The Doctor had hoped to be in Mzara'tan by sunset, but - alas - hayricks, even those half-empty, were not built for speed.  Twenty minutes after leaving the Raynig estate, they turned onto a road and found themselves surrounded by soldiers in a rainbow array of uniforms.  The hayrick, bound in the opposite direction, slowed to crawl as it struggled against the relentless tide of this patchwork army.  Fortunately, its driver was too preoccupied to notice his passengers' exchange horrified acute discomfort.

"I don't like this," Jerym growled.  "When the bards said that Heretics had been seen along the Wall, Sidhain'tan claimed they were small bands, nothing to threaten us.  But look there -- those men are wearing the Mistal Clan colors.  And there -- those men are in Denyrin's guard.  Why are they here?  Are Protectors not sufficient?"

"Why indeed?"  The Doctor thought about the interface crystal hidden in its niche and experienced a definite sinking feeling.

"You've heard nothing in the barracks?"

"Actually," the Doctor admitted, "we've only just put on these uniforms."

"And no one sees fit to drop a word into the ear of a new hire, eh?  Well, ain't that always the way of it?  I say the Fastigium underestimated the Heretic threat.  To invoke Clan Tribute is no light matter."  Fortunately, he was too preoccupied with driving to notice his passengers' sudden pallor. "By Vis, you fool!  Out of my way!"

This was last was directed at a soldier foolish enough to back directly into the hayrick's path.  The man leapt out of the way, cursing, and was swept on by the martial tide.  Jerym, fighting his nervous ashas, looked decidedly unhappy.

"Still, at least we had warning," he acknowledged.  "If it were not for the Beacon, Heretics might even now be threatening Mzara'tan.   There are no defenses along the river.  Who could imagine those scum would dare approach the Inner Lands?"

Beacon?  The Doctor wished he could ask more questions, but too much ignorance would arouse Jerym's suspicions.  Trying not to succumb to frustration, the Doctor turned to Cthilian and discovered a new cause for alarm.  The medication Anna gave the ir'dan on Earth was beginning to wear off.  Without more, the lad would be in the full throes of relapse before morning.  There were six booster syringes packed in the Doctor's backpack -- which had been confiscated by Lord Ksirin.

Finally, the hayrick broke free and rolled in its leisurely manner south.  Jerym maintained a rambling conversation about life in his village, politics in Devia and the weather.  The Doctor's nods and agreement in appropriate places kept up the stream of information.  He learned, for instance, that Lord Chel Mzara, scion of one of the oldest and most powerful Clans in Devia, was a good landlord and even- handed magistrate.  Jerym did not care for Raynig and his fear of the Sher'dan was profound.  Even speaking of them made him visibly uneasy.

Although the Doctor kept an eye open for pursuit, the ride was uneventful.  They met two more guard units that Jerym identified as being from remote, eastern estates.  It was nearly sunset before he finally turned off the main road and onto a narrow lane.  Trees gave way to an expanse of freshly plowed fields.  In their midst was a cluster of thatched stone cottages and outbuildings.  Lights were already appearing in the windows as clouds thickened, bringing an early dusk.  Those few folk not at their dinner waved greetings to Jerym as he guided the wagon through the narrow streets.  Finally:  "Bright Cottage," their driver announced proudly, turning into a tree-lined mew.

Jerym was a prosperous farmer.  His home, surrounded by a low, stone wall, boasted two large barns, solidly built and freshly thatched.  A dog of indeterminate pedigree rushed forward to greet them, barking furiously, tail thrashing the air.  The Doctor roused a drowsing Cthilian and they scrambled down from the wagon.  The Doctor stretched as Jerym came around the hayrick and motioned them toward the house.  The dog bounced around the farmer ecstatically, tongues hanging out.  He shooed them off .

"You'd best do no more traveling tonight," he advised.  "Mzara Tarn is still ten miles away and across dangerous marshland. [Down, Warrior!] You're welcome to stay here the night.  There's a cozy spot in the barn and Hana does tend to make a bit too much stew now and then.  Come on inside -- Blast you, Warrior - DOWN!"

The cottage stood a short distance across the small cobbled yard, shaded by the spreading branches of an old hardwood.  It's diamond-paned windows were nearly obscured by flowering creeper, but the warm light of candles peeped invitingly through.  There was a tantalizing scent of fresh-baked bread in the air.

