"My mother will ride at the head of the army, " Crystal remarked thoughtfully to Lapus as they threaded their way through the twisting hallways of the duke's house. Although rain denied them the garden, Crystal was too restless to sit still. "But all I hear talk of is men. The men will do this, the men will do that... don't the women fight?"

"Some, but not many. "

"Why not?"

"Someone must see to the day to day running of the land. "

"But why the women?" Crystal was puzzled. "The centaurs always said that the men were in charge. "

"In charge of what?"

"Well... the country. "

"And who does that leave in charge of the men?"

Silver brows rose. "The women?"

"Who sees that the men get fed, and clothed, and to council on time? Who teaches them to love, when to be strong, and when to be weak? Who sees that the race continues? Some say that the Mother created women in her image and then created men to give them something to do. "

"Lapus, you're a traitor to your sex!" Her tone was almost teasing. She had somehow managed to keep her whole purpose for existing at a little distance over the last few days of waiting ("Always remember that you were conceived solely for the destruction of Kraydak. ") although it was never far from her thoughts.

Lapus stiffened at the word traitor. "I am true only to Truth, milady, and although it is true that men and women are equal in the eyes of the Mother, it is equally true that they are not the same. It does no honor to men that they are better able to facilitate the arrival of Lord Death. Perhaps because a woman better understands how difficult it is to create a life, she becomes less willing to take one. Most of the surgeons and healers that ride with the army are women. "

Crystal dropped into a window seat and stared pensively at her slippered feet.

"It appears, " she said, "that I not only have much to learn about being a princess, but someone had better teach me to be a woman as well. " She looked up at Lapus and smiled. "Do you think you could make a woman of me, Scholar?"

The smile was his undoing. For a change, there was nothing of the other world in Crystal's expression, unless it was the innocent beauty of that smile.

Lapus swallowed twice and shoved his hands deep in his sleeves to hide their trembling. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he could get out was one word.

"No, " he said. And fled.

Crystal stared at his fleeing back in astonishment. "Did I say something wrong?"

The rain on the window had no idea.

She was still trying to figure out the Scholar's strange behavior when Bryon sauntered by a few moments later.

"What's up?" he asked as he threw himself down beside her, one arm draped negligently behind her shoulders.

"Lapus doesn't want to make me a woman. "

A dangerous glint surfaced in Bryon's eyes and his expression hardened. "He doesn't what?" he asked, his voice stony.

"I think, " said Crystal seriously, making an honest effort to get to the root of the question, "that it's a philosophical problem."

Bryon's face relaxed as he realized that Crystal had no idea of the double meaning of what she'd said. Such innocence was rare around the court, he wasn't used to it. He shook his head and took himself sternly to task for even momentarily allowing himself to consider that Crystal and that skinny Scholar with no looks and less personality would...

"Forget philosophy, Crystal. " He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and made his voice a caress. "In my eyes you're a woman already. "

She turned from his touch, not understanding why she felt cheated when his hand dropped. She suddenly didn't feel like pursuing the question further, for a strong suspicion said Bryon had a great deal to do with her recent restlessness. "They tell me you'll be leaving soon. " "Within the hour. Father is sending me around the province to help rally the men. " "Will you be back?"

"No, I'll join the army in Hale. Will you miss me?" "Of course, I'll miss you,

" Crystal said more snappishly than she'd intended. "You're my friend. "

"Ah, friend, " Bryon's eyes twinkled. "A sad word that, when you're hoping for more. " "More?"

His arm tightened around her shoulders and drew her close. With his other hand he cupped her chin and gently forced her head up. Taking an incredible chance, he held her eyes with his, but the green fires were banked and he saw only a reflection of himself. Confused, Crystal tried to straighten out the mess Bryon was making of her emotions. She had spent the last six years with the centaurs learning to be a wizard while Bryon, growing from good-looking boy to handsome young man, had been getting an education of a different sort.

Centaurs, being immortal, have no love, lust, or desire. Crystal might be able to move mountains, call up demons, and-hopefully-destroy the enemies of her people, but in this area she was totally unskilled. She didn't understand her reactions and she didn't like the feeling that things were out of her control.

She also didn't want Bryon to stop. Whatever it turned out he was doing...

She didn't understand that either.

Bryon had no intention of stopping. Their faces were inches apart and her breath moved against his mouth like a warm breeze. He drank in the feel of her, the smell of her, the touch of her.

"Your horse is ready, sir. "

Crystal jumped back, trying to ignore that briefest touch of his lips on hers.

Bryon, realizing the moment had been irrevocably shattered, grinned up at his father's footman and got jauntily to his feet.

"Look for me in Hale, " he said and, planting a kiss on her palm, was gone.

Crystal stared down at her hand, the soft pressure of his mouth still clinging to the skin.

"We were children together, " she said to the empty passageway. "He treats me like a whole person, not as just a wizard or a princess. He is my friend. "

But she sat until dusk hid her in shadow, considering it.

The horn carriers had been on their way for three days when Kraydak moved against them. While the truncated court sat at dinner, all the windows in the hall crashed open. The winds roared around the room, causing the lamps and candles to sputter and flicker and the men and women of the court to grab at everything not fastened down.

Crystal leaped to her feet and called the winds to order. They flew to her side and buffeted her about in their embrace. One at a time, she gentled them, heard their messages, and then sent them back out into the night.

