“Then still the pool is a meaningless oracle,” she said. “And I shall stand by my belief.”

  Eyrik succeeded in bowing from a sitting position. “I have nothing but admiration for you,” he applauded, “and a suggestion that may bring some small comfort. Let us assume that what you saw is no more than a strand of possibility that does not apply to the alternative you occupy, still the pool shows truth. Mayhap it is for you to discern which strand connects to you, here.”

  “How may I do that?” she asked, puzzled.

  “If your heart does not tell you,” Eyrik said, shrugging, “then mayhap the talisman can help you discern your particular truth.”

  “I wore the talisman when I visited the pool,” she murmured, “both yesterday and today.”

  “Yesterday?” Eyrik leaned forward, brows raised in mute query.

  Wynett nodded without speaking, angry at herself for letting slip that tidbit of knowledge. Though surely, she thought, if he does control the pool he must know that.

  “I see,” he said musingly. “And does that account for your sad humor of last night? Did you perceive something similar?”

  Again she nodded without speaking.

  Eyrik made a sound that was both sigh and grunt, as if he understood and did not welcome the understanding. “Twice,” he said softly. “You have twice seen Kedryn in the arms of your sister.”

  Wynett nodded silently a third time.

  “Mayhap alternatives.” Eyrik smiled as though seeking to impart reassurance where none was valid. “And you wore the talisman on each occasion?”

  “I wear it always,” she confirmed.

  “Perchance that is not enough,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “I do not pretend to understand the full power of the stone, but perhaps it requires some greater application.”

  “How?” she asked, bluntly.

  Eyrik shrugged, his eyes narrowing as he frowned, the very image of a man locked in thought, his expression evincing only concern, the desire to help her.

  “Mayhap closer contact with the pool,” he suggested after a while. “Mayhap you should place the talisman in the pool.”

  Alarm tugged at Wynett’s heart and she shook her head. “I should surely lose it.”

  “I do not mean you to sink the stone,” Eyrik chuckled. “Merely that you might suspend it beneath the surface—like bait for the truth that applies to you. In that way its power might cut through the alternatives offered to show only that which applies to you.”

  “I would need remove it,” she said warily, not liking the suggestion.

  “What harm could come?” Eyrik laughed again, louder, as though her fear was so groundless as to be amusing. “You hold the chain—you may remove the stone at will. There is nothing in the pool, my dear. No leviathan will rise from its depths to snatch the talisman from you.”

  “Still I am loath to ... she was about to say, take that risk, but thought better of it, amending the sentence to, “remove it even for so short a time. When Sister Lavia presented us with the stones she was insistent that we should not remove them.”

  Eyrik shrugged, his tone light as he suggested, “Surely that was when danger threatened? Were you not then intent on a descent into the underworld?”

  It was a reasonable enough presumption and Wynett found it impossible to judge whether some deeper design lay behind it. Indeed, she was more confused now than before. Eyrik’s explanation of the images seemed plausible within the utterly implausible parameters of this strange place, where—her own eyes gave clear evidence—the natural laws governing the world she knew did not apply. Yet his explanation gave clear reason to distrust the pool, and her instincts told her that she should from henceforth ignore it; but were she to do that, she would be entirely dependent on Eyrik for any news of Kedryn, and it came to her that she might easily lose her sanity in this irrational place should she find herself cut off from all knowledge of Kedryn. The pool was a temptation, both alluring and forbidding; a quandary.

  Further, she thought, if those suspicions she had felt were true, then likely some intent other than her peace of mind lay hidden within his suggestion. But if he told the truth . . . then by means of the talisman she might ascertain the reality that applied to her; and if the talisman had the power to protect her from the leviathan, then would it not likely have the power to overcome any threat offered by the pool?

  “I must think on it,” she said.

  “Certainly.” Eyrik’s response was easy, devoid of pressure, save that which it aroused from her own emotions. “But I think that may be the only way in which you can know the ultimate truth.”

  Wynett stared at his face, seeing only goodwill, the desire to set her mind at rest. He smiled and said, “And now a little wine? This must all be horrendously confiising.”