Hana was as spare as her husband was stout.  She had the same open kindness as the farmer,  sweeping the two weary travelers immediately under her wing.  Before the Doctor knew what she was about, he, Cthilian, four cats and the dog were settled before the hearth in the tiny parlor.  Cthilian immediately fell asleep with a cat on his lap, waking only when Hana reappeared with two deep trenchers of stew, hot and fragrant with herbs.  Soft, crusty bread was cut into thick slices and smeared with roasted garlic.  The Doctor realized he was very hungry indeed.  With a wide smile, he thanked the farmer's wife and they tucked in.

Jerym came in from the stables shortly thereafter, wet and puffing.  "Rain's started," he announced unnecessarily. "Doctor, only a fool or an outlaw will be traveling tonight."

The Doctor, hearing the distant rumble of thunder, reluctantly agreed.  Trying to walk through a downpour would only hasten Cthilian's inevitable collapse.  "It seems we are deeply in your debt, Jerym -- for the ride, the wonderful food and now, shelter.  Thank you, sir."

The farmer beamed and shrugged.  "Think naught of it," he admonished.  "Now, if you've eaten your fill, I'll show you to your beds.  The boy's looking a little peaked."

They dashed across the yard as the rain came down in earnest.  The wind was picking up as well, blowing it into their faces.  In the largest of the barns was a hayloft.  Jerym snapped his fingers twice.  A light-sphere winked on and drifted over to him.  He snapped his fingers again, once this time, and the sphere floated up to illuminate the loft.

"There's a privy at the back," he explained, "and blankets in that cupboard over there.  If you need anything, Hana and I will be next door."

With their profuse thanks ringing in his ears, Jerym hurried back to his wife and fire.  Cthilian clambered wearily up the ladder while the Doctor collected blankets.  The sound of rain filled the barn and the sphere's yellow glow provided a gentle, unobtrusive illumination in the loft.  He snapped his fingers twice.  It went out.

"Doctor?"

Turning it back on, the Doctor apologized, but his interest in Devia deepened.  Outwardly, it was a backward world of riding beasts, feudal lords, and wood- burning fireplaces.  Yet there were light spheres -- and the chimney pots for those fireplaces gave off no smoke.

"Cthilian, you said you studied in Sidhain'tan.  What did you study?"

"What all ir'dan learn, to read and write, do sums, histories, the aloridan arts, the services. . ."

"Aloridan? Services?"

"In truth," Cthilian admitted, "I had only started to learn the services when I was sent to Raynig Tarn."

"What are the aloridan arts?"

"When an iri'dan gives his Lady dan, there are certain skills to make the process more pleasurable."

The Doctor thought about Palas and hid a grin.  "Are there very many alorin?"

The boy nodded, yawning.  Although the loft was warm and humid, he shivered and pulled a blanket close around hunched shoulders.  "About a hundred, I should think."

"Were any your friends?"

Cthilian shook his head.  "We weren't allowed to speak to each other unless it was part of our duties.  Doctor, why do you ask me all these questions?"

"I'm a traveler, Cthilian.  Different worlds and different customs fascinate me.  What are the Services?"

"Skills that most alorin will need to serve the Sher'dan.  There are many, but I know of only a few -- like how to make light spheres and medicines.  My instructors said that I would learn harder things as I went along, but I never had the chance.  I wish -- well," he sighed, "I liked learning about the light spheres."

"You did?"  The Doctor smiled.  "Well, who can tell?  You may yet.  How do you feel?"

"Not so good," Cthilian replied, adding pragmatically, "but I will make it to Mzara Tarn, don't worry."

He lay back in the straw, pulling the blanket close beneath his chin.  The Doctor found a comfortable spot nearby and nestled in, but he had no interest in sleep.  Thunder crashed and roared.  A shingle rattled in the wind. The storm was directly overhead, but he barely noticed.  Rolling over, he looked speculatively at Cthilian.  The resemblance between the alorin and his son was easy to see, yet the young Raynig, Kel, genuinely believed Djan to be his.   The Doctor remembered the scene in Raynig's library and was convinced that the pain in the younger lord's voice had been real.

Restlessly, the Time Lord got up.  Cthilian muttered and twitched, fingers plucking at the rough wool of his blanket.  Stepping over him, the Doctor started toward the ladder.

And froze.

