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  Pandro listened till the end without interrupting. Then he said, “The talents, the skills, the quick-wittedness you must have developed are needed, Teron. And they, alone, will not be enough.” A solemnity touched the round face without banishing entirely the. underlying good spirits. “Doubtless if I were to begin at the beginning it would be easier for you to understand.”

  He didn’t pause for Teron’s assent but assuming it went on, “The Old One, Rocan, was Seventh during a great and dangerous crisis in the history of Zarza. Udrig had gained strength. It was a time of dissent, the source of which was a few men to whom Udrig had given powers through his messengers, the drig. Emboldened by this support, they traveled throughout the Warm Seas urging overthrow of all established forms. They urged this overthrow in the name of improvement, but they preached out of hatred. They offered no remedies for the ills men create out of their lusts; they offered the universal panacea of blind destruction.

  “It was during that period that Fenn first became strong, so strong that the Whitelanders, the appointed Guardians of the Gate, had to defend their very exist

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  ence. That was Udrig’s plan, of course. The Old One, himself, had to go to the Whitelands to counter the power of Udrig’s minions. He was almost too late.

  “For a flicker of an eyelid, Udrig’s human servants succeeded in choking off the power which maintains the Gate. Rocan closed it again—at great cost to himself; what a cost you shall hear. But in that blink of time’s eye Udrig ate deeply of the life force of Zarza, and he has kept the strength that brief feast gave him until our days. Indeed, he waxed in strength daily. But he had no human servant to do his bidding beyond his prison. The Old One feared, prophesied, the day would come when he would find a man capable of wielding the great power for evil with which he could endow a suitable human. Through the years the drig searched, through the centuries until they found—Korox, The Gate is threatened now as it never was before.”

  Teron refused to hide his skepticism. “The period of unrest of which you spoke was three hundred years ago. Do you ask me to believe the Rocan to whom I spoke, who perished to dust before my eyes, is the man of legend who bore the same name?”

  “That is just what I ask,” Pandro said. “Oh, I questioned it myself. But I spoke many times with the Old One and I no longer doubt. Even Roosk had no doubts Rocan was what he claimed to be, and while I don’t trust the wizard, no one could have a better motive for challenging Rocan than he—if he has formed some alliance with Korox as I fear.

  “After he succeeded in preserving Udrig’s prison, his life force flickered low, and the drig would have sucked it away but for the liffi Eliff sent. If Rocan had not been the greatest Seventh since Vacor himself, even the life gift of the liffi would have failed. As it was his body lay between sleep and death while his mind was nourished by the liffi. It was they who watched over Zarza while he slept, and it was the liffi who recognized Korox as Udrig’s creature. They told Rocan, and his mind knew that his body must act...”

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  “Rocan, always Rocan” Teron broke in. “What of the Sevenths who followed him? He was believed dead, wasn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes. And it was a tortured circle ElifE made in succoring Rocan. In sending numberless liffi to nourish Rocan s mind, Eliff overspent his strength. The weaker he grew, the less power each succeeding Seventh could command. And since Eliff nourishes himself through the power of each Seventh, his own power diminished doubly.”

  “And so on down to the fortieth Seventh, my Eldra,” Teron said, “who has only the power to talk to beasts— and to me.” He shook his head. “That’s what she believes. I don’t. She is brave. I saw her risk a bluff against Fenn’s best warriors. She is resourceful. She was able to overcome many of the doubts I had—and fears—before I reached the Isle of Dule. And she is vulnerable, illogical and without confidence. She may also be the instrument of great power. But until she realizes this herself, that power will lie as inert as Rocan’s body did through the centuries.”

  “I will speak of Eldra later,” Pandro said. “Now where was I? Ah, yes.” He wrapped his tongue around the correct memory and continued, “Rocan knew he had to act so he and the few liffi remaining to him woke his body, knowing the days remaining to it would be few. He came and spoke to us. He convinced us of the truth of his words, of the need all Zarza had to counter Udrig. And with his last strength he sought you and sought as well to bring you and the fortieth Seventh together. He could do no more.

