The tables had turned. Now the raw and thorny part of his pattern was curled in upon itself, and he was whole outside it. And in whole possession of this body, for what that was worth.

Ka'an had to admit that it was a good body. Far better than he was used to. Of course it resembled his first, as all his bodies had. But of those he'd actually experienced since his defeat at the Judge's hands -- the few in which he'd emerged briefly to self-awareness -- most were in some way weakened or damaged. The mortal state was a fragile one. And all his vessels back to the first had been thin, as weak and graceful as reeds, most further atrophied by dreaming, in various stages of succumbing to the poppy that was his gift to the world.

This one, though... he reveled in its strength as he ran. The frame was his own, the long bones, the precarious height. Somehow, though, this version of him had clothed that delicate frame with muscle like braided wire, toughened and hardened itself -- and, he realized, picked up a great number of scars in the process. No matter; those could be repaired, once he took back his power.

First, though, he had to win free of those minions of Theylan who chased him. He was lucky the smaller mind had folded when it had, or it would have gotten this fine body killed, and Ka'an wouldn't have had this chance. Even now, the diseased mind was paining him. Like a splinter under a fingernail. Keening and raging within itself, yearning to run back to that weak northern creature he'd left behind. Doubt and contradiction. The body's mind had decided two things at once: simultaneously to obey the northerner's order to run, and to refuse and stay. That break had allowed Ka'an an opening. Now he'd shake off the trouble the mortal mind had gotten him into, and then he'd go take back his power, and then he'd find Thelyan and teach that leprous-pale upstart the consequences of standing against his elders.

All this water was inconvenient. He doubted he had the strength to change the weather just now, though. Some knowlege of this life was available to him, and it informed him that all rain falling in this area would eventually drain into the pattern that mortals called the Tama Burn. Thus all he had to do was follow it downstream. Pleased by the slow heat of well-conditioned muscles, he ran along the ankle-deep stream. There was a possibility, of course, that it would deepen suddenly and drown this body.

The thought brought a twitch from the curled, abrasive lesser mind within him. That mind, which he would crush and absorb as soon as he had the time and power -- call it Kai, one of the body's names, appropriate in its sense of 'ghost' -- was not willing to risk drowning. Apparently the northerner they'd left behind was depending on a rescue.

Ka'an laughed out loud. Such a small life Kai had. The world was full of boys much prettier than that one. Girls, too, once Ka'an altered the body so that it could respond to them. Any of them could be made to adore him. They would surrender themselves utterly, without all the playing at equality that the northerner had done.

Anger from Kai. He has a name.

Oh yes. Ashes; a burned thing, worthless. The only interesting thing about him was... there had been something interesting... why, he almost thought that Kai might be denying him access to some of his memories.

Well, there was no time for that now. He'd handle it later. Now the gully he ran along was widening, and he could see that it opened ahead, onto flatter ground. Yes; a lip of stone, a short leap, and he ran on bare stone. Something off to the left made a sharp popping noise, and he wondered what it could be. A rockfall?

Gunfire, idiot.

The image this brain threw at him clarified the risk. It would have to be dealt with. He found some solid earth where he could plant his feet. The rain and the thick soles of these boots would interfere with his drawing of power, but he didn't suppose that would matter much. The two men running toward him across the rocky plain were only mortals, after all. Wearing Thelyan's white, they carried things Kai recognized as rifles, and were surrounded by a fine mist of static power. Mages with weapons? What use did a mage have for a weapon? His power should be his only weapon. Ka'an would show them how it was done.

He drew heat from stone, force from the tiny concussions of raindrops. Not much, but it should be enough to teach these ridiculous creatures a lesson. He spun up a ward against projectiles. Ignoring the furious thrashing of Kai inside him, he fashioned a noose of will and cast it into the nearer man's heart.

That man sagged, choking. How irritating; he should have died in an instant. He was somehow fighting off Ka'an's death spell. Ka'an would win, but it would take time, and the other man had dropped to one knee and raised his rifle.

Crack and whine, and chips flew up from between Ka'an's feet. He ignored that, busy forcing aside the shieldings of his victim. These gave way, flinging the man into death, just as another gunshot sounded. Ka'an was startled to feel a slap against his thigh, followed by a stinging sensation. He looked down to see a red rip in his trousers where the bullet had creased him. How had it gotten through his ward?

