The White Gryphon

She continued to smile serenely. "I could say it is a professional secret, dear heart—but the truth is that I simply think of another's hopes before my own, and the kindnesses follow, as naturally as flowers follow buds. It is really no more mysterious than that."

Leyuet shook his head. "If these strangers, these folk of the Gryphon King, could possibly be anything like you—"

"At least one is, for I taught him, and I think that I know him as well as any person can be said to know another," she interrupted, directing him to turn his back to her so that she could begin to work on the muscles of his neck and shoulders. He was tempted by the still-open casket beside him, but resisted the temptation.

"Amberdrake, you mean." He sighed. "He is so foreign—and their King, more alien still. I do not understand them, and I wonder how they could ever understand us. They seemto, but how could they, really? How could anyone who has a King like theirs ever hope to understand us?"

"Would that not make it easier?" she countered. "If someone can understand the ways of a creature like a gryphon, should it not be easier for them to understand the ways of fellow humans?"

He let out his breath in a hiss of pain as she struck a nerve, then shook his head again. "You and they are of a piece, my dear. Their lands gave birth to you and nurtured you. Yet somehow youfit in here as well as with them, and I find that even more mysterious than anything else about you. How can you move so well in two different worlds?"

Silver Veil worked on his muscles for a little longer before she answered.

"Perhaps—" she hesitated. "Perhaps because I have lived long enough that I no longer pay a great deal of attention to what is different, only to what is the same," she answered slowly. Then her tone grew lighter. "And one of the things that is universal is that no one can truly have his back worked on while he is sitting up like an old nursemaid displaying perfect posture!" She rapped him reprovingly on the shoulder. "Down, Truthsayer! Give me the space to work my will upon you!"

Chuckling, he obliged her, and for the space of an hour at least, he forgot the troubles that had brought him there.

Six

Hadanelith carved another delicate sliver of dark wood from his current sculpture, and surveyed the result critically, lips pursed, humming a bit to himself.

Not quite perfect. Not yet. Soon, though. A little more here, and here....

He had every reason to feel pleased. The last game he'd run for his "hosts" had been very satisfactory, particularly since they had consulted him before they told him what they wanted done. In fact, they had askedhim for descriptions of some of the more interesting spells that dear old Ma'ar had used on his foes.

It's a pity I was never a mage. I'd know more about spells of destruction.Still, Hadanelith had a very good memory, and as a youngster he had always been very attentive when bodies were brought in from the front lines. No one ever paid any attention to him then; he'd been quite an unremarkable child, and since the concern of the Healers was for the living, he'd often been able to examine the dead quite closely. He remembered quite precisely what some of the most amusing effects Ma'ar had produced looked like. Well enough to counterfeit them, in fact, and that was what he had assured Noyoki and Kanshin.

His hosts had particularly liked the description of the flaying-spell, the one Ma'ar had preferred to use on gryphons. "Copy that," they'd told him, leaving the ways and means up to him. That rather clever thief, Kanshin, had smuggled him into his target's rooms by way of a ventilation shaft, and had taken pains to assure him of a relatively satisfactory length of time alone with her.

Skandranon certainly recognized the result, although I doubt he guessed the method.What Ma'ar had accomplished with profligate use of magic and an exquisitely trained and honed talent, Hadanelith had duplicated with nothing more than determination and precise surgical skill. He'd taken care to leave nothing behind to betray that fact. Poor Skandranon. By now he must be sure there's another Ma'ar around.

Hadanelith giggled at the thought; he had thought that the role of a kestra'chern would give him ample scope for his fantasies, but what he had accomplished then was a pale shadow of the pleasures he had now. This situation had so much to recommend it! A free hand with his targets—even if they weren't of his choosing—was worth any amount of interference from his hosts, and, in fact, they actually gave him very little interference. The delicious moment when his targets realized that they were completely in his power and there was no help coming—that was better than all the tame slaves in the world!

Add to that the chance to terrify the so-powerful Skandranon and a way to undo everything that those presumptuous prigs from White Gryphon were trying to accomplish, and he had pleasure and revenge all in one tidy little packet.

All of these were equally delightful reasons to pursue his current course. But beyond those was the most delightful of all.

Personalrevenge. Revenge on Amberdrake, who had dared to sit in judgment on him.Revenge on Skandranon, who had given Amberdrake the authority to throw Hadanelith to the wolves. Revenge on allof those fools of White Gryphon, who agreed with Amberdrake and Skandranon and who tamely went along with anything those two wanted.

Hadanelith would prove that he was cleverer, craftier, superior to all of them. Wasn't he proving it now? His hosts thought that they were the ones in control of the situation, that they held Hadanelith's leash. They didn't know he was the one using them.

Once the news of the Kaled'a'in settlement reached the Haighlei, Noyoki had scryed the area around White Gryphon during one of the few times that his magic worked properly. He was nobly educated; he knew several northern languages, and he had probably done his scrying in the vague hope of discovering a malcontent among the Kaled'a'in that he could make use of. He found Hadanelith, skulking around the guarded periphery, stealing from the gardens—and he'd scryed out people who knew something of Hadanelith's so-called "crimes."

He'd sent swift hunters and a small, fast vessel of his own to find Hadanelith and bring him back. That much, Noyoki had conveyed to him in his own language, obviously hoping to get some sort of gratitude in return.

Hadanelith kept his own counsel and simply looked agreeable. After he'd used his own rudimentary powers of mind-magic to pluck their own language out of their heads, he had made one small error out of sheer pique. He'd been so a

Still, that sudden expertise in their tongue had impressed them no end. And he'd discovered with that slight mistake just how horrifying they found the bare concept of mind-magic. Forewarned, he'd managed to pass his sudden proficiency off as simple intelligence, and perhaps a side-effect of his "madness," rather than the use of anything forbidden.

So now he had a double advantage over them; he knew their language much better than they had any notion that he did, and he could occasionally read their thoughts. He knew that while they were aware he was of the same general race as Amberdrake, they did not know that he actually knewAmberdrake. They had no idea that he had his own little vendetta to pursue, and that they were helping him to do so.