Brynn stood on the eastern wall of Dharyan-Dharielle, replaying the events of the last couple of weeks over and over in her mind. She couldn't shake the image of Abbot Olin in Chom Deiru, nor the look upon his face - so smug, so self-assured.

So dangerous.

All of the reports that had followed Brynn home served to heighten that uneasy feeling. Bolstered by their great victory over their primary opponent, the Behrenese armies were on the march out of Jacintha. Several provinces and cities had already fallen back under the blanket of Yatol Mado Wadon and the principle city, which was what Brynn and her comrades had hoped from the beginning. But those armies were being accompanied by a large number of priests - not only Chezru, but Abellican! Many Honce-the- Bear soldiers were also filling the ranks of the "Jacintha" force, and at least one report from Dahdah Oasis claimed that it was the northmen, not the Behrenese, who were truly in command.

"You look as if you expect an attack from Jacintha at any moment," came a familiar voice, taking Brynn from her contemplations. She turned her head to regard Pagonel as he walked up beside her at the parapet.

"Abbot Olin seems to be an ambitious man," the woman remarked.

Pagonel nodded and stared out to the dark east.

"It is my fear that we fought not for Jacintha and Mado Wadon, but for Olin of Honce-the-Bear," Brynn explained.

"I have heard words to that effect," the mystic agreed.

Brynn turned on him. "What have we done?"

"We stopped Tohen Bardoh, and that bodes well for To-gai," Pagonel reasoned. "If your old nemesis had taken Jacintha, then we would have more than us two staring out to the east, and the expectation of attack would be a near certainty, I believe. And so do you."

"Bardoh would never have allowed the To-gai-ru to hold Dharyan- Dharielle," Brynn agreed.

"Then you have done well, yes?"

The fact that Pagonel had turned the statement into a question alerted Brynn to the fact that he was asking her to look deeper within herself here, to examine her feelings honestly and openly. That was why she valued Pagonel's company more than simple friendship. His calm demeanor went to the core of his rational being. His embracing of the Jhesta Tu code gave him a perfectly rational perspective on all issues, a clearheaded ability to weigh every situation in every context, large and small. When the Chezhou-Lei warriors had arrived at the Mountains of Fire, challenging the Jhesta Tu to battle, there had been little irrational emotion guiding the hand of the Jhesta Tu leaders, including Pagonel, just a simple estimate of the good and bad of it.

The Jhesta Tu were complete human beings, Brynn thought as she regarded the always-serene mystic. In Pagonel, she saw true contentment and harmony, and it was a state that she surely envied and aspired to.

"I fear that Abbot Olin has gained the upper hand over Yatol Mado Wadon,"

Brynn said after a bit more reflection. "The blanket of Jacintha takes on a decidedly Abellican point of view, by all that I am hearing from those cities that have capitulated to the marching army. Behren will soon be reunited, no doubt, north to south, east to west, but she will not be the same as before the fall of Chezru Chieftain Yakim Douan."

"How could she be?" Pagonel asked. "Douan's fall revealed a terrible betrayal, one that went to the heart of the Chezru religion and the leadership of Behren. The faith of the Yatols and of their flock was shaken, indeed, and perhaps shattered. Whatever form Chezru takes as it rises from the ashes of Yakim Douan's wreckage will, by necessity, be very different from the church as it was."

"But will it come to resemble the Abellican religion of Honce-the-Bear?"

Brynn asked. "For that is what Abbot Olin seems to be about, and Yatol Wadon is apparently not disagreeing."

"Would that be a bad thing? The Abellicans have had their own trials in recent years - perhaps one day I will tell you of the fall of Father Abbot Markwart and the rise of the followers of Avelyn Desbris."

Brynn looked at him curiously. She had heard a bit of that tale, from the Touel'alfar and in her time as leader of To-gai, when she had learned that Aydrian, her old training companion, had assumed the throne of the northern kingdom.

"Aydrian's mantle as king would seem to speak of that very event, since his mother and father were among those who rode with Avelyn."

"And now Honce-the-Bear has come down to Behren to aid in their crisis,"

Pagonel said. "Perhaps Abbot Olin understands well this type of trouble and is sharing his expertise with a devastated Chezru leadership."

Brynn stared at him for a long while, knowing well that he was taking a position more to make her consider all the alternatives than to convince her of anything. "Or perhaps Abbot Olin has come in view of an opportunity here in the shattered and confused people of Behren," she answered.

Pagonel's expression showed her that he did not disagree.

"Is Abbot Olin expanding your friend Aydrian's domain?" he asked.

Brynn looked back to the east and shrugged.

"Would it not be a good thing for you and your people if that was the case?" Pagonel went on. "If Aydrian or his representatives come to hold sway over Behren, is not the threat to To-gai from the Behrenese reduced? He is your friend, is he not?"

"Perhaps it would be reduced."

"Then why do you trouble yourself over the aid we gave to Yatol Wadon, and perhaps to Abbot Olin by extension, in the battle of Jacintha?" the mystic asked. "You have pushed war farther from your border, it would seem, and is that not the responsibility of any leader?"