His flicker of confusion quickly turned to anger as Kai surged up inside him, running along the body's nerves like fire on spilled oil. He pressed back, and a thought struck him like a slap: Not now, fuckwit. Then he was moving, and the next bullet buzzed past without striking.

Just below the surface, Ka'an fumed at Kai's actions as the body dashed straight at the enemy. How dare he. How dare he oppose my will, and endanger this body, which I have claimed? The enemy was throwing aside his gun, standing, raising his hand and opening his mouth to trigger a spell. Ka'an tried to jerk the body aside, and found Kai's will weakly held, but now it was as if the body itself had intentions of its own. The first syllable of the spell was spoken, making air chill and skin prickle; then Ka'an's new body was airborne, heel striking the white-clad man in the center of the chest, knocking him down.

A wash of heat swept over him and was gone: a fire spell cut off before it could catch hold. Kai was in control now, snatching up the fallen rifle and aiming it. His thoughts as he put it to his shoulder were chaotic, spinning vaguely in the direction of picking off these men one by one and rescuing the red-haired boy. He pulled the trigger; the enemy's head splattered red across the ground; the rifle kicked against half-healed bone.

In the pain that followed, Ka'an took charge again.

There would be no more silliness about rescues. And there would most certainly be no more name-calling or disrespect. Ka'an was a god. Kai was just a trace left in the brain, soon to be absorbed. From deep within, Kai growled defiance as Ka'an pushed him down, but Ka'an paid him no attention.

By nightfall, he could not make the body do more than trudge stumblingly along. It was exhausted. He let it lie down, though he was impatient with mortal limitations. Now he had to remember how to fall asleep without being trapped in unconsciousness. He, the Dreamer, afraid of dreams! Yet he could still sense Kai rumbling in him, like an undigested meal. It was possible that the mortal might take control when Ka'an relaxed his grip.

And do what? Ka'an smiled. He would be unable to stand, let alone take them anywhere Ka'an didn't want to go.

Nevertheless it was a delicate operation. Ka'an would have to remain lucid if he wished to retain control after the body had rested. Gently, carefully, he let Kai slip past him just enough to inhabit the upper layer, the one that felt cold and tasted grit. Let him deal with the ache of hunger in the body's stomach. Ka'an remained just behind him, lacing tendrils of himself through Kai's perceptions; eavesdropping.

Blinking, Kai flexed his hand before his face, then groaned. He pushed himself up on his hands. Ka'an immediately jerked him back; the body flopped like a rag doll. You shan't go anywhere, Kai. I simply mean to let you sleep.

"In a mud puddle?" Kai mumbled when Ka'an let him out again. "Just going upslope a bit. Asshole." This insult got him pulled away once more. The next time Ka'an gave him the body, he crawled on his belly away from the waterway they'd been following. Once on harder ground, he wrapped his coat around him and curled into a ball. Miserably chilled and hungry, he put his arms over his face. He was, Ka'an realized, aware of the same dilemma Ka'an had seen, that of relinquishing control to sleep. Why he was so determined to go blundering back into danger for some white-faced catamite was a mystery.

From Kai's part of their shared pattern came a surge of pity. You have no idea what anything's worth.

Sleep, Ghost, Ka'an replied angrily. Neither of us is served by your maundering.

Kai's reluctant agreement was followed by a relaxing of muscles, if not of mind. The mortal had to bear the brunt of the body's discomfort; if he hadn't been perfectly exhausted, sleep would have been impossible. Ka'an caught his last waking thought: the determination that, when he had rested, he would certainly force himself to the front, defeat what he saw as an intruding, alien mind. He still didn't understand. He should have been honored to be host to his god. Thelyan's influence had done a great deal of harm. Kai didn't have the faintest idea what Ka'an really was, how impossible it would be to win against him, and thus intended to try. This, as he sank into Ka'an's own realm, carrying Ka'an with him.

Kai's dreams began as planning; he tried to find a method of effecting his intended rescue. Mental maps unrolled. These plans soon skewed out of lucidity, but Ka'an was easily able to retain detachment, and observe rather than being involved. Kai ran through nightmare landscapes of looming water-walls, hunting the red-haired boy. He was frantic. Black towers of water crashed on him, and he believed his Ashes had drowned, but went on searching. He believed that if he could find the body, he could follow the departing soul into the land of ghosts.

