every mage does it differently. I know Lord Fog requires a great deal of concentration to place his thought's in another's mind, where for me it is easier than talking out loud.

"You're saying he overthinks it?"

I would not say such a thing, but that is a possibility. Another is that the mental aspects of his power distress him. He has never been comfortable with entering another's mind.

"You're in my mind?"

Somewhat. I am placing my subverbalized thoughts in your head; I'm not reading your thoughts, although I can feel you thinking them, just as I can feel the minds of the minotaur around us, in the sense of knowing their general emotional state, calm, ready, worried, and so on. Should I look closer, I could intrude upon them and begin to sense their own subverbal conversation - the things we think to ourselves, but do not say. With yet more effort, I could begin to query the state of their thoughts, understand their opinions and biases and knowledge. There are levels and levels and levels of conscious and preconcious mentality. Since we don't know what your talents are, it only makes sense to see what you can learn. It would be nice to have another mentalist to work with. Lord Winter travels, and, as I said, Lord Fog doesn't seem entirely comfortable with this sort of magic.

"He says he's not very good."

I think he could become more skilled. Perhaps ...

"Yes?"

You could try.

"Is it a spell?"

No, although I could probably create a spell to enable this speech. I don't think it would be a good idea, though.

Dacien formed the thought, why not , and ... then what?

"Say something to me again, please?"

Mentally, you mean, I expect? This time, Dacien extended whatever part of himself watched magic, and looked, paid attention to what was happening, and ... he couldn't see a thing. Just the steady lethargic drag of Sasha's magic, no different than before.

"Yes. Again, please."

Are you only now paying attention magically? The brown minotaur shook his head. You need to pay attention, Dacien, all the time. Always.

Something hit him - a hand, Bryant's hand, across his head. "Pay attention," Bryant said.

"You see?" asked Sasha.

Over the next few days Dacien realized that all of his guard were part of his training, not merely Hector and Bryant. Fortunately, he had his own military training to draw on, and it helped - a lot. Minotaur warriors, he soon realized, were a lot more independent than human soldiers, but that made sense. In tempus, they would be moving at different speeds, and there wasn't as much need for the kind of close coordination that formed the basis of human tactics. It meant they had a tremendous need for situational awareness, and a different sort of coordination. They needed to know what each other could do, and how to move to support their comrades. These minotaur had been working together, Dacien realized, for decades. He was good, he had the basics of swordwork down thoroughly and was quickly picking up the minotaur variants, but he just wasn't in their league, tempus or no tempus.

Sasha was far more forthcoming about, well, everything, so his hesitancy when asked about color surprised Dacien.

"It's ... a sensitive topic," Sasha finally said.

"I didn't mean to ask ... it's just, it gets mentioned, here and there, and nobody explains it."

"No," said Sasha. "Nobody would. Teodor," he said, and then turned the statement into a question. "Teodor did not explain? Even ... an explanation that ..." the brown minotaur trailed off. "Well. Obviously not."

"I don't even understand why it's a sensitive topic," Dacien admitted. "Other than that roan marque blanc is unusual."

"I've never seen another," admitted Sasha. "As far as I know, it's really just ebon crosses that form marque; it's the ebon crosses with pristine that form marque blanc and really, that just means they're more ebon than pristine rather than the other way round. So ebon marque blanc and argent marque noir pretty much mean the same thing, a pristine-ebon cross."

"And I'm obviously not ebon," Dacien said.

"Yes," said Sasha. "Roan, and ... pristine." The mage sighed. "I've no idea where pristine comes from. I always thought Te was pure roan."

"Dapple, I think," Dacien said absently.

"Dah ..." Sasha swallowed the word as he started. "Dacien, do not repeat that. It may be so. It may not be so."

"That would present a problem?"

"I ... don't actually know," Sasha admitted. "Lycaili doesn't hold minotaur slaves. I expect that Lord Fog intended to free Dapple, not take his name."

"Does this have anything to do with colors?"

"Some," admitted Sasha. He looked around, and spotted one of the two blue minotaurs. "Bryant, would you join us?"

"It would be my great pleasure, Lord Doze. With what may I assist you?"

"Difficult questions," Sasha said. "Dacien has asked ... well, he's not aware of what he's asked, but he's asked about bloodlines."

"I did?"

"Without asking about them?" said Bryant.

"He has noticed that ... some colors of minotaurs carry ... different expectations, shall we say."