Below, the barn door slowly opened.  A rush of wind and rain swept through, bringing with it three shadowy forms.  Quickly the Doctor crept back across the straw to lay a hand over Cthilian's mouth.  Thea boy's eyes flew open.  "Visitors," whispered the Time Lord.  "Be quiet."

An earnest nod.  The Doctor smiled reassuringly and looked for another way out.  There was none.  The ladder was the only way down.

"Doctor?  Doctor, are you awake?"

Jerym?

"It's all right, Doctor! I've brought friends!"

"We've been sent by the Lady Palas!"

The new voice was feminine.  Stepping into the light, the smallest of the three figures pushed back the hood of the cloak.   A small, narrow face tilted upwards.  White crystal sparkled in the tattoo crossing a smooth forehead.  "Doctor?"

"No!"  hissed Cthilian, clutching at the Doctor's sleeve.  The Time Lord gently disengaged his fingers and peered over the edge of the loft.

"Yes?  Who are you?"

"I am the Lady Shieann Mzara.  This is Lord Michel Avran.  Your companions are safe and under the protection of my grandfather.   Ordinarily, that would mean a great deal, but since the arrival of your Lady Palas, Doctor, our world has been set on its ear!  Grandfather, Lord Mzara, is taking the warwitch and her iri'dan west.  There is an isolated estate which occasionally serves our group as a place to hide when it is politically expedient to do so."

"How did you know where to find us?"

"We have sympathizers in the very heart of the Sher'dana's court, Doctor.  Word came that you had been captured, and when the guards took up your evening meal, our informant said both doors to your cell were found locked tightly, but you not inside."  She grinned.  "You must tell me sometime how you accomplished such a feat, but we have no time to discuss it now.  Riders from both Raynig tarn and Sidhain are approaching the village.  Each moment we linger puts you, Hana and Jerym at risk!  We must be gone!"

"Doctor, don't trust her," Cthilian whispered urgently.

"Why not? Jerym trusts them and I trust Jerym. Can you walk?"

"Yes, sir."  It was almost the truth.  The young Dev swayed perilously.  "She may work for Benara!"

"I am an excellent judge of character," the Doctor reassured him.  To the small group on the barn floor:  "Cthilian is coming down.  Carefully now -- he's ill."

The dana, Shieann, caught her breath as Cthilian folded silently to his knees, and stepped hastily away.

"He is in Need!" she said. "Vis!  We have a way to go tonight.  This is -- worrisome!"

"I'm fine," Cthilian insisted.  "Lady, I can ride."

The Doctor gave the barn a wistful look before following the others into the wind and rain.  Lightning lit up the northeast sky.  Asha waited, already saddled, heads bent against the downpour.

"Maybe you should take Hana's carriage!" Jerym shouted to be heard above the storm.  "The boy don't look like he'll last long in the saddle."

"Too conspicuous," the Lady replied.  "He'll ride with Avran.  We'll manage."

The Doctor mounted his asha and ran a hand across the  animal's rough coat.  Jerym boosted Cthilian, shaky and protesting, into the saddle in front of the young Lord.  A blanket was handed up and the mortified ir'dan wrapped it sullenly around himself.  Then the girl was off, her asha racing for the fields.

"Are you and Hana going to be all right?"  The Doctor asked Jerym.

The farmer nodded grimly.  "Don't you worry about us, Doctor. Sidhain or no, this is Mzara'tan.  They can bluster all they like, but they must answer to Lord Chel if they dare lay a hand on us.  Take care!"
 
The asha, none too happy to be out in the storm, took the Time Lord's flick of the reins as an invitation to run as fast as possible -- hopefully toward warmth and food.  The animal was off like a rocket, following its fellows as they cantered out into the muddy fields.  The Doctor bent low over the asha's neck, the driving rain all but blinding him.  Fortunately, his sure-footed mount was undeterred by the treacherous ground.  Nor did it quail before a low hedge looming abruptly before them.  The Doctor tightened his knees against the animal's broad ribs and held on.  The landing very nearly knocked him from the saddle.  Horses, he thought through clenched teeth, were a much superior ride.

Lady Mzara set a grueling pace. They rode hard, in as dramatic (if uncomfortable) a ride as the Doctor had experienced in decades.  Were it not for Cthilian, he would have enjoyed himself thoroughly.  The young Dev's condition, however, worried him.  The Time Lord had never seen blackstone Relapse, but Danner's descriptions of it were not reassuring.