Several times, Ka'an was nearly drawn into the dream by its intensity. Had people dreamed so forcefully, in his days of rulership? The body wasn't getting good rest. With a twist of power he hadn't exercised in centuries, Ka'an washed light over the dreamscape and put dry land before the eye of Kai's thoughts. But it wasn't enough; Kai was still in nightmare, still searching, reeling with despair. So Ka'an gave him an image of his white-faced boy, standing unharmed in a field of poppies. He waited to see if the symbolism of the poppies would reach him, remind him how to surrender his will.

Then something disturbing happened: the image of the white boy changed without Ka'an's permission, and without the intervention of Kai's imagination either. It went into sharp focus, suddenly detached from the fabric of the dream. Ka'an had cleaned the boy up a bit, but abruptly he was just as wet and bedraggled as he'd been when Kai last saw him, one arm of his white shirt soaked thinly red. He reached out to snatch up Kai's hand and press it to his cheek.

"Where were you, I was looking for you," Kai said in a dreamer's babbling voice. His relief was overwhelming, strong enough to disturb Ka'an's concentration; this time he was actually dragged partway into the dream before he shook himself free.

"You got away. You're all right," Ashes replied; his voice was also a dreamer's, and there came with it a thread of trickled power. Ka'an fought for the detachment to trace it.

"You're bleeding."

"They shot me but they healed it. And my ankle."

"They caught you. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." Kai's dream-self shimmered with anguish, much stronger than anything that could be expressed while awake. The storm of regret subsided instantly when Ashes kissed his fingers and smiled forgiveness.

"I don't know where I am. Some kind of trance. This is a true dream, isn't it? I can feel your hand."

"Yes."

The boy's blue eyes widened in anxiety. "You'll come for me, won't you? I already miss you."

"I promise. But I have to fight this monster first."

"That one?" He pointed. They both turned to look, and they were staring at Ka'an. Too late, he realized he'd been drawn into the dream.

Very well. He'd show the mortal what a god looked like. Wrapping his aspect around him in full glory, he glared, making his eyes crackle with green fire. Made his voice thrum in Kai's chest like a drum when he spoke: "You are only a small part of me, Ghost. All that is great or bright or true in you comes from me. Don't you want to be united with something higher than yourself?" He held his arms out, changing the tone of the dream to one of lostness, loneliness, presenting himself as the only home.

But instead of longing toward the vision of the god, Kai wrapped his arms protectively around Ashes, meeting Ka'an's glare with a scowl. "Get the hell out of my head!"

"How dare you speak to me that way!" Ka'an reared up, becoming terrible, but Kai wasn't frightened. Even Ashes was just looking on with faintly disapproving curiosity, as if watching someone else's child misbehave.

Disgusted with himself, Ka'an jerked free of Kai's thoughts, leaving the dream in ruins behind him. He shivered awake. He had possession of the body, which seemed on the verge of hypothermia. Inside him, Kai threshed about helplessly, looking for his lost dream, and was easily subdued.

The rain had stopped. Clouds fled in rags, revealing glimpses of thin moonlight. Where there had been a foaming river, there now flowed a quieter stream. Ka'an dragged his sluggish body upright, reflecting that it must be a well-trained body indeed, to be able to go on after only an hour's sleep in such wretched conditions, especially chilled as it was. Fortunate, that the dream had gone badly. He might have died -- it might have died of the cold, otherwise, casting him blindly toward his next birth.

Not this time. He was determined that this time, he would rise to his true power again. He would take his rightful place. Forcing the exhausted body onward, he followed the flowing water.

Something big was happening out there. Hints and echoes tortured Chaiel, made him twist within his prison. Something big.

He couldn't make sense of it. Couldn't slow it down enough to look at it. The babble of voices beat him, visions bludgeoned him, knowlege stretched his brain and cluttered him until he couldn't think. Memories tore at him, never quite coming clear. He was afraid.

When light burst suddenly in on him, he screamed.