"Ah," said Bryant, nodding. "Yes. That."

"They do?"

"Yes they do, My Lord. I take it Teodor didn't talk much about it."

"No," said Dacien. "He ..." Dacien thought for a moment, and then smiled. "I love him dearly, but he wasn't much for explaining anything."

"No," said Sasha. "Well. Back in the beginning, the Creators made us ... what we are. I don't pretend to know what they intended, or even what they made us, but they made us, and each of the original minotaurs was a bloodline, further separated into colors. Perhaps, a hundred or so of each. To some the Creators gifted greater tempus ability, to some the predisposition to become mages, to some greater martial tendencies ... to some greater intelligence and creativity."

"And those tendencies come down through the bloodlines?"

"So it is thought," Bryant said. "By some."

"By most," said Lord Doze. "And not ... well. Not without some cause."

"It is a sensitive question," Bryant said again.

"So Lord Doze told me when I asked him," Dacien said. "But ... I think I need to understand it."

"You do," Sasha sighed. "I just don't know where to start."

"We could start with the unfortunate conception that the smaller minotaur are less competent," Bryant said. "Lord Doze himself, for example, is brown."

"Yes," said Sasha. "It remains a wonder to many that I am considered a clan lord."

"Only to many outside Lycaili, and who do not know you, Lord Doze. And there are a number of brown warlords and generals."

"But no white ones," Sasha said.

"One white warlord," Bryant corrected. "Tarsus. A few blacks."

"Blacks?"

"Brown, white, and black are the colors of the ... lesser minotaur," Sasha said. "We're smaller, we're considered less intelligent, and we have less tempus potential. Very few lesser minotaur achieve master status, and in the entire history of Lycaili, only one achieved grandmaster status."

"But in other clans?"

"Only a handful of clans permit lesser minotaur to vie for warlord or master status," Sasha said. "Even though blacks have reasonable tempus potential, better than that of brown or white."

"Oh," said Dacien.

"Whites are considered menials, barely better than humans. Browns talented servants, blacks are meant to be warriors. Both whites and blacks are considered to be stupid," Sasha said. "And, to be honest, there may be some truth to it. I myself was an overseer working on agricultural projects before Lord Green spotted my emergence as a mage." Sasha was quiet for a while, and finally added, "There was some talk of making me a lens."

A lens. "That's what's done with human mages."

"Yes," Sasha said. "Lord Green ... initiated me as a lens, and I think there was the expectation that I would never exceed that." The brown minotaur was clearly troubled. "But, I must say, that Lord Green was also the one who sponsored me to the council, and insisted that I would be an excellent mage and addition to Lycaili." The minotaur took a deep breath. "It is the tradition of Lycaili to judge on one's merits."

"On a minotaur's merits," Dacien said.

"Yes." Sasha looked up. "It rather ... surprised me. I'll admit even I wasn't sure if Lord Green was right; I was such an addict. But Lord Green and Lord Ember insisted I would grow into my responsibilities, and Lord Winter agreed, and so ..."

"Lord Fog didn't?"

"This predates Lord Fog's ascension, or, in fact, Lord Fog." Sasha looked at Bryant. "What did you think?"

"I'm just a little younger than Lord Fog, Lord Doze," Bryant said. "You should ask Hector."

"You're ..." started Dacien.

"Ah, but I think that's why Lord Doze called me over," Bryant said. "Where he's brown, I'm blue. Only indigo is considered to be a more capable bloodline. A blue expects to become a tempus master and then a grandmaster, a warlord and then a general."

"Yes," said Sasha. "Just as a pristine is expected to become an armsmaster and Learned, or an ebon a general and tempus master."

"So ... what's expected of a roan?"

"What isn't expected of a roan?" said Bryant, with a laugh. "The expectation is that a roan will be ... eccentric. Inventive. Brilliant in non-conventional ways. Dangerous, very dangerous, because a roan defies easy description or categorization."

"Lord Fog is ..."

"Very roan," Sasha said, as Bryant said, "Entirely roan," and the two of them looked at each other.

"And Chelm?"

"Not so much," said Bryant.

"I hate to correct you," Sasha said thoughtfully, "but ... Warrior Chelm is at least as roan as Lord Fog."

"Well, he's accomplished, I'll admit, but ... eccentric?" Bryant said questioningly.

"Yes," said Sasha. "He is."

"Not to change the subject - but why did you call him Warrior?" Dacien interrupted. "Just now?"