After what seemed an interminable gallop, the dana slowed.  The rain was no longer a relentless misery.  It hung, a fine mist, in the air.  There were breaks in the clouds overhead and an occasional glimpse of the moons.  Thunder continued to growl and threaten, but softer now, very far away.

They were soaked through and the wind had changed direction, coming out of the north.  It held a chill that went straight through their sodden clothing.  The dana turned as the Time Lord moved up to ride at her knee.  On her other side, the Dev nobleman holding Cthilian directed an anxious look at the Doctor.  Light blossomed.  The small sphere hovered at the young lord's shoulder casting a gentle glow around them.  It gleamed off the wet leaves, gave a rippling sheen to puddles.

"Doctor?  He has a very high fever and he's getting restless."

"How much farther, Lady Mzara?"

"Not much.  I . . ."  She broke off as, ahead, riders suddenly moved into the road, blocking their path.

The Doctor's stomach lurched and Lord Avran cursed softly.  Cthilian lifted his head.  His teeth were chattering.

"Stay here.  I think I recognize the uniform."  The Lady  pushed her asha past theirs and went to meet the strangers.  It was impossible to tell the Clan colors in the moonlight, but the soldiers were clearly not Protectors.   They talked for several minutes while the asha fidgeted, then she returned, one of the riders with her.

"We have had a change of plans," Shieann announced.  "We're not going to the lodge after all.  There is an inn nearby.  We will meet with my grandfather there."

The rider accompanying Shieann pushed back a deep hood.  The Doctor found himself looking into the small, round face and arch smile of a very pretty dana.

"Another exotic one, but not iri'dan, alas!" She extended a dimpled hand, eyes sparkling.  "You must be the Doctor."

The Time Lord, alert to every cue, kissed her slim fingers, acknowledged her superior perception, and declared himself her slave.  He was an immediate success.

"And this one has manners!"  gasped the Lady in mock amazement.  The roguish twinkle in her light eyes was pronounced.   "Shieann, introduce us!"

Lady Mzara, in spite of her anxiety, could not resist a smile and a rueful shake of her head.    "This is the Doctor, as you have already observed.  Doctor, this shameless creature is my dear friend, Shaela, Lady of Mistal."

* * *

"Danner!  DANNER!"

The voice came from a great distance.  Groaning, the blackstone fought his way through layers of blissful sleep.  He burrowed further into deep pillows  An impatient hand pressed his shoulder.

"Damn it, Renwolf!  Get up!"

Abruptly, he was awake and on his feet, disoriented and halfway to panic.  Palas, fully dressed, stood on the other side of the bed.  "We're out of here.  Mzara's waited as long as he dares.  Djan and most of the household has gone ahead."

"Uhhh."  Dizziness washed over him.  He sat down and ran a hand through tousled hair.  The gesture required some effort.   "I could sleep another two days.  And I'm hungry.  Really, really hungry!"

"Our host thoughtfully provided some energy food -- and some clothes."  Palas threw a wad of fabric at him.  Her smile flashed, and was gone so quickly he could not be sure he'd seen it.  "Get dressed, please.  You're distracting me."

They were Devian garments: loose black pants, black, long-sleeved tunic -- Mzara guard uniform.  Weakness rolled over him.  His stomach cramped.  "You mentioned food.".

Wordlessly, she slid a bowl of fruit across the bed.  He tore into the first thing his fingers found.  Sweet and juicy, the taste went straight to his head.  Palas moved restlessly around the room, her edginess set his own nerves a-jangle.  He wolfed down most of the fruit without tasting it.  Looking about for his boots, he asked:  "What was all that stuff you were spouting downstairs when you handed Djan over?"

"A legal and ceremonial ritual.  In Devian culture, there are certain things that must be done in a certain way.  If I hadn't said what I did and in the way I said it, Raynig would have legal grounds to take Djan back.  Idiotic, but it's their world."

Danner paused in the act of pulling on a boot.  "How the hell do you know that?  Cthilian told you?"

"I needed to know the way things are here, on a level I couldn't reach by listening to tapes and asking questions."  She broke off, impatient.  "Do you think you can possibly dress more slowly?"

"If sex is going to make you cranky," he said, looking up, "you can't have anymo..."  Then her words sank in.  For a moment, he could not breath.  "You killed the witch and stole her memories?"