It's only Thelyan, he told himself sternly, and calmed enough to look, though a desperate edge stayed on his thoughts. Why was the Judge bothering him again so soon? And why -- the novelty of this took Chaiel's breath away -- why did he have another person with him? He always came alone. What was happening?

This other person was a hollow-cheeked youth in dirty clothes, whose eyelids sagged as if he were half asleep. He stood with a slumping posture, hands loose at his sides, gazing incuriously at Chaiel. Behind streaked spectacles, his eyes were glassy crescents of watery blue. Thelyan was smiling.

"I don't have any questions for you this time, Chaiel," Thelyan said. "I've found Ka'an, and I'll absorb him soon. Tomorrow or the next day, if all goes well. After that, whether I have a use for you depends on how cooperative you are. With that in mind, I've decided to give you a present." He turned to the slack-faced youth. "Undress and remove your spectacles."

Still hammered by fragmentary visions, Chaiel fought to make sense of this. He felt his lips twisting in a posture between laughing and weeping. "What do I want with that? Bring me a girl."

"You asked me if you could have Medur. The answer is yes."

With dawning horror, Chaiel remembered. He remembered how he had seen that Medur was housed in male flesh this incarnation, and he remembered asking, as a joke, to be given her if she was found, and had not connected the two conversations. Now he understood what he'd brought on himself. Thelyan was not a prankster. He really meant to throw this mindless body into Chaiel's prison to crowd him, to drool and mumble at him and keep him from ever knowing a moment's peace. Probably the thing would be left in here with him for eternity.

He babbled and whimpered, begging, blustering, warning, promising, but Thelyan paid him no mind. Like a statue carved from salt, the Judge watched until he was certain the blank-faced boy had no material on him that might be used for a tool, then steered the unresisting creature to the wall of the sphere. He touched a seal he'd never released before.

Chaiel gasped as air moved against his skin. The bubble was open, it was open! He could get out, if only he could get to the surface he could reach through, he smelled things and felt a breeze on his face!

Thelyan gestured, and the idiot boy was jerked through the air and into the sphere. He fell limply against Chaiel, who shoved and clawed to be free of the entangling limbs, to get out -- but Thelyan touched the seal again, and the sphere went stagnant as before.

"Fuck you, Judge!" Chaiel screeched. "Fuck you! Shit on you! I hope your eyes fall out! I hope bugs eat your bowels!"

"I'll leave you a light," Thelyan replied. "So you can get acquainted." He sent his glowing spot up to cling to the ceiling. He went out of the room, and the door clanged behind him.

Weeping in rage, Chaiel punched and slapped at unresponsive body that sagged all over him. It was drawn to the center of the sphere, as he was, and thus it pressed against him no matter what he did. Briefly he entertained the thought of eating it. When it was dead, he could vomit it out, and it would fall out of the sphere and leave him alone.

Alone. A groan wrung out of him. He didn't want to be alone.

But this flopping doll was no company. He turned it around, held it away from him with his feet against its chest. It looked a little bit familiar -- but then, didn't everything? As he watched it, its eyes slid meaninglessly sideways, clearly not seeing anything.

Bewilderment rushed through him. It was quickly followed by regret, then longing, then worry for the safety of -- someone.

Chaiel sucked in his breath. Those weren't his own feelings. The floppy boy was sending them. Forcing himself calm, he sorted through what had been said, trying to separate his stuttering visions from actual dialogue.

Medur. In a male body. Given to him. This. The Green Lady who wove the vines between hearts; voices babbling about a Green Man; emotions coming up through the soles of his feet. Chaiel squatted on the stranger's chest, peering at him. Well, he looked like a Yelorrean, and immortals tended to incarnate near where they'd first come to power, and there was something foggy about him, like thick clothing, only underneath his skin. Remember. You know how to do this. It's been so long... you know how to do this, Chaiel. Look properly.

Centuries since there had been any pattern in here but his own. He'd stopped seeing it. Blinded by too much information. Making his sight work on the body in front of him was a long, frustrating chore, exacerbated by the leaking emotions that came out wherever their skin touched. And he could not keep from touching, because the stupid sphere pushed them both toward the center, and stupid Thelyan made them be naked so Chaiel couldn't find a way to kill himself with his clothes. Or make a noose of them and swing out to catch the seals when the sphere was opened -- I could have used my hair, I could have made a braid and swung it out and caught it on a seal when he put this person in, oh damn me why didn't I do that? Too late now; he bit himself hard on the forearm, then returned to his task.