  He appeared so genuine she found herself wondering if her doubts were unfounded, her suspicions groundless. She nodded and raised her glass, sipping the delicately flavored wine.

  “You must not be afraid, for no harm will come to you here and I have only your best interests at heart.” His tone was gentle, his expression calm, yet the words startled Wynett and she struggled to conceal her surprise for they suggested he read her better than she was able to read him, seeing past the facade she sought to present to the inner doubts, the fears.

  “Confusion is a natural reaction when faced with such unknown concepts as the pool.”

  “Aye,” she said, using ambiguous honesty as a screen, “it is.”

  “Consider my suggestion,” he advised, setting down his goblet and rising, “and forgive me for leaving you alone again, but there are tasks that await my presence.”

  He bowed, striding to the door, and was gone before Wynett had opportunity to ask what tasks awaited him. She turned, seeing the door swing closed and drained her own cup. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps the wine was drugged, or the excellent food, but she dismissed it as paranoia, recognizing the danger inherent in such consideration. She could not go without food or drink and there seemed little purpose that she could conceive in such clandestine measures. She was, after all, entirely in Eyrik’s powers and the very nature of her surroundings suggested that so mundane a device was unnecessary should he wish to distort her perceptions.

  She leaned forward, elbows on the table as she cupped both hands about the talisman and called upon the teachings of Estrevan to bring that calm that might allow her to properly assess her situation.

  The rituals were simple and effective: extraneous thoughts were rapidly banished, her mind clearing, blanking, then focusing on the problem in hand, what facts she had at her disposal reviewed, her impressions presented, conclusions considered, rejected, her mind become a mixing bowl in which ingredients mingled, hopefully emerging in some single form, some beacon that would guide her through this maze of incomprehension.

  If Eyrik told the truth he was a valuable ally; indeed, her only ally, and his suggestion that she utilize the talisman to seek truth from the pool valid.

  If he lied, then the suggestion was likely some ploy by which he hoped to part her from the stone, and if that was the case all that transpired here a mockery, some elaborate design.

  But to what end? To gain control of the talisman? If that, then he must not be able to take it by force. Ergo: if Eyrik was false the talisman protected her in some measure.

  If so, then would it not also protect her, and itself, from any danger offered by the pool? But if the talisman was impervious to threat from the pool then—if Eyrik lied—what was the point in his advising that move?

  If, on the other hand, he spoke honestly, by using the talisman she might find a way through the alternatives shown and gain information of Kedryn.

  Could she continue without such knowledge, ignore the pool? It would require fortitude, to inhabit this unreal realm in blind ignorance, unaware of any measures Kedryn took to find her. It seemed the pool was her only link with the world outside and she was not sure how long she might retain her sanity isolated in this weird, fabulous place. She had found no library, nor any other source of diversion save the woods and gardens, the exploration of the palace, which in itself served only to bewilder her further.

  All hinged on the single consideration: did Eyrik lie or speak the truth?

  It was a conclusion she could not yet decide and she opened eyes she had not known she closed and looked about the chamber. Impatience gripped her and she rose to her feet, going to the door uncertain of her purpose. Rain still filled the atrium with a wet, gray curtain and abruptly she determined to make a further exploration. A door stood to her right, one she had not yet opened, and she went to it, entering a chamber containing the appurtenances of a salon, as though grand entertainments might be held therein. The floor was an intricate parquet of polished wood, sprung as for dancing, and a minstrels’ gallery stood high above the entrance. Small tables and chairs, two to each table, were arranged along the walls, which were plastered and washed with pale yellow. Banquettes stood at intervals between the more intimate seating arrangements, and great tapestries depicting woodland scenes stretched from the vaulted ceiling to the floor. High windows of multicolored glass were cut into all four walls, dulled by the rain, what little light they shed gloomy. The chandeliers suspended from the roof were unlit and the chamber had a musty air, as if little used. There were no other doors and Wynett left the place gladly, turning resolutely to the next portal.