Something in her eyes congealed his blood, then she looked away.  Swearing, Danner jammed on the boot and got to his feet.  She ignored his shock and revulsion.  Her voice was very cold.

"We're riding out with Mzara and some of his people.  As you said, Benara will not take kindly to my little demonstration.  There is a web of minds linking her and the warwitches, but it's pretty weak.  My guess is that the Protectors' field commander will start worrying first.  Those were borrowed troops."

This was starting to make him nervous.  It sounded like they were being dragged deeper into this quagmire of a world.  "We're heading back to ship, I hope?  That was Mzara's original plan for me -- is there a belt for this thing?"

Palas tossed it to him..  He muttered an ungracious thanks and fumbled with the unfamiliar buckle. The fine tremor in this hands made the task extraordinarily difficult

"We're not going back -- not yet.  The Wall is crawling with Protectors, and unfortunately, that's only one of several problems.  I came through with the Doctor and Cthilian.  We ran into a large unit of Protectors and three warwitches -- one of whom I just terminated.  Cthilian and the Doctor were captured and taken to Raynig Tarn."

 Danner was stunned.  The Doctor?  And captured by Raynig?  No wonder she was stressed.   And Cthilian -- back in the hands of the men who murdered his lover.  Remembering the kid's condition when they found him, the blackstone felt slightly sick.

"When did this happen?"

"Early this morning.  I shielded myself and Djan, but I didn't dare extend the psi field too far."

"We haven't been doing well, have we?"  Danner shook his head.

"No -- but then, I didn't know the territory until an hour or so ago," she promised grimly.  "I have a much clearer picture now."

"Would you steal my memories?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

But the dana, golden eyes going blank and curiously reflective, said only,   "You'll get the rest of the briefing in transit," and was gone.  Gathering his wits and the rest of the fruit, he ran after her.

They stepped out of the tarn and into a day well advanced.  The walled courtyard was already sunk in shadow.  A torch burned sullenly in the chill damp.  Blood still darkened the cobbles.   Several dozen riders were assembled near the gate.  In their midst, Mzara shouted orders from astride his black, high-spirited mount.  A man in Clan black approached Danner and Palas with a leather satchels for each of them.  The Horde Captain shrugged into hers; Danner opened his and ran a quick inventory.  Typical field fare:  light, foul-weather gear, several packets, probably
energy food, a utility knife, first-aid items, something that looked like a flare -- it was to be a short journey.

A cluster of apprehensive servants stood in the doorway, watching the preparations.

"What's going to happen to these people?" he demanded in a low voice.  "Mzara's just leaving them behind?"

She shook her head.  "Dependents cannot be brutalized or imprisoned because of their lord's crimes -- at least, according to law so ancient it precedes the Fastigium.   They do, however, become the dependents of whomever is awarded this property.  Chel will almost certainly be accused of high treason."

"Chel, is it?"

Her grin was sudden and genuine.  "Here," she said, pushing something at him.  It was a blaster.  His fingers curled around the almost-familiar shape of it.  L'Shylian weapons were sleeker and more responsive than these, their controls arranged in a completely different order.  Still -- better to have it than not.  He put it into his pocket and was suddenly overwhelmed by dizziness.  For moment, Danner stood perfectly still, waiting for it to pass, thinking he was in no shape to be making what was likely a long and dangerous rise.

"Lady Palas!"

Chel trotted over.  A man rode behind, leading two ashas.  The Dev lord nodded to Danner.

"You are really ready to ride, iri'dan?  A litter can be brought for you."

"Give me a break."  Danner got easily into the saddle and smiled.  "I'm fine."

There was no reason the cool, handsome aristocrat needed to know how close he was to falling asleep where he sat.  The Dev lord, brows drawn together, darted a look at Palas, then back at him.  Settling into the saddle, Palas raised her brows.  "Something wrong?"

Mzara gave himself a little shake and shrugged:  "You were right, lady, he is resilient.   Let us go."

They rode in a line two men deep, passing beneath the massive portcullis and out into a strong, southerly wind.  The waning sunlight stretched the riders' shadows across lichen-crusted stone.  To the north was clear sky.  To the west, haze thickened along the horizon.  Trouble was coming from that direction.  They rode along the causeway toward the distant trees and solid ground.  Mist swirled around the pylons of the bridge, obscuring the water, reminding Danner of the protoship.

