evident.
Being recognizable in this way, unfortunately, was not nec-
essarily desirable. While in Varfleet, Par disguised his features,
plucking his brows, wearing his hair long to hide his ears, shad-
ing his face with darkener. He didn’t have much choice. It wasn’t
wise to draw attention to one’s Elven lineage these days.
“She has her gown nicely in place tonight, doesn’t she?”
Coil said, glancing off down the alleyway to the city beyond.
“Black velvet and sparkles, not a thread left hanging. Clever
girl, this city. Even the sky is her friend.”
Par smiled. My brother, the poet. The sky was clear and filled
with the brightness of a tiny crescent moon and stars. “You
might come to like her if you gave her half a chance.”
“Me?” Coil snorted. “Not likely. I’m here because you’re
here. I wouldn’t stay another minute if I didn’t have to.”
‘ ‘You could go if you wanted.”
Coil bristled. “Let’s not start again. Par. We’ve been all
through that. You were the one who thought we ought to come
north to the cities. I didn’t like the idea then, and I don’t like it
any better now. But that doesn’t change the fact that we agreed
to do this together, you and me. A fine brother I’d be if I left
you here and went back to the Vale now! In any case, I don’t
think you could manage without me.”
“All right, all right, I was just…” Par tried to interrupt.
“Attempting to have a little fan at my expense!” Coil fin-
ished heatedly. “You have done that on more than one occasion
of late. You seem to take some delight in it.”
“That is not so.”
Coil ignored him, gazing off into the dark.
‘ ‘I would never pick on anyone with duck feet.”
Coil grinned in spite of himself. “Fine talk from a little fel-
low with pointed ears. You should be grateful I choose to stay
and look after you!”
Par shoved him playfully, and they both laughed. Then they
went quiet, staring at each other in the dark, listening to the
sounds of the ale house and the streets beyond. Par sighed. It
was a warm, lazy midsummer night that made the cool, sharp
days of the past few weeks seem a distant memory. It was the
kind of night when troubles scatter and dreams come out to play.
“There are rumors of Seekers in the city,” Coil informed
him suddenly, spoiling his contentment.
“There are always rumors,” he replied.
“And the rumors are often true. Talk has it that they plan to
snatch up all the magic-makers, put them out of business and
close down the ale houses.” Coil was staring intently at him.
“Seekers, Par. Not simple soldiers. Seekers.”
Par knew what they were. Seekers-Federation secret police,
the enforcement arm of the Coalition Council’s Lawmakers. He
knew.
They had arrived in Varfleet two weeks earlier. Coil and he.
They journeyed north from Shady Vale, left the security and
familiarity and protective confines of their family home and came
into the Borderlands of Callahom. They did so because Par had
decided they must, that it was time for them to tell their stories
elsewhere, that it was necessary to see to it that others besides
the Vale people knew. They came to Varfleet because Varfleet
was an open city, free of Federation rule, a haven for outlaws
and refugees but also for ideas, a place where people still lis-
tened with open minds, a place where magic was still toler-
ated-even courted. He had the magic and, with Coil in tow, he
took it to Varfleet to share its wonder. There was already magic
aplenty being practiced by others, but his was of a far different
sort. His was real.
They found the Blue Whisker the first day they arrived, one
of the biggest and best known ale houses in the city. Par per-
suaded the owner to hire them in the first sitting. He had ex-
pected as much. After all, he could persuade anyone to do just
about anything with the wishsong.
Real magic. He mouthed the words without speaking them.
There wasn’t much real magic left in the Four Lands, not