Bryant and Sasha exchanged a look, and Sasha admitted, "I'm not entirely sure. I just know it's right." He looked at Bryant. "Can you explain it?"

Bryant nodded. "Yes, I can. First, Chelm is serving under Sasha's Master of Time, Milos, who is neither a warlord nor a tempus master. He's very skilled, but skill alone does not make one a master. Please understand that if it did, Milos would be a master. Following me?"

Dacien nodded.

"Because he's serving as Milos's second, Chelm is not properly addressed by any title that would outstrip Milos, who is his commander. That leaves warrior as the only honorific that Lord Doze can use. Now, of course all the warriors in Lord Doze's retinue are warriors, so calling Chelm by that specific title is an acknowledgment that Chelm has forgone his honorifics, and so it acknowledges his achievements without ... bringing reproach on Milos," Bryant paused again. "Does that make sense?"

"No," said Dacien, "but I think I understand it."

Sasha looked up at Bryant just as Bryant turned to look down at Sasha, and Dacien thought they both mouthed the same word. Roan.

"It seems a little silly, that's all. It's ... it's just the way you do things. The way we do things," Dacien said, deliberately including himself. "And I just have to learn it. Thank you, Bryant."

"You are welcome, My Lord," Bryant said with a smile.

The House of the Lost was a huge rambling fortress of mismatched gray stone blocks, apparently built and rebuilt and re-rebuilt over the three thousand years it had stood there. The oldest sections were worn and even collapsed - an unusual state of affairs for minotaur construction. Some of the newer sections, he thought, might even have been built from blocks taken from the older ones. Dacien easily recognized the the spiky green plants with long purple flowers that surrounded the front as lavender, and the scent that rolled off it just confirmed it. Several paths led up to the house, or at least the newer sections of the house. The older ones seemed abandoned, their disrepair protected by a moat of waist-high, fragrant shrubbery.

Further out, humans were working in the fields around the stone colossuls, and a large ebon minotaur came out to meet them. At least, Dacien has assumed from his size he was ebon, but his pelt was not the the shimmering refractive black he'd expected, but a dull, simple black. Even his horns, small and jutting, were a dull black, and Dacien realized he was seeing dye. This minotaur could be of any color, and still look dull black. Bryant nodded when Dacien whispered the question to him.

"They all die themselves dull black," Bryant said, very quietly, but not quietly enough to keep the stranger from hearing. He turned to them and gave them the twisted muzzle of a minotaur smile before turning back.

"Please be welcome to the House of the Lost," the minotaur said, looking over them. "I see some I recognize, and others who make this pilgrimage for the first time. You are welcome, each of you, and I thank you for coming. We have rooms prepared, a servant to see to your needs, and we will have dinner. This will be your last meal before returning from Xarbydis." He turned, and began walking up towards the stone building.

"Xarbydis?"

"Yes," whispered Bryant. "That's where we're going."

"I thought it was destroyed."

"It was," Bryant said.

"Hush," said Hector, stepping towards them. "We'll talk at dinner."

Bryant shrugged, and Dacien, caught between them, followed them up the path to the house that meandered through the lavender.

When he'd been human, the room he had would have been perfect. As a minotaur, it was a little cramped, even with nothing more than a surprisingly thin bed, a chest with an ingenious set of drawers, and a vase with sprigs of dried lavender. Having Sasha and Hector in as well did nothing to make it seem larger.

"I suppose I should have mentioned something about this," Sasha said.

"No," said Hector.

"Yes," said Sasha. "You keep expecting Dacien to have all the experience a minotaur of his apparent age would have, and you need to stop."

"But ..."

"I think I know a little more about this than you," Sasha said.

"You're Lord Doze."

"I noticed that, yes," Sasha said. "Dacien, dinner is going to be cold and all-vegetable, and it will be followed by several hours of dull standing while the brothers perform a ritual - but that ritual will keep us safe. And it's critical that we do it properly if we don't want to die."

"Die?"

"Whatever Scylla did to poison Xarbydis is still ..." and Sasha paused. "That's not entirely so. It's not as deadly as it was a thousand years ago, and someday it may fade or wear out or vanish. But it's still more than sufficiently deadly today."

"Yes," Hector said, all traces of humor gone. "Very."

It is also important that you restrain your own personal magic, both during the ritual, and while we are in Xarbydis. Do not attempt to thwart or augment the magic. Do not attempt to dissipate the magics remaining in Xarbydis. Fascinating as it would be to see if you could, the explanations required afterward would be difficult, since it is not possible to counter creator magics. Do you understand me?