Just when he thought he'd forgotten forever, would never remember, pattern bloomed before his eyes in all its brilliant colors of thought.

His own pattern was not pleasant to look at. He was insane, and it showed. Chaotic, jerking and spiking with nauseating randomness. He focused instead on the boy's. It was hard to make out; that fog was still there. Chaiel thought its regularity was a bit reminiscent of Thelyan's style. A spell of passivity, of course. He could shatter it with a word, but stopped himself -- stilled himself, though it was difficult -- and carefully spun off the power in it, instead. Not nearly enough power to break out of the sphere. There might not be enough in the world for that. But more was good anyway. As the last shreds of the spell pulled free, the blue-eyed youth blinked and twitched, distaste and panic spilling out of him.

"Hold still," Chaiel barked. "We'll just get tangled if you move."

Looking from Chaiel's face to his own body to the room beyond the ripple of the sphere, the stranger let out a groan. "What is this?"

"You're in the sphere. Thelyan said Medur's in you. Let me look."

Hands hovering in awkward consideration near Chaiel's feet, the stranger spilled out confusion shading into anger. "Who's Thelyan?"

"The one who brought you here."

"I don't remember that. I don't remember coming here. What's Medur?"

"You're not very bright, are you?"

The boy's brows snapped down. Suddenly he moved, grabbing Chaiel's ankle and thrusting him away. Chaiel began a laugh as he bounced up and began to come down again, but it was cut off when the boy's fist smacked into the side of his jaw, spinning him around. As he yelped in surprise, the stranger reversed their earlier positions, so that he was now kneeling on Chaiel's chest, and he had a fistful of Chaiel's hair.

"Just so you know," the boy said tightly, "I've had one hell of a rotten day, so I advise you to leave off smartassing and answer my goddamned question."

Chaiel gaped at the newcomer. His jaw hurt now. The boy looked so thin, but he'd hit awfully hard. And he was so angry. He was still leaking emotion, which meant he was an empath like Medur's vessel should be, but the feeling coming out of him was a cold burn of fury. Chaiel whimpered. "Don't hit me anymore."

The emission of anger flickered, but came back almost as strongly. "That's up to you, kid. We can be friends or enemies. Your call."

"Friends!" Chaiel tugged to get his hair out of the stranger's fist. The stranger let go with a sigh, anger fading to weary irritation.

"Good. My name's Ashleigh Trine. Call me Ash if you like." He offered his hand, and Chaiel shook it, though the angle was awkward.

"My name is Chaiel," he said, and waited for a reaction. Got none. Sniffed. "So Thelyan really has erased me from history."

"What is this place? This thing? How come we're all sideways and sticky?"

"It's called a null sphere. It suspends me so that Thelyan can try to make me answer questions. It stops aging. Mostly. Hair and nails still grow. But I hope you don't need to piss, because you can't."

"Yeah, I can see your hair. Do they feed us? I'm hungry as hell, and thirsty."

"Eventually, you'll bite yourself and suck your own blood, trying to stop the thirst. It doesn't work, but you'll do it anyway."

"So that would be a no," the boy named Ash said calmly, but there had been a spike of fear in him. "Who's this Thelyan character, then?"

Chaiel's lips quirked. "Say the name a lot of times very quickly."

"No thanks."

"Thelyan Thelan Telan Delan Dalan."

"So? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you a Dalanist?"

"You're smartassing again." Ash cracked his knuckles.

"I'm not. I swear. He's an immortal, a theophage like I am, like Ka'an and Medur -- gods. We were all mortal once, but he's forgotten that. He's eaten all the rest, and made the world think he's the only one. Now he's going to go eat Ka'an, and then he'll eat us. He's incarnated right now, made himself Director of the Watch. That's who put you in here, because you have Medur in you, though I can't see her, I don't know how he knew --"

"Calm down. Shy -- what was your name?"

"Chaiel."

"Okay. Look, I happen to think you're nuts, but let's see if it hangs together. I've heard of Ka'an. Tell me about him."