  This gave ingress to a chamber of gray stone, windowless and containing nothing save a stairway that rose from the flags to angle up the far wall. She began to climb, finding herself on a narrow landing that again held nothing but the continuation of the staircase, visible through an arched doorway. Intrigued, she resumed her ascent, the stone steps spiraling as though built within a tower. A second landing was reached and she opened the door there on a long gallery overlooking the salon. A portal stood at the far end but she chose to continue upward, unwilling to lose herself again in the maze of chambers. She seemed to climb forever, her thighs and calves aching with the tension of the steady ascent, pausing to glance through the windows that were occasionally set into the various landings only to find her senses befuddled by the prospects they revealed. Some looked out over the lawns, although her senses told her they faced inward; others oversaw the atrium, some the salon, several down into rooms she recognized from her earlier investigations, more into chambers she had not explored, and after a while she ignored them, concentrating on the climb.

  Her breath grew short and her aching muscles were stabbed with painful complaint but she continued doggedly upward, wondering how far toward the sky the winding stairway went or, indeed, if it would ever end, for it began to seem that it might rise forever, a ceaseless spiral leading nowhere.

  Then a door showed, dark oak, hinged with thick metal, a heavy ring set at waist height. Before it the stairs ended on a circle of stone gray as the windowless walls. She halted, breathing hard, aware that her legs trembled with the effort of the climb, then took the metal ring and pulled the door inward.

  Rain struck her face, gusted on a wind that suggested great height, and she looked onto a colonnade open to the elements. It was fashioned of marble, pale and slick with rain, the columns glistening dully in the wan light. There was little shelter to be found beneath the roof, but she ignored the discomfort of rapidly soaked clothing as she walked toward the cupola visible at the far end of the colonnade. It was raised by three steps above the level of the walkway, circular, with a pillared rail of black marble striated with gold. She brushed wet hair from her face, blinking against the rain that buffeted her eyes and stared out over a vista she had not seen before.

  The sky was gray, the light poor, rendering judgment of distance uneasy, but her impression was that she stood higher than the levels of the palace she had counted from the ground, the cupola seeming to float beneath the lowering cloud like some aerial platform. Dizziness assailed her and she set her hands on the marble of the rail, the very loftiness of her vantage point, its aeriness, suggesting that she might let loose her grip and throw herself forward, outward, to sail birdlike downward. She stepped back, peering into the gloom, resisting the insane temptation. Below, she saw lawns, dull in the rain, cut by a wide road she guessed led to the gates of the palace. To one side, beyond the angle of the roof, she recognized the woodland, the stream she had crossed winding into a river, gray-silver from this height and broad, curving in a great oxbow before the building. A bridge spanned its course where the road ran down to meet the water, and from the far bank to the misty horizon there was a profusion of trees to dwarf even the Beltrevan. They were no kin to the woodlands where she had walked with Eyrik but a vast solidity of timber, wild and dark, no meadows showing, nor any waterways other than the great river that swept before the palace, a liquid boundary between gentle lawns and primeval forest. She could not be sure, but in the distance, at the outermost limits of her sight, she thought she discerned the faint outlines of mountains, as though a range of colossal height bulked along the horizon. As far as she could see the timber spread, the building atop which she stood the only habitation, isolated in that vast gray arboreal ocean.

  Abruptly she was filled with a terrible emptiness. She felt herself horribly alone, forsaken. An eremitical figure in the vast, rain-sodden landscape, helpless in this strange place. She turned away, wiping tears and rain from her eyes, shivering even though the wind that gusted her hair was warm, and a decision formed: she would trust the power of the talisman and seek knowledge, genuine knowledge, of Kedryn in the pool.

  In Gerat’s absence Lavia had, by common consent, assumed the duties of Paramount Sister and so it was that the travel- weary mehdri delivered his message to the tall woman with the gray-streaked hair. Lavia took it, recognizing Gerat’s seal and, after seeing the messenger settled with food and drink, retired to her own chambers to read the communication. She studied it with alarm widening her eyes, then read it once more before calling an acolyte to summon those senior members of the Sorority comprising the governing council of Estrevan.