Dacien nodded, and then said, out loud, "Yes, Master."

Good. This is a more difficult question, and has no right or wrong answer. I can place a block in your mind to keep you from doing that. What do you think of that?

Place a block? Dacien paled, and then realized that would be a trivial thing for a mindbender like Sasha. Sasha could ...

Yes, I could. But there are strict ethical requirements which I shall teach you, and which you will learn. And I abide by those requirements.

"I don't think I need that," Dacien said finally.

An excellent answer.

"But you could place an ... inhibition, right? One that would keep me from saying something accidentally, but not an absolute block."

I could. Is that what you want?

"No," said Dacien, after another moment. "I need to learn to be discreet for myself."

The brown minotaur smiled. "Excellent, apprentice, excellent! You pass with honor."

"I ..." Dacien paused. "Would asking for a block have been dishonorable, then?"

"No!" said Sasha, looking perturbed. "No! That's not ... no. I was pleased because you saw a better answer, and brought it to my attention. Whether you wanted it or not is beside the point."

Dacien nodded. "I understand, I think. No, I do, I'm pretty sure I do. Thank you, Master."

"In this case, I was hoping you'd do that," Sasha went on. "In the realm of mind, almost anything that can be imagined can be done." Sasha snorted with amusement. "In some ways, it might have been better if Lord Fog and I had exchanged our talents. I can barely imagine what he would think of to do with my power."

"He might do nothing," Dacien said. "He thinks any kind of mindbending is inherently wrong."

Sasha shrugged. "He's wrong. It is the use to which we put things that is right or wrong. Things themselves are just things; right or wrong is in us. Although, I grant that the scope of misuse of mind magics is tremendous, and there is far more ill that may be done than good." Sasha took a breath. "And he does have those talents, and at least once, he has used them extensively for the betterment of others."

Lord Ember, Dacien thought, and had the pleasure of seeing Sasha look startled.

The brown minotaur regarded Dacien thoughtfully, and then then simply nodded his head in acknowledgment.

"And there's Dapple," Dacien continued.

"Dapple?" asked Hector. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't know," Sasha said. "Please explain."

Dacien looked from one to the other, surprised. "Dapple is a gentle, sweet bull, and he's not evil; what was done to him was evil."

Sasha and Hector simply exchanged the roan look again.

"That's ... I know that's the way Teodor thinks of it," Dacien said. "And I agree."

"And that's probably right," Sasha said softly.

"But it's not how ninja are described," Hector added.

"No," Sasha agreed.

Dacien had feared the meal would be dull; after Sasha's description of it as cold and vegetable, but although it was cold, it was anything but dull. Salad lightly sauced with sour wine and apples was followed by cooked but cool sliced potatoes and some other, similar root vegetable with olives and peppers - it was delicious. Hearty bean paste was stuffed into thin skins of ... of ... Dacien wasn't sure, but it, too, was delicious, as was the thick cool soup that tasted of cucumber and mint. The meal concluded with peeled soaked in sweetened wine, with berries.

"Nothing hot, nor meat, nor animal," the Brother said.

The ritual had an interesting start, as Sasha and the Senior Brother clashed over the inclusion of Nestor. The thought of taking a human into Xarbydis upset him, and Dacien drew closer to Sasha, interested in the question. Nestor was merely human, it seemed, and Xarbydis was deadly - too deadly. The Senior Brother did not know if their magic would protect a human (although Sasha seemed confident it would), and did not wish to risk Nestor's life.

Sasha simply listened, nodded, and insisted that he had the right to do with Nestor as he pleased, and if it pleased him to take him into Xarbydis, then the Brothers had no right to deny him. They could, of course, deny them their aid and hospitality ... which the Senior Brother said they would never do, and gave in, although not without a great deal of unhappy sighing.

The dining room was cleared by the Brothers, the help offered by the Lycaili was politely, but firmly, declined, and all of the minotaurs arranged around a circle. Not directly on the circle, but a step away from it, or a step into it. There was some pattern there that teased at Dacien, but it did not make itself clear. The brothers themselves positioned themselves similarly around the group, holding what Sasha whispered mentally were ritual tools. One had a sword, two had huge chalices of water, three had long, slender wooden rods, and four carried heavy bronze disks with an intricate series of interlocked triangles and circles. The arranged themselves around the group, and the Senior Brother proceeded to the center of the circle.