Mzara had appropriated the spot next to Palas, forcing Danner to drop back slightly and deal with a very real, very strong surge of jealousy.  He tried to tell himself they had sex by necessity, not choice, and he should just calm the hell down.  Too bad his emotions never listened to his common sense.

"Lady Chalana thought the Sher'dana is gathering troops to meet a Heretic strike force." Palas commented.  "How widespread is the idea of the Exiles' return?"

"Only a few of us knew what the Beacon foretold.  It suits the Sher'dana to have the people believe the threat to come from the north.  Since the l'Shylian portal is also to the north, this fits in very nicely with the lie."

"Who are these Heretics?"  Danner asked.  He had vague images of barbarians at the gates.

"When the Exiles fled, it was rumored that some of the related Lesser Clans fled north over the Wall rather than submit to Sher'dan vengeance.  The Fastigium cursed them as Heretics and Blasphemers of Vis.  By law, they may never return."

"No one's gone looking?"

"No, Lady Palas.  The Wall of Heaven is a very ancient symbol among my people, a barrier between the physical world and the afterlife.  It is a myth with origins in our prehistory."

Danner nudged his asha closer.  "Why was l'Shylian Exiled?  Because they were in favor of technology and the danae are not?"

"In a way.  We have technology, but it is ancient and failing.  Many devices have disappeared from our lives.  All that remains are small things - light spheres, handboats, heating -- all strictly controlled by the Fastigium.  Most real science is discouraged - especially the science that threatens them the most."

"Which is that?"  Palas asked.

"Genetics."  Mzara hesitated.  "If your lords have not spoken of this, it may not be my place to do so."

"Our lords are not here," Palas replied bluntly.  "And I do not form alliances in their name when I don't know the territory."

Mzara shrugged, uneasy.  "l'Shylian were always healers as well as biological technicians.  They were physicians to all the High Clans.  They attended every birth.   It was easy to inject their biotics, no one thought twice.   Secretly, they began to alter the genetic construction of existing dana.  The conditions for bonding had started to narrow.   Incidences of incompatibility began to rise.  Ir'dan were suddenly dying.

"The numbers of the Sher'dan dropped drastically. High Danae were suddenly unable to move from ir'dan to ir'dan.  There must be a genetic match.  And not only did ir'dan die so that high danae might live, it became necessary to terminate the lives of those high danae who lost their iri'dan because they could not bond again.  It was almost too late by the time the Fastigium discovered the scope of l'Shylian's crime.  The result was the immediate proscription of all technological research unless conducted with the approval and under the supervision of, the Fastigium.  And the result of that has been a slow, steady accumulation of power by the Sher'dan."

Mzara met Palas' eyes levelly.  "What your lords did was unforgivable, Lady, but that does not excuse the flagrant abuse of power by the Sher'dan.  I, and my colleagues, would see the balance of power restored to Devia.  I do not want to place the Clans above the Sher'dan, and I will not tolerate the Sher'dan placing themselves above us.  Vis created the Fastigium, he decreed how we should co-exist.  It is the peaceful conflict between us that, when evenly weighted, spurs the Dev to great
things.  We have done nothing, gone nowhere in a thousand of years.   We dwell in an unchanging twilight, nothing more than what we were.  It is time to renew ourselves, and we cannot do it with the Sher'dan perverting Vis' vision."

"How is it possible that you know all this, given the Sher'dana's strict control over such information?"

"Mzara is one of the Old Names.  After it was done, our more enterprising ancestors hid  knowledge of the Exiling in our Silent rooms.   When word came that the Beacon was lit, we alone remembered what that meant.  Finally we had a hope of forcing Benara to relinquish the illegal powers she has seized."

Ahead, two riders emerged from the wood.  Mzara excused himself tersely and rode up through the line to greet them.  Palas rubbed her forehead.  She seemed restless, tense.

"Why do they have physicians?"  Danner asked quietly.  "Anna always jokes that she'll be redundant in a world of dana healers."

Startled, the dana looked at him.  Her brows drew sharply together.

Mzara shouted, waving his arm, and the patrol started forward.   He set a good pace, leading them southeast for several miles.  There were few people on the road and all hastily drew aside to let them pass.   After an hour's brisk riding, Mzara wheeled his mount to the side of the road and waved the two humans over.  Three of the patrol accompanied them; the remainder continued down the round and out of sight.