"You should know. You've been fucking him."

The newcomer's already pale face blanched gray. "Oh god."

"Precisely."

"So Kieran really -- how did you know that?"

"It's my function. I know things. Just as it's Thelyan's function to divide things, and yours to bring things together, and your evil sweetheart's to do all sorts of things no one wants done."

"What?"

"Oh, he's a scary one, Ka'an. I can remember when he ruled the rest of us. He was horrible. He must've been buried awfully deep in your Kieran person, if you can regard him with anything but loathing. Just like Medur's buried so far down in you I can't find her."

Ash shook his head rapidly. "Damn it -- this is all crazy. Okay, who's Medur, and what's this crap about... her... being inside me?"

"Let me see if I can find her. Draw her out. Then I won't have to explain things."

"No. I saw that -- Ka'an -- coming up in Kieran, and it scared the hell out of me. I don't think I want to go through something like that."

"With Medur?" Chaiel laughed. "She's harmless."

"Nope. Don't try," he added warningly, cocking a fist.

"And she has the answers you want."

"Didn't I just tell you no?"

"And I miss her."

"Tough. I don't want some girl taking over my mind."

"Don't you want to know all about the god that's running your starving, hypothermic boyfriend to death right about now?"

Immediately after he'd said it -- after it had leapt from his lips as things sometimes did if he had a clairsentient moment while he was talking -- he wished he'd somehow kept his mouth shut. The emotion that spilled into him from Ash was more sharply painful than anything he'd felt in a very long time. Its aftereffects were even worse; Ash was just gnawing a knuckle, afraid because something bad was happening to someone he loved, but Chaiel was forced to see how dulled and numb he'd become over the centuries, and was in danger of losing his numbness because of it.

They remained like that for a time, throwing pain back and forth, until Ash steeled himself and shut down the circuit. His magic was clumsy -- he slammed himself closed far harder than he had to. Still, it was a relief.

Ash covered his hands with his face for a moment, then took a deep breath and met Chaiel's eyes. "All right. Do it."

"It's easier if you open up again," Chaiel said reluctantly.

"If I get scared, it'll distract you."

"Never mind that. You just startled me. You're no good at this. You never had any training, I suppose."

"No."

"Just open."

Scowling, Ash closed his eyes. After a few breaths, his face relaxed, and his mind's barriers relaxed as well. All he was leaking now was a faint anxiety, which was a sensation Chaiel was well accustomed to.

There was the fellow's pattern, a pleasingly even one, almost floral in its unfurled receptiveness. Shapes of open-minded reason repeated within it. The mind of a scholar. Of course it contained the uneven glyphs of hot-blooded tendencies that were to be expected in someone so young, and the whole was currently underlaid by a deep sense of loss and anger, but on the whole it was a very sane mind. The certain shape of magic which Thelyan's minions had been taught to call a Talent was there, a little stretched and scarred as if he'd been trying to get it to do things it couldn't. Or, Chaiel realized, as if it had recently been caught against a will like Thelyan's. Ash had certainly been interrogated before being brought here, but he didn't seem much changed by it.

Chaiel resented him for that.

After much careful sorting and delving, he saw what he'd been looking for. Scented the faintest hint of someone he knew. Following the hint, he found it tightly knotted, incurved in such a way that it could not, of its own action, break free. A touch from outside was needed to release it. Medur had made herself a seed that could only germinate when conditions were just right.

That was so like her. Chaiel smiled as he touched the intricately tiny glyph, teased free a burr of semi-awareness and saw the whole thing start to unfold.

He drew back into himself and opened his eyes. Ash looked puzzled at him.

"I thought it would be like a Survey," Ash said. "But that didn't hurt."

"Doing it right takes finesse. Creativity. Thelyan's people don't have that. He pounds it out of them."

"Well, I appreciate it. I can sort of see what you were looking at, but I don't feel any different. Should I?"

"Give it time."

"I don't have time, not if what you said about Kieran is true!"

"Oh, Ka'an won't break his body while it's still useful. Probably."

"Probably?" Ash bared his teeth, about to have a tantrum. Then he stopped. His look turned inward. He drew a sharp breath. "Oh."

Chaiel waited, half fearful and half pleased, while Medur unfurled.