  Jara, Porelle, and Reena came on her bidding, the older woman grumbling that her luncheon was interrupted, the two younger Sisters intrigued, for news of the mehdri’s arrival had spread rapidly through the Sacred City.

  “Forgive me,” Lavia apologized, somewhat tartly, “but I have received word from Gerat that brooks no delay in answer. It would seem that her fears were justified.”

  “Qualle’s writings have meaning?”

  Porelle sounded doubtful and Lavia nodded gravely, her expression stilling any further interruption. “Wynett has been taken by a creature of the netherworld,” she announced, “and Kedryn—accompanied by Tepshen Lahl and the former outlaw, Brannoc—has gone into the Beltrevan, his purpose to enter the netherworld and save Wynett.”

  “Both talismans are in the netherworld?” Reena’s plain features grew stark as the import of that statement sank in.

  “Wynett’s, without doubt; Kedryn’s, perhaps,” Lavia nodded. “Gerat surmises that Ashar sets a trap that Qualle foresaw. ”

  “He should not have gone!” Porelle glanced at her Sisters. “It is too dangerous.”

  “He would not be dissuaded,” said Lavia. “And further, Gerat believes that it is a gamble worth the taking. She considers it an opportunity to destroy the god.”

  “Or grant him unimaginable powers,” said Porelle. “Should he succeed in securing both talismans he will overcome any measures we may take to thwart him. With the talismans in his possession he will be able to breach the defenses Kyrie herself placed about the Kingdoms.”

  ‘The talismans must be given,” Jara reminded them. “They may not be taken by force whilst the rightful owner lives.”

  “Even so,” murmured Porelle, her eyes troubled. “Ashar is a god of lies and deception, mayhap he will trick one of them, or both, into presenting him their stone.”

  “Wynett will not be easily beguiled,” Reena said, “but what of Kedryn? Lavia, you have met him—do you think he might be deceived?”

  Lavia shook her head. “Not easily.”

  ‘The fate of the Kingdoms hangs on that,” Porelle said nervously.

  “Aye,” Lavia nodded, “what this action may unleash could turn the world on its head.”

  “I had misjudged Qualle,” Jara remarked thoughtfully. “It seems that in her madness she spoke the truth.”

  Three faces turned toward her and her wrinkled features creased further in a wry smile. “Do you not see it now? Gerat was right from the start, perchance inspired by the Lady.”

  “To send Kedryn into the netherworld?” Porelle demanded, her question harsh with doubt.

  “To send him there to slay Ashar,” Jara confirmed. “I doubt, in any event, that she could have stopped him. Nor would she send him to that limbo without the protection of the talisman.”

  “That Wynett is taken is misfortune enough,” Porelle argued. “Surely to further risk the second talisman is . . . unwise.”

  Jara shook her silver head. “Mayhap not, even though the absence of the one half must inevitably weaken our defenses against the god’s minions; but the rest is a gamble I have no doubt Gerat has taken only after much calculation.”

  “She believes it the only way to secure Wynett’s stone,” Lavia said. “Listen, I shall read you her message.”

  They sat in silence as she read the words. When she had finished Jara said, “Aye, I see it, and although I doubted her wisdom in traveling to Gennyf I now find myself in agreement.”

  “As I do,” Lavia declared.

  “Do we have sufficient Senders?” Porelle wondered. “And can we channel our strength in such a way?”

  “It has never been attempted,” Lavia said, “therefore we cannot know, but it is possible.”

  “In theory,” Reena said doubtfully. “But in practice?”

  “We shall find out,” said Lavia. “Let us gather all our Senders and explain what is needed of them. Then we must arrange transport. Word is already delivered to the Morfah garrison and Chatelain Lyon stands ready to support our efforts.” “Wait!” Porelle raised a hand in protest. “Should we not first consider the possible consequences? If we establish linkage with Gerat in High Fort, and she is able to project the full strength of Estrevan into the netherworld, then we also create a potential channel down which Ashar may send his evil might.