of how in his madness he was a danger to his brother. Coil did
not believe what Rimmer Dali had told him-yet he could not
bring himself to disbelieve either. The truth, he decided, lay
somewhere in between, in that gray area amid the speculations
and lies. But the truth was hard to decipher, and he would nev-
er learn it there. Rimmer Dali had his own reasons for what
he was doing and he was not about to reveal them to Coil.
Whatever they were, whatever the reality of the Shadowen
and their magic, Coil was convinced that he had to reach his
brother.
So he trained in the exercise yard by day, lay awake sorting
out chances and possibilities by night, and all the while fought
back against the insidious possibility that nothing would come
of any of it.
Then one day, several weeks after he had been released from
his cell, while sparring once again with Ulfkingroh in the exer-
cise yard, he caught sight of Rimmer Dali passing down a walk-
way between two alcoves. At first it looked as if part of him
had been cut away. Then he realized that the First Seeker was
carrying something draped over one arm-something that at first
seemed like nothing because it was so black it had the appear-
ance of a piece of a new moon’s night. Coil stopped in his tracks,
then backed away, staring. Ulfkingroh glared in irritation, then
glanced back over his shoulder to see what had caught the Vale-
man’s eye.
“Huh!” he grunted when he saw what Coil was looking at.
“There’s nothing there that concerns you. Put up your hands.”
“What is it he carries?” Coil pressed.
Ulfkingroh braced his staff against the ground and leaned on
it with exaggerated patience. “A cloak, Valeman. it’s called a
Mirrorshroud. See how black it is? See how it steals away the
light, just like a spill of black ink? Shadowen magic, little fel-
iow.” The rough face tightened about a half smile. “Know what
it does?” Coil shook his head. “You don’t? Good! Because you’re
not supposed to! Now put up your hands!”
They went back to sparring, and Coil, who was no little
fellow and every bit as big and strong as Ulfkingroh, gained a
measure of revenge by striking the other so hard he was knocked
from his feet and left stunned for several minutes after.
That night Coil lay awake thinking about the Mirrorshroud
and wondering what it was for. It was the first tangible piece of
Shadowen magic he had ever seen. There were other magics, of
course, but they were hidden from him. The biggest and most
important was something kept deep in the bowels of the tower
that hummed and throbbed and sometimes almost sounded as if
it were screaming, something huge and very frightening. He
envisioned it as a dragon that the Shadowen had managed to
chain, but he knew he was being too simplistic. Whatever it
was, it was far more impressive and terrible than that. There
were other things as well, concealed behind the doors through
which he was never allowed, secreted in the catacombs into
which he could never pass. He could sense their presence, the
brush of it against his skin, the whisper of it in his mind. Magic,
all of it, Shadowen conjurings and talismans, things dark and
evil.
Or not, if you believed Rimmer Dali. But he did not believe
the First Seeker, of course. He never had believed him.
Still, he could not help wondering.
Two days later, while he was taking a break in the yard, the
sweat still glistening on his body like oil, the First Seeker ap-
peared out of the shadows of a door and came right up to him.
Over one arm he carried the Mirrorshroud like a fold of stolen
night. Ulfkingroh started to his feet, but Rimmer Dali dismissed
him with a wave of his gloved hand and beckoned Coil to fol-
low. They walked from the light back into the cooler shadows,
out of the midday sun, away from its glare. Coil squinted and
blinked as his eyes adjusted. The other man’s face was all angles