Thelyan studied the map. He could get a team into the Burn area within four hours. Faster, if the Splitwood Mine spur was clear, or the engineers handy about shunting traffic off it. But he had to assume the worst, and in the worst case he'd only be throwing those men away. Well, he could withdraw them if the situation changed.

Interrogating Ashleigh Trine had yielded some interesting results. He'd done it himself, not trusting the information to any of his officers. He hadn't made any special effort to leave the recaptured fugitive sane or alive at the end of the session; giving the boy to Chaiel had been an afterthought. The combination of Survey, Compulsion, and physical stressing had broken Trine wide open. Thelyan now knew that Kieran Trevarde was Ka'an's current host, that Ka'an had nearly awakened at least once, that the two fugitives' homosexual relationship might provide a hold on Trevarde if Ka'an didn't emerge, and that Ka'an had apparently seen something in Trine to startle him. A deeper probe of Trine had told Thelyan what it was: Medur, dormant.

One of his two enemies had fallen into his hand, without any effort on his part. He had a fairly clear idea of the location and plans of the other. And the weather was clearing, which would allow tracking.

Either Ka'an had emerged, or he had not. If he had emerged, he would make straight for the Burn as quickly as possible. If he hadn't, he might do so at any point, or he might remain buried. If he remained buried, the motivation would be Trevarde's; either to hide himself, or to attempt to free Trine. That last possibility seemed unlikely, as things stood; some people actually were that suicidally noble, but Thelyan doubted that the multiple murderer Trevarde was one of them. It was also unlikely that Ka'an would remain buried long.

Therefore it made sense to plan for two contingencies: Ka'an in fresh possession of his power, or Trevarde fleeing for the border.

Ways to leave the country were limited, and already closely monitored. It wouldn't hurt to have a search team combing the area where Trevarde had last been sighted, in case he tried to find a bolthole within the country. But Thelyan considered it far more likely that Ka'an had awakened.

In which case, his first action after reassuming his power would be to strike at Thelyan. The evil one wasn't stupid; he knew that planning and preparing were Thelyan's skills, not his own, and would try not to give Thelyan time to be ready. He would not understand that Thelyan had always been ready. Coming fresh from reabsorbing his greater pattern, wearing a body still injured and exhausted from the Watch's harrying of Trevarde, and nearly a thousand years behind the science of magic, he'd be easily defeated.

The only thing Thelyan wasn't confident of was his ability to fully assimilate Ka'an. He'd failed, last time. He'd only been able to cut Ka'an from his power and kill his body. Though he could easily do that this time, it would mean another long period of watching for the evil one's possible incarnations. He would far rather break Ka'an's will and take him in whole. But the methods by which Thelyan had broken the others hadn't worked on Ka'an. The others had loved their worshippers, and thus were vulnerable to Thelyan's threats to their populations. Ka'an, on the other hand, was perfectly selfish. When Thelyan had warned that retaliations would fall on the Iavaians as a result of Ka'an's stubbornness, Ka'an had been unmoved. If they can't defend themselves, let them die, Ka'an had replied.

Well, perhaps something would come to mind. Until then, it was better to plan on keeping the body alive, using the null sphere. Having three of his enemies in one sphere wouldn't be secure; he would have to build more.

Then there would be no chance of anyone spoiling his plans. His people would continue to spread across the world, bringing order and righteousness. Gradually, rebellion and sin would be weeded out. There would come a time when all was clear, all voices raised in unison to him, ordered and regular, grateful for the bliss of perfect obedience. There would be no more of the pain caused by conflict. No more pride or lust or anger. Ka'an's diseased legacy would be erased at last.

Thelyan was surprised to discover that a fine tremor had begun in his hands. With an effort, he stilled himself. It wouldn't do to get excited. He still had to give orders to his people, predicated on the assumption that there would soon be a Burn here. All nonessential personnel would be evacuated. He would have the prisoners locked down; they could go hungry for a few days, if necessary. If they were killed, he could simply collect others later. Did he want to bring extra troops in?

Yes, why not. They would probably die, but they'd weaken Ka'an in the process, lessening the likelihood that Thelyan would be harmed. Loyal men would be grateful for such an opportunity. Even if they didn't know what Thelyan was, they knew they were dying for their God.