  “Now the Old One has gone to dust. May the long battle of his life not have been in vain.”

  “Though I saw his going,” Teron said slowly, “touched the dust and tatters that had been Rocan, I do not believe he has completely left us.” Teron rose and walked away from Pandro. He struck his hands together as he once again turned to face the little king. “There is no logic in that belief, no explanation for it. I have spoken

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  of it to no one but you—unless I mentioned it to Eldra.

  I feel that, like Eliff, he waits, gathering strength. When the time comes, when the need is greatest, then he will give his last reserves.”

  Pandro watched him as he threw himself down in the chair. The little king’s face wore a sudden serenity. “Your belief in Rocan heartens me. He could do as you say. Feeling thus, you will be more able to do that which you must do.”

  “And that is—what?” Teron’s frustration thrust a pointed note of fury into his voice. “Rocan told me to seek the Seventh who, in turn, would help me find Bator, a scribe, who has the original manuscript of the Song of Vacor and Eldra; the one with additional verses written by the hand of Vacor himself. That is all I know. What is the prophecy of which everyone speaks? That Udrig would find a human agent of great power? Well, so he did, and Rocan said and Eldra says and you say it is Korox, wizard of Fenn. Very well, where am I in that prophecy?”

  “I can see it really must be annoying to be in your position. All of us forget how little you know because we have known it all so long. And even Rocan, patience itself he was, pointed out now arid again that I tend to be verbose. I am sorry, my boy. I shall try to do better. Rocan did utter a prophecy that concerns you. I won’t put in his Seventh’s chant, for I’m only a king after all and much more interested in food than in rhetoric. The meat of the matter was that Vacor s brother set off to wander the world. Legend said his heart was captured by a woman of Korv and that love bound his feet to her side or some such. In any case, Rocan said that in Korv had been bom a fortieth wanderer, one who lived as Vacor’s brother, led by his curiosity, surviving by his wit. Teron by name. Spellmaker, and not the most powerful of his clan. According to Rocan’s prophecy, if Eldra were joined with this direct descendant of Vacor’s blood, together they could find the key to power unimaginable, power that could end Udrig’s existence.

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  That is the key which lies in the verses Vacor added to the manuscript.”

  “Hasn’t Eldra serai the verses?” Teron demanded, thrusting aside all other questions swarming in his mind.

  “Of course she has. And Bator, our scribe, has studied them at great length. Both say the verses mean nothing, are in fact gibberish. But the Old One said you would find the meaning and if you and Eldra were joined, together you could save Zarza.”

  Teron spoke slowly. “It is true I am a scholar. I have studied the songs, the epics, the sagas of all Zarza. I have studied the tongues of those who wrote them— ancient and modem. My head is stuffed with such, much of it useless. Perhaps that is why Rocan thought me most likely to understand the words of Vacor.”

  He frowned. “But I don’t understand all that has happened. If my only task is to seek the meaning of these verses, why do we wait? Let me go to Bator and read them now. Let me see if I can find this key.”

  “If only it were so simple. But guided by Korox, Davok of Fenn has become bold—and greedy. Some time ago he made a daring raid on
Erul. He took Bator and the manuscript. Now you must go to Fenn to find Bator and the verses.”

  He rang for a servant. "I can tell you no more. The rest must come from the Seventh. She awaits you in the garden below.”

  The same small servant who had conducted Teron to Pandro led him away and guided him to Eldra. She was standing beside a fountain in the lush garden. “Now that you understand, do you believe more?” Eldra asked.

  “I still don’t understand,” he replied. “If Davok and Korox have the manuscript, why do they want us?”

  “Because they cannot understand the words of Vacor any more than Bator or I. They want you to give them the meaning; and then they want us together so that

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  they can destroy us both and thus remove the last danger to Udrig “Are you sure?”