It made sense, of course, but the reasoning did not resonate within Brynn, because there was one other consideration. "And what of the Behrenese?" she asked.

"Would your friend Aydrian be an unworthy leader? A tyrant?"

"He is not Behrenese," Brynn answered. "And the Abellicans are not Chezru, nor do they completely understand the concept and faith of the Chezru people."

"A faith that has been shattered."

"But still, is conquest the answer to their suddenly unheeded prayers?"

Brynn came back emphatically, and she could see by Pagonel's expression that he had led her to this place purposefully. "Have I helped to push the Behrenese under the rule of a foreign army and church, as my own people were subjugated by the Behrenese?"

"Will the Behrenese be better off because of that?" the mystic asked.

"No," Brynn answered without the slightest hesitation. "The same was said of the To-gai-ru, that the Behrenese were showing us a better way of living. They were teaching us to tame the land to our needs, rather than to live in accordance with the steppes."

"And you do not believe that truth?"

"No, because they were stealing from us our very identity," Brynn answered. "The old ways of the To-gai-ru were more than traditions, they were our very identity. To have that stolen away without choice..."

Pagonel's soft expression told her that he had been hoping for that very answer.

"No, I will not be comfortable if Honce-the-Bear entrenches itself in power over Behren," Brynn declared. "I will rue the part I played in such a course. Behren is for the Behrenese, and To-gai is for the To-gai-ru.

If the people of Honce-the-Bear, even the Abellican priests, wish to aid Behren in this time of crisis, even if they wish to influence the wayward Chezru flock, that is acceptable. But using this crisis to conquer is not."

"Perhaps the time is fast approaching for you to meet with your old friend Aydrian."

"I have not dismissed Agradeleous," Brynn replied.

"Nor should you. We will need the dragon for mobility, if not for war."

"We?" Brynn loaded her voice with hope. She had thought that Pagonel would soon be on his way again to his southern home.

"The Walk of Clouds is an ancient place," the mystic replied. "It will be there for me a year from now, or two."

"Your place is at my side."

The mystic draped a comforting arm about Brynn's small but strong shoulders as the two of them stood there, staring out to the dark east.

"They wasted little time," Brynn said to her scout when he returned to inform her that the army headed by Yatol De Hamman and marching under the banner of Jacintha was even then assaulting Avrou Eesa to the southeast.

Avrou Eesa had been the home of Yatol Tohen Bardoh and was one of the most important Behrenese cities, the largest and strongest of all within the western stretches of the kingdom now that Dharyan-Dharielle was under To-gai-ru control.

The woman looked to Pagonel, who was seated at her side. "I must go there," she said, and to her surprise, her advisor didn't immediately disagree, and didn't even look as if he wanted to. He sat there, staring ahead, holding a pensive pose and gently stroking his chin.

"I could get there and return in short order," he replied. "I could fly Agradeleous about the city and learn much."

"I wish to see for myself," said Brynn. "The manner in which Jacintha treats the citizenry of Tohen Bardoh's home city might tell us much about what to expect from the strange alliance that has formed in the east."

A slight agreeing nod was all the answer Pagonel offered.

Within the hour, Brynn and Pagonel rode out from Dharyan-Dharielle, accompanied by two hundred To-gai-ru riders. The dragon Agradeleous, back in his huge reptilian form, circled overhead, flying lookout with his keen eyesight and ready to heed Brynn's call.

She used the dragon a few times over the next couple of days as they made their way south along the base of the great plateau dividing To-gai and Behren. With Agradeleous' great speed and strength, Brynn flew up to the plateau top and brought in more of her warriors, many of whom had been assembled along this divide. Thus, by the time the troupe approached Avrou Eesa, less than a week after setting out from Dharyan-Dharielle, they numbered closer to five hundred.

After reconnaissance from the high perch atop Agradeleous showed them that the city had already fallen to De Hamman, Brynn brought her warriors within sight of the western walls, then broke free with Pagonel and a group of a dozen, riding in under a flag of truce.

The Dragon of To-gai, who had conquered this city in the war only months before, knew that she would not be warmly welcomed if any of the original Avrou Eesa guardsmen were still at their posts. But they weren't, for De Hamman had swept the city, and the guards greeting the To-gai-ru from the watchtowers on the western gate were men of Jacintha.

And, Brynn and Pagonel both noted, a few light-complexioned warriors wearing the heavier armor of Honce-the-Bear.

The To-gai-ru group was admitted openly into the conquered city, and even cheered by some of the soldiers - and why not? Brynn thought. Hadn't she and her companions turned the tide in the battle for their home city? Had Bardoh prevailed, how many of these men would even still be alive? "I will speak with Yatol De Hamman," Brynn said to the commander of the watch, and he motioned a pair of soldiers front and center and ordered them to take her at once to the Chezru temple Yatol De Hamman had set up as his temporary palace.

Before even entering that battle-worn but still impressive place, Brynn had many of her questions answered.

