us? And what if they do? It’s all ancient history-not even that
to some. To some, it’s legend and myth, a lot of nonsense.”
“Not to everyone,” Coil said quietly.
“What’s the use of having the wishsong, if the telling of the
stories isn’t going to make any difference? Maybe the stranger
was right. Maybe there are better uses for the magic.”
“Like aiding the outlaws in their fight against the Federation?
Like getting yourself killed?” Coil shook his head. “That’s as
pointless as not using it at all.”
There was a sudden splash from somewhere out in me river,
and the brothers turned as one to seek out its source. But there
was only the churning of rain-swollen waters and nothing else.
” Everything seems pointless.” Par kicked at the earth in front
of him. “What are we doing, Coil? Chased out of Varfleet as
much as if we were outlaws ourselves, forced to take that boat
like thieves, made to run for home like dogs with our tails be-
tween our legs.” He paused, looking over at his brother.’ ‘Why
do you think we still have use of the magic?”
Coil’s blocky face shifted slightly toward Par’s. “What do
you mean?”
“Why do we have it? Why hasn’t it disappeared along with
everything else? Do you think there’s a reason?”
There was a long silence. “I don’t know,” Coil said finally.
He hesitated. “I don’t know what it’s like to have the magic.”
Par stared at him, realizing suddenly what he had asked and
ashamed he had done so.
“Not that I’d want it, you understand,” Coil added hastily,
aware of his brother’s discomfort. ‘ ‘One of us with the magic is
enough.” He grinned.
Par grinned back. “I expect so.” He looked at Coil appre-
ciatively for a moment, then yawned.’ ‘You want to go to sleep?”
Coil shook his head and eased his big frame back into the
shadows a bit. “No, I want to talk some more. It’s a good night
for talking.”
Nevertheless, he was silent then, as if he had nothing to say
after all. Par studied him for a few moments, then they both
looked back out over the Mermidon, watching as a massive tree
limb washed past, apparently knocked down by the storm. The
wind, which had blown hard at first, was quiet now, and the
rain was falling straight down, a steady, gentle sound as it passed
through the trees.
Par found himself thinking about the stranger who had res-
cued them from the Federation Seekers. He had puzzled over
the man’s identity for the better part of the day, and he still hadn’t
a clue as to who he was. There was something familiar about
him, though-something in the way he talked, an assurance, a
confidence. It reminded him of someone from one of the stories
he told, but he couldn’t decide who. There were so many tales
and many of them were about men like that one, heroes in the
days of magic and Druids, heroes Par had thought were missing
from this age. Maybe he had been wrong. The stranger at the
Blue Whisker had been impressive in his rescue of them. He
seemed prepared to stand up to the Federation. Perhaps there
was hope for the Four Lands yet.
He leaned forward and fed another few sticks of deadwood
into the little fire, watching the smoke curl out from beneath the
canvas shelter into the night. Lightning flashed suddenly farther
east, and a long peal of thunder followed.
“Some dry clothes would be good right now,” he muttered.
‘ ‘Mine are damp just from the air.”
Coil nodded. “Some hot stew and bread, too.”
“A bath and a warm bed.”
‘ ‘Maybe the smell of fresh spices.”
“And rose water.”
Coil sighed. “At this point, I’d just settle for an end to this
confounded rain.” He glanced out into the dark. “I could al-
most believe in Shadowen on a night like this, I think.”
Par decided suddenly to tell Coil about the dreams. He wanted
to talk about them, and there no longer seemed to be any reason
not to. He debated only a moment, then said, “I haven’t said