He produced a slender sword, and a gold cup a little smaller than the two borne outside the circle. He set the cup on the floor, and a moment later, it was aflame with a cold blue fire. He stood, and began a chant, pointing the sword variously at the minotaurs in the circle, at the Brothers outside the group, at the ceiling, at the floor, his motions precise and graceful. Whatever language he was speaking was neither Greek nor Latin, and it was soporific. Dacien had to force himself to stay awake.

It was also, as Sasha promised, long, and Dacien did not realize just how long until the room began to lighten with the coming of dawn. The ritual completed, or almost, as the sun came in the window, shining on the fiery grail in the center of the room, and the blue light flickered out at last. All of the minotaur, and Nestor, were given a quick sip from the chalices held by the brothers.

"There," the Senior Brother said, as Sasha, the last minotaur to drink, finished the water in the chalice. "This protection will ward you against the poison until the next sunrise, or until you next eat. You may drink water, but anything more, wine, beer, tea, may void the protection, and without it, in Xarbydis, you will sicken." He pointed to the door, where one of the robed Brothers waited. "Brother Allan is your guide; he will take you to see the harvest of war."

"I shall lead," Brother Allan said. "But I am your guide. It may be the poison will overcome your protection, and your flesh will burn. You will see it, as if you had been touched by a hot iron. You will thirst, and the water we will carry will not quench your need. You may feel it, as a burning, or even as a sickness in your stomach." The Brother turned down his hood, and looked at them, his eyes strangely bright in the dull-dyed black fur of his head.

"Should you feel this, or anything else that is not right, you must tell me immediately. Do not wait, do not pause, I must know something is wrong as soon as I can. It may be nothing, it may be that we can continue. And it may be the first sign that the poison is stronger than usual - it does happen - and is seeping through our protection. If that be, we must return at once." He swallowed. "If we do not, we will die, all of us. It has happened before, to guides who had made this trek many times, six times they and their pilgrims died in Xarbydis. We will pass their bones, because after but two days, those bones are as filled with poison as the rest of the land. Fire draws the poison, and so there can be no pyre.

"I do not wish to rest forever in Xarbydis," Brother Allan said. "Our duty is to see, and acknowledge, and know what it is that we have done with the power the Creators gave to us." He turned, and started walking. "Please follow me. Should any of you, having better considered the dangers, wish to remain behind, we will understand."

None of them did.

A short walk through the lavender led them behind the old, crumbling building, and to an archway with a heavy iron gate in front of it. The gate was closed, and two more Brothers stood there, and opened it to the procession. Dacien looked, but all he could see through the archway was more lavender - even after Brother Allan walked through it, and vanished. As they stepped through, the waiting Brothers handed each minotaur a watersack. Ten minotaurs were in front of him, and they just walked through the arch, and vanished.

Dacien had heard of borders like this, but this was the first time he'd ever encountered one, and when it came his turn, he stepped through with a slight feeling of dread.

But he'd been dreading the wrong thing.

On this side, the arch stood in baked, cracked earth. Instead of a few minutes after dawn, the sun was high in the sky, and the day was already hot. A rough trail was marked with stones for a few hundred yards, until it reached a stone outcropping where rough steps had been cut into the rock. Nothing grew in the sun-baked ground. Grey cracks stretched out in rough hexagons as far as he could see.

Magically ... Dacien shifted his vision, pushing on those new abilities, and very slowly, he began to see a red haze, lit with yellow and green flickers, suffusing everything. Or, at least, everything except the minotaurs. Something seemed to push the haze back a few inches, making an odd minotaur-shaped bubble - the protection, he realized, and suddenly standing for hours as the Senior had chanted seemed far more valuable than it had before he stepped through. A thought struck him, and he glanced over at Nestor, to be certain the human shared in the protection, and reassured, he looked back at Brother Allan, who was waiting for the rest of the group to emerge from the stone arch.

Sasha walked over to him, and Bryant moved to Dacien's other side. Xavien says he can feel the spell like an oncoming headache. I perceive nothing. Lord Ember ... felt it as a stinging. Teodor could feel ... something, but it was too nebulous for him to identify, although he thought he would recognize it if he encountered it elsewhere. Trand felt it as an oppressive weight, Ianthos ... Ianthos would not speak of it. It gave Ianthos nightmares, afterward, although I am not certain if that was the remnant spell, or just his reaction to this ... devastation. You ...