For laid out on the square before the temple were dozens of wounded soldiers, all wearing the red-stitched turbans associated with Yatol Bardoh. Obviously injured in the battle, or after the battle, these poor souls had little in the way of comforts. Many onlookers lined that scene of suffering, but none dared approach within the ring of Jacintha soldiers. Women pleaded for their husbands, and children cried, but the sentries seemed impassive to it all, casually marching the perimeter and enthusiastically beating back any who attempted to move in toward the lines of wounded.

Even more telling, Abellican monks and Chezru students walked among the wounded, bending low and speaking with them.

Brynn walked Runtly, her brown-and-white pinto pony, aside and dismounted, moving to join in one such discussion.

"The pain will end," a Chezru student was saying to one emaciated and grievously injured man. "We will bring your wife and daughter inside with us, and they will hold your hands as Master Mackaront here shows you the truth of St. Abelle and Chezru. You will learn the beauty of our joined hands, my friend."

The wounded man looked away in obvious disdain and the Chezru student straightened, spat upon him, and moved to the next in line.

Or started to, until Brynn stopped him. "How long have they been out here?"

The men turned to her; Mackaront flashed a toothy smile. "It is good to see you," he started to say, but Brynn stopped him with a severe look and an upraised hand.

"How long have they been out here?" she asked again.

"Three days," the Chezru student offered. "There were many more, of course, but some succumbed to their wounds." His face brightened. "But many more have come to see the truth, and are even now resting comfortably!"

Brynn turned her stern look over the Abellican master. "You hold their families and their very lives up before them with your offer of relief? "

she asked incredulously. "Is this how Abellicans spread the word of their god?"

"They must accept the possibility that they have been deceived all these long years by a tyrant," Mackaront replied, and it seemed to Brynn that these were well-practiced words. "They must show some repentance, at least, to counter their years of blindness. We of St. Abelle are a generous and kind lot, but our God-given magic cannot be bestowed upon our enemies nor upon heretics."

Brynn tightened her jaw but resisted the urge to scream at him. She knew that she wasn't going to get anywhere, so she turned away, glancing back once to soak in the pitiful image of the wretch on the ground, then moved more forcefully to catch up and pass her companions, striding with grim determination for the palace.

She was the first to stand before Yatol De Hamman, and neither offered nor waited for any formal greetings. "How can you accept this?" she asked.

The man put on a confused look, one that Brynn didn't believe for a moment.

"You are forcing Behrenese to embrace the Abellican Church," Brynn explained. "You wear the robes of a Yatol of Chezru, yet you deny those robes and tenets before this holy place."

A commotion from behind turned Brynn, to see her companions standing calmly behind her, and to see litter-bearers taking in the same man she had seen lying before the feet of Master Mackaront outside the palace. A woman and a younger girl, the man's wife and daughter, obviously, flanked him, holding his hands and crying, while Mackaront moved beside him as well, clutching one hand to his chest, the other set upon the wounded man's injured side.

"Does your desecration know no bounds?" Brynn asked De Hamman.

"Desecration?" the Yatol replied skeptically. "Because we have come to understand the deception of Douan? Because we have embraced friends from the north?"

"Abellican friends," Brynn reminded. "Men who follow a different God, and men who have never been true friends of Behren." She did note a bit of a wince there, and suspected that maybe De Hamman's feelings didn't run quite as deep as his words seemed to indicate.

"Release the hatred from your soul, Brynn Dharielle," De Hamman bade her.

"We live in enlightened times. Better times."

"You throw away everything that gave Behren its very soul!" Brynn argued, but then a hand on her shoulder calmed her, and she glanced over to see Pagonel standing beside her.

"As you embrace the heretic mystics of the Jhesta Tu?" De Hamman retorted.

Brynn let the comment go and forced herself to a place of calm. She understood the error of the analogy, of course - the Jhesta Tu weren't mak- ing any claims within To-gai, after all - and in that understanding, she allowed herself to dismiss the remark out of hand.

"Who leads Behren, Yatol De Hamman?" she asked. "Is it Yatol Mado Wadon? Or has Abbot Olin of Honce-the-Bear stepped forward behind this screen of 'enlightenment'?"

That, too, seemed to sting the man a bit, but then he shook it off visibly and regained his firm posture. "I would be dead now," he replied.

"Without the aid that Abbot Olin brought to Jacintha in her hour of need, I would lie dead amid the bodies of so many good Chezru."

The simple statement did set Brynn back a bit.

"And dead to what heaven?" De Hamman went on. "The one promised by Chezru Douan? The same one that he was too afraid to face through all those centuries when he stole the souls of unborn children to perpetuate his own wretched existence? "

Brynn paused a long moment to digest that heavy remark, to consider the weight behind it. Yakim Douan's deception had been so horrible that it had torn Behren apart and shattered the foundations of the Chezru religion. De Hamman was not unique among the Chezru clergy, obviously, and the weight of war and suffering could do much to convert those less learned in their ancient traditions. With that thought in mind, Brynn glanced back at the curtain behind which Mackaront and the others had disappeared, and noted that no more agonized screams were coming forth.

"Is this friendship?" the woman asked De Hamman. "Or conquest?"

The man's response cut her to her heart, and warned her that great trouble might well be brewing in the kingdom to the east. "Does it matter?"