"Here."  Mzara reached across to the blackstone.  There was a pendant in his hand.  The dark red crystal, indanite, dangled from a stout chain.  "From now on, iri'dan, wear that.  It will keep you from their Sight."

Turning his asha about, the Dev lord guided them back into the woods.  Almost at once, they came upon a narrow track, heavily overgrown, winding southwest, deeper into the trees.

"My scouts tell me a witch and fifty men were seen riding toward the tarn.  We have less time than I'd hoped."

The track was rarely used.  Weeds pushed up through the packed earth, brambles snatched at them.  Leaves rattled as a breeze pushed through the trees, and Danner heard a rumble of distant thunder.  Just his luck to land in the middle of someone's rainy season.

The ashas were at full gallop now, putting distance between the riders and Mzara Tarn.  Several times, Danner found himself looking over his shoulder, touched by a strange apprehension that lingered a moment, then evaporated.  The indanite was cool and comforting against his throat.

The ground began a gentle rise as the last of the sunlight faded.  Their ashas' hooves suddenly rang on stone -- another road, a real one this time.  The forest ended abruptly in farmland, small squares of freshly plowed earth hemmed with hedges.  The guards moved before and behind them as the lights of a village appeared ahead.

Danner's initial burst of energy faded.  If the aftermath of the transfer held true, he was in for eight or ten hours of this.   The food helped, enabling him to stay in the saddle.  Still, exhaustion grayed his vision and teased odd thoughts to the surface.  The windy, humid countryside faded.

. . .a damp, miserable night.  The scent of snow in the air.   Gunfire echoes back and forth across thickly forested slopes.  His nose is filled with the discordant mixture of fresh evergreens and burning petroleum; his back pressed against the unyielding surface of a stone wall.  He spins into the open and back - a microsecond.  The first grenade takes out the second truck completely and drives the other into the hillside.  He is no longer where he was, but runs noiselessly along the steep incline, avoiding entangling roots and branches until he reaches the back of the convoy.  Another grenade, another blinding flash of light, deafening sound. . .

"Danner?"

Lightning flashed again.  The blackstone jerked back to reality, disoriented.  Thunder rolled across the sky.   Bemused, he looked around, saw stuccoed walls overgrown by ivy and flowering vine.  Windows glowed yellow behind shutters fastened against the approaching storm.  They turned into an alley, then into the mews behind a low, slate-roofed inn.  The first spattering of rain hit the flagged stones.  The others dismounted and, after a moment, Danner slid to the ground.  It tilted alarmingly.

"Are you going to make it?"

He nodded.  Strength was already seeping back into his shaky muscles. Surrounded by Dev, the two humans were whisked through the door into small room that backed a bustling kitchen.  Aprons hung in pegs on the wall, sacks of flour were stacked beneath them  A narrow stair led up into darkness.

Mzara took the steps two at a time.  At the top was another corridor lined with doors -- guest rooms.   Two liveried guards stood before one of them.  At the sight of the newcomers, one of the men trotted down the hall, the other sprang to open the door.

The suite of rooms beyond was elegant and undoubtably expensive.  To Danner, still fighting the occasional bout of dizziness, it seemed crammed with people.  But it was the woman seated before the cozy fireplace who made Danner stop dead and swear.  "You?!"

Palas went on alert immediately.  He could feel her stiffen beside him, and caught a clear, cold wave of enmity.  Lady Mistal was on her feet at once, expression wary.  She gathered her shining skirts around dropped a slight curtsey to Mzara.  Her eyes never left Palas.

"She was with the people who captured me," Danner grated.  "A friend of that creep, Ksirin!"

"Lady Mistal is one of our most valuable operatives," Mzara replied sternly.  "It is because she enjoys a position of such trust that she can keep us so well informed.  And she saw the Lady's image in your mind and told no one but us."

She had seen a lot more than he thought  God only knew how much more, then.  Danner felt cold and exposed. He clenched his jaw on an angry retort.   Lady Mistal gave him an unreadable look and continued:  "There are warwitches riding out of Sidhain'tan, and more Protectors.  She's replacing the Protectors on the Wall with conscripts from all Clans.  Twenty of my father's men rode out this morning. This
countryside will be thick with Protectors by midday tomorrow.  You may go to the Lodge, my father says, but you cannot stay.  'Tis too dangerous."

"Danner!"