See it directly. Intriguing. And the protection around us, as well. Color. I like your visualizations.

"Please don't," Dacien whispered. "That's ... just disturbing."

"Can't I be curious?"

"Yes, Master, of course, and I'll be happy to tell you what I see."

Sasha sighed. "There's nothing like experiencing it for oneself, Dacien."

"Is this going to happen a lot, Master?"

"Yes," Sasha said. "I'm sorry it disturbs you, but I will keep a very close eye on your magic. It's one of the reasons - perhaps the best reason - that our Patriarch chose me to mentor you. Look around you, Dacien," and he gestured to the lifeless terrain. "This is what we fear. This is the result of war-making with magic." Sasha glanced over to Nestor. "Human. Come here."

"Sir," Nestor said.

"Do you see this?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you understand it?"

"No, Sir."

Sasha sighed. "Well ... come on, then." He started walking up the trail, following Brother Allan. "About three thousand years - yes, that long, human - two minotaur clans fought over ..." He chuckled. "Would you like to know what they fought over, human?"

"Yes," Nestor said.

"So would I," Sasha said. "But nobody knows, now, what it was. This, where we stand here, was the heartland of Clan Xarbydis. We're going to, not the heart of their maze, but to a villa where we can see it, and look out on Scylla, as well." He pointed.

"This was farmland?"

"Farmland. Not here, but around us, yes. Farms, houses, families, trees ..." Sasha said. "Yes. Do you know how many mages it took to do this? To ruin this land?"

"No," said Nestor. "How many?"

"One," Sasha said grimly. "Exactly one." The human looked around again. "This devastation ... all the land to every border is like this, human. One mage. This is why we do not use magic in our warring."

"How do you know it was only one mage?" Nestor asked, after a few minutes.

"We retain the ability to do ... things like this," Sasha answered.

"You could do this,"

"Some of our mages could, yes," Sasha said. "I, personally, could not." He looked around. "And although I am a mage and I can do terrible things, I am grateful that this power can never come to my hand." They had reached the stone stairs, and started up the bluff. "Do you think that is weakness, human?"

"No," Nestor said, looking around. "Sir," he added abruptly. "Still ..."

"These hills used to have dirt on them," Sasha said. "They, too, were farmed. Over time, rain has scoured them to the bare rock."

"And nothing grows?"

"Even the rock we tread on is poisoned by Scylla's great spell." Sasha said. "We will have to discard our clothing when we return, and there will be more rituals, meant to purify us."

"I thought the ritual protected us," Nestor said, startled.

"It does. But we are breathing in the air, and the poison is there, as well, and the poison will enter our bodies," Sasha said. "Not a lot. It is one of the reasons we drink only the water we brought, and we do not eat - to lessen the poison that we allow into us, but some comes in merely from the act of breathing."

"But the protection pushes it away," Dacien said.

"No, the protection pushes the spell of poisoning away," Sasha said. "And it prevents the poison from acting on us. We, ourselves, will not become poison, the way the earth and water and air here are poison. But the air we breathe is poison, and when we return, we will carry some small amount of poison out with us. There will be a great ritual, to cleanse us, and ... that seems to work fairly well. But do not be misled, Dacien. What you sense is the spell, not the poison. The poison is ... invisible, as is most of the damage it can cause. But it will kill you as surely as any sword or strangling-cord."

Nestor took a deep breath, and then exhaled. "So I'm breathing in poison."

"Yes," Sasha said.

"What about the poison I've been taking - at your direction? Sir?"

"A good question. But they are not alike, and the toxic effects of your medication will not be made worse by the poison here," Sasha said, and Dacien felt a little relieved until the brown minotaur added, "or so I understand it to be."

"So it might compound the poison?" asked Nestor.

"It might," Sasha said calmly. "This is not a drug we often give to humans - because it is so poisonous. And never before have we knowingly exposed a human to this place or its poison. They might work together, and should you experience any of the symptoms or signs Brother Allan warned us of, please bring them to my attention."

"I will," Nestor said.

"I hope I do not seem cavalier with your well-being," Sasha said. "But the true scope of war fought by mages is ... something that must be seen. This is merely half of it."

"Half?" said Nestor, looking around at the lifeless rock they had been walking through. "This is just half?"

"Oh, yes," Sasha said. "Just wait until you see what Xarbydis did to Scylla."