  “No, not beyond a doubt, but there are times when I can penetrate the defenses Roosk has thrown around his mind, and it is such thoughts I have sensed.” “Roosk again! If you and Pandro are convinced he is dangerous, why do you keep him here?”

  “Is it not safer to have him under our eyes? Besides, most of the time he is engaged in harmless pastimes.” She glanced into the sky and pointed to a small object floating in the air above the fields beyond the city. “There he is now. Come, you can see for yourself on our way to the glade.”

  “The glade?”

  “The glade where Vacor cast his spells. I will try to make the rain spell. When you watch, perhaps you’ll notice if I do something wrong.” Her lower lip trembled. “It is so horrible being a Seventh and not being able to make so much as a rain or wind or sun spell!”

  He Said, “Before we do that, tell me the words of the verses written in the hand of Vacor. Perhaps we won’t have to seek out Bator in Fenn ...”

  She shook her head and two large tears rolled down her cheeks. “You’ll think me a fool, I know. But the words would not remain in my mind. Nor in Bator’s, for that matter. The only line I can remember is the first, the admonition of Vacor: ‘Let no man put these words again to paper

  She brushed her tears aside. “The rest seemed to be, well, no language. Just meaningless words. Yet the Old One told us that the secret to the powers we must have lies in those words.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I must. And you must too, Teron.” She held out her hands imploringly. “You must believe soon or there will be no Zarza.”

  He said only, “You have no clues as to the meaning of those verses?”

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  “Only one, and it makes no sense to me. My grandmother, the thirty-ninth Seventh, chanted a verse to me as her life force waned. She believed it to be a formula that fashioned reason from the verses Vacor added to the Song. But she had never found reason in them nor had any Seventh back to Rocan.”

  “Didn’t Rocan give the meaning to you?”

  “Only a Seventh whose mate comes from Vacor’s blood line can know the meaning. From the days of Rocan there had never been such a Seventh.”

  “Until now,” Teron said dryly, “if I can believe what I am told about myself.”

  “Not even we can find the meaning of the verses until we are joined,” Eldra said. “And we cannot be joined until you believe.”

  “And now you are asking me to believe by taking me to this glade where you’ll show me that you lack the powers of a Seventh?”

  “I told you why I am willing to humiliate myself,” she said.

  He said quickly, “Perhaps your lack of powers has to do with your not knowing the meaning, of Vacor’s verses.”

  “No, they are for summoning great powers, many liffi, even Eliff himself. The simple spells—the rain and wind and sun spells—the power for these lies in the verses of the Song you know.”

  “All right,” Teron said. “Let’s go to the glade.”

  They took two sahr from the court stables and rode from the city. The sun was soft and warm, the air fragrant with growing things. Teron enjoyed the ride, despite Eldra’s moody silence. She pointed out the woods on the far side of an unplowed field; the glade lay in the center of those woods. But before they reached it she detoured so that he could see Roosk’s toy at close quarters.

  They came to a field containing only a small hut. Above them, close enough for Teron to see clearly, was

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  a strange contraption. But he had seen one other similar to it and so he merely laughed.

  “A windbag!” he cried. “What does Roosk expect to do with that?”

  “You know of such a marvel?”

  “Marvel? A great bag of cloth filled with heated air and sent aloft to float about until the air cools and drops the bag back to the ground again.” He pointed to die basket hanging below the great cloth bag floating through the air.

  “North in the Warm Sea, the people of Dav use windbags to sail from the mainland to an island in their bay, for it. is surrounded by vicious-toothed rocks. But the distance is not great, perhaps the width of Erul. And at times the winds blow them badly off their course. It is no more than a toy,” he finished.

  “That is true. Roosk floats no further,” she said. “But it is always exciting to see, and it keeps his mind from more dangerous things as he seeks to sail higher and farther.”