Danner's heart leapt.  Across the room, a door flew open.  Standing in the doorway was the Doctor!  Servants and guards moved aside to let the Time Lord through.  Running in front of him was a small form.  Djan!

The blackstone dropped to meet Djan's enthusiastic greeting, thoughts in turmoil.  "Cthilian?"

"In the next room.  He's very ill - Relapse.  Palas - do you have any of Anna's medication?"

"I do."  Palas pulled off the backpack and began rummaging through it.  "She said you'd probably lose your stuff straight away."

 The packet was found and pressed it into the Doctor's hands.  He hurried from the room.  Danner started to follow, but Palas laid a detaining hand on his arm.

"Why the change in plans, Shaela?"  Mzara demanded.  "What's happened?"

"The Beacon has gone silent," replied the woman.  "For an entire day, there has been no sign of life from it."  She hesitated.  "And now, there is her. The portents you like to dismiss as superstition, Chel, are lining up too neatly for my liking.  I am as committed to restoring Vis' vision as are you, my lord, but what if the legends are true after all?"

This was wandering off into unknown territory for Danner.  He could see Mzara's mouth twist disdainfully.   "Shaela.  Be reasonable!  Those stories are from a time when we thought the moons were gods and the winds caused by their breath."

"I felt that shock of the Killing from here!"  Shaela turned to face Palas directly.  "Chalana is dead, isn't she?"

"She was Challenged and failed," Palas replied coldly.  "Now that we've cleared that up, what happens next?  We cannot skulk endlessly around the countryside, dodging patrols, but there is an army between us and home.  This situation stinks to high heaven."

"Excuse me!"  The Doctor was back.  "What was that you said about the Beacon, Shaela?"

Lady Mistal turned to him, face softening.  Danner stifled a grin.  The Doc had snared another one.

"It has gone silent, Doctor.  Do you know the reason?"

"Did this happen by itself, or was it something the Sher'dana did?"

"I have no idea."

"Is this important, Doctor?"  Palas asked impatiently.  "In case you aren't following current events, we are about to have the entire planet breathing down our necks!  And speaking of looming catastrophes, where's your, er, rock?"

"In a safe place.  And when you say catastrophe, you may be right," the Time Lord continued grimly.  "If, my theory is correct, we may not be able to get back, even if we could get past that army."

"Doctor?"

"The Beacon is the probe, I'm almost certain.  It has a distinctive energy signature -- the TARDIS recorded it while we were materializing.  It's a very localized time/space corridor.  If it's not functioning, we've got no way back."

"You are not serious!" groaned Danner, sitting down heavily on a low table.

"I could be wrong, but I doubt it.  Someone - probably me - has to turn it back on."

"Doctor, I have no idea what you're talking about, but one thing I do know," Mzara said.  "The Beacon is in the heart of Sidhain'tan,  in the Sher itself!  No one gets in there except Benara's inner circle of warwitches and pet lords."

"I have never been inside" agreed Shaela.  "It is madness to even consider it!"

"The alorin live there," replied the Doctor quietly.  "Cthilian knows the way."

"And I said I would guide you," came a slightly shaky voice from the sickroom door.  Cthilian stood, half supporting himself against the frame.  "I said I would do so if you brought Djan to his family.   You fulfilled your promise and I will keep mine, Doctor."

"You're sure about this Beacon?" Palas asked finally.

"As sure as I can be without actually seeing it."

"Then we go to Sidhain," she sighed.

"This is *insane*!" gasped Shaela.  "Utter madness!  You'll never get within fifty miles of it!   Benara will have Protectors everywhere!  Getting you to Mistal'tan is dangerous enough."

Mzara swore suddenly, but he was grinning. "Perhaps not."  His eyes rested intently on Palas.  "I have an idea, Lady, but the risk to you is great.  If we can get to the Temple of Visandri, we may be able to ride openly from there into Sidhain -- Benara would dare not obstruct us."

"What are you talking about?"

'You are a High Dana, at the very least, Lady Palas.  By Devian law, you have the rights of your rank."

"What rights?"  Palas was deeply suspicious.  "Get on with it, Mzara!"

"You have the right to Challenge.  Declare intent -- you must do it at the College of Visandri.  By  Devian law, the contest takes place on the home ground of the Challenged, in this case, Sidhain Tarn."

"Grandfather!"

"Chel, you're mad!"

"Milord!"

Palas ignored the consternation.  "Brilliant," she breathed.  "Tell me what to do."

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