  Looking upward, Teron had the feeling that somehow the man, invisible in the basket directly overhead, did not have his mind on less dangerous things; that in Roosk’s mind there was a connection between his windbag and whatever hunger Korox had instilled in him. Where the thoughts came from, Teron could not say, and so he thrust them aside.

  Eldra led him to the copse that enclosed the glade. They had to leave the sahrs and go on hands and knees along a tunnel made through the dense bushes and trees of the copse. In the center was a patch of thick grass, surrounded by strange bushes with shiny, dark green leaves. In the center of the grass was a circle of stones the size of a man’s head. The grass inside the stones was heavily trampled.

  Eldra said, “I have done as the Song tells, even to making the stone circle with my own hands.” She plucked small branches from the dark green bushes. “And making the tel wreath as the Song describes. I

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  do the dance. I say the words . . .” Sadness vibrated deep in her voice. “But I have never brought forth more than a tiny cloud!”

  Teron had never desired Eldra as he’d desired other, women. He had wed her—insofar as they were wed— because he believed he was caught in a tide of destiny he could not stem. But watching her choose tel leaves from which to weave a wreath derived from myth, he was deeply moved. And a desire to comfort her, as strong as it was futile, swept over him. “Perhaps you are leaving out something without realizing it.”

  “But I’ve read the Song again and again,” she wailed. “I memorized it before I ever went to school. How could I leave out anything?” She took a deep breath. “But I must be doing something wrong!”

  Teron said, without knowing where the thought came from, “It could depend on what version of the Song you memorized.”

  She gave him a strange look. Then, silently, she moved to the circle of stones. She stood at its edge weaving the tel leaves into a half wreath, carefully using only seven branches. Stepping into the circle, she placed the tel wreath on her head, the open end facing forward. She turned until she faced the full sun. She lifted her head, her eyes closed. Her arms reached upward.

  Teron watched silently as Eldra was absorbed by whatever world she had entered. She began to dance without moving from her position. Her body swayed faster and faster until the loose blouse and trousers she wore whipped against her with the force of her movements. Her feet remained absolutely still, not so much as ruffling the dirt inside the circle. Her voice began to come softly as she recited the verses of the rain spell.

  They were the right words, yet nothing happened. The sun continued to shine from a cloudless sky. He felt a wrongness here, but he could n
ot name it

  Abruptly Eldra stopped. She sobbed and fell to the ground.

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  Teron hurried forward and lifted her from the circle. “Nothing,” she wailed. “Not even a tiny cloud!”

  Teron carried her to the edge of the clearing and laid her in the shade. He walked away until he could no longer hear her soft sobbing. He searched backward, reaching into his memory for the long hours he had spent with the Song in the library at Korv.

  Clearly, if Eldra’s version of the spell had any reality, it lay in more than a few simple dance steps and a set of verses from the Song. He put his back to the sun and shut his eyes, bringing into his mind the verses that described the scene where Eldra herself had stood in just such a circle of stones.

  Teron swore softly. “Sidris!” He hurried back to Eldra. “Recite to me the verses that describe what Eldra did. Not the verses she spoke to bring the rain, but those preceding.”

  Eldra sat up, sniffled, and dabbed away the tears from her eyes.

  “ ‘She made the circle of stone.

  The circle she made With her hands.

  The tel leaves she took in her hands.

  She made the wreath of seven branches.

  The seven branched wreath she placed on on her brow.

  Her face she lifted to the radiance of Zarz.

  Her arms she raised to the glory of Zarz.

  She called Eliff to dim the sun.

  She danced the body dance to Eliff.

  Her voice called the summoning verses.

  Her body moved forth and back.

  The cloud came to cover the sun.

  The cloud dimmed the radiance of Zarz.

  And the rains fell from the eyes of Eliff.’ ”

  “No,” Teron said.

  She stared at him. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

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  “I can’t believe those verses came from the original manuscript, the one now with Bator in Fenn.”