When the last of the winds had left, Crystal looked up to see the court regarding her with awe-all except the Duke of Belkar who was dusting off a crusty roll which had been blown to the floor.

"What is it, child?" Mikhail asked, his heart rung by the expression on his stepdaughter's face. All the recently developed signs of humanity had fled and the wizard looked bleak and cold.

"Kraydak is marshaling great power. He will strike at the Messengers tonight."

"Now?" asked Tayer. "During dinner?"

Humanity returned for an instant and Crystal raised a silver eyebrow in her mother's direction.

"But you haven't even finished your soup. You can't just run out in the middle of dinner. What will people think? No... " Tayer blushed suddenly and dropped her head in her hands. "I'm sorry. Do what you have to. "

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Mikhail asked, laying a warm hand on the shoulder of his distraught wife.

"No. " Crystal shook her head. "What I do tonight, I must do alone. But first thing in the morning, someone had better check... "

Tayer seemed to draw strength from Mikhail's touch. "You can stop him, " she said firmly, raising her head and looking her daughter in the eye. "You can stop him. "

"I can only try, Mother. " She'd dreaded the thought of this night and now it had come. The first test. And what hope was there for the future should she fail? She forced herself to walk calmly from the room.

As the door closed behind her the buzz of conversation began again, almost as if it had been switched on by her leaving.

Tayer rose to follow. Mikhail gently guided her back into her seal.

"I could at least walk her to her room, " Tayer protested, but without pulling away.

"I don't think she wants you to. " He could offer little comfort in a room filled with their subjects so he merely held tightly to her hands. "You said she could stop him, now believe it."

Tayer sighed. "I feel, " she said suddenly, "like a chicken trying to mother a duck, frantically trying to keep my child out of the water. "

Crystal took the steps to her tower room two at a time. She yanked open the door, flung herself into the room, and rocked to a halt at the sight of her maid.

"Is dinner over so soon, milady?" the girl asked, stepping forward. Then she saw the expression on Crystal's face and her own paled. "Anna, child, this will no! be an cany job, " the queen herself had said, "but the princess must be made aware of her position. No matter what she does, stay with her. "

Wanting nothing more than to retreat from the light that blazed in the princess's eyes, Anna swallowed once and clung to duty. "Shall... shall I take your hair down now?"

Startled, Crystal's hand flew to her hair, then she shook herself, as though to free the wizard from the entanglements of the princess. "You must go, " she said, moving away from the door. "I have work to do. "

Anna stood her ground. "I'm sorry, milady, but your mother, the queen... "

"Is not here. "

"... gave me very precise instructions, " the maid finished, obviously intending to obey them to the letter.

"She instructed you to serve me?"

"Yes, milady. "

"You can serve me best by leaving. "

"I don't think, milady.. "

Muttering beneath her breath in a language that had not been spoken for centuries, Crystal abandoned her attempt to be reasonable, shoved the frightened but determined servant out into the hall, threatened her with a dire fate should she return before dawn, and slammed the door on her protests.

Then she paused. Why hadn't she reinforced her commands with power? The small fraction needed to control the girl would not have been missed from the night's work and the result would have been much faster than arguing. In the back of her mind, where usually only the centaurs spoke, the memory of her mother's voice spanned the years, instructing a tiny girl-child in the rights of those who served. Uneasily, she slammed the lesson back into the past. She must be only wizard now; divided, she could not hope to win.

With a wave of her hand, the lamps went out and a light flared near the center of the room. A small copper brazier cradled a green flame which danced and beckoned.

The winds raced round the tower and the sounds they made as they wove about each other all said, "Hurry!"

Crystal moved forward and her elaborate dress dropped to the floor with a rustle of silk. She stepped free and into the plain white gown that had risen to meet her. Pins showered to the floor as her hair danced out of complicated braids and flowed down her back. Another two steps brought her to the brazier, but as she was about to sit, she paused, turned, and threw a fine web of power across the door. She didn't trust her mother, and certain others, to stay away. Tucking the gown between her legs, she sank to the floor.

"Hurry!" wailed the winds.

She wiped sweaty palms on her thighs. She had to be in four places at once and she had to defeat a man who had been honing his powers for several dozen lifetimes while she'd had only six short years.

Finally, she looked into the flame.

The first Messenger woke to a sudden weight on his chest. He opened his eyes and the largest crow he'd ever seen cocked its head, dug its talons into his leather vest, and glared at him balefully with a yellow eye. For a moment he thought he was dreaming and then one of those talons ripped through to his chest. The pain was real.

With a startled cry, he flung himself to the side as the wicked beak stabbed for his eyes.

His movement dislodged the bird and with strong beats of its wings it took to the air. The Messenger almost gagged on the carnal odors carried on the down-draft. He'd rolled away from his sword and the bird nearly took off his hand when he tried to reach for it. His fire had turned to embers and so, when he saw it, did his hopes of driving the creature away with flame.

The bird dove again and again and the Messenger soon bled from a number of small wounds. Only by blocking with a saddlebag had he managed to keep it from anything vital. He knew his luck, and the saddlebag, couldn't hold out much longer. He was winded, fighting for each breath, and the pain and loss of blood were weakening him.

The creature seemed to be taking a malicious delight in his torment.

And then it happened as he knew it would. He faltered, his guard dropped, and the bird moved in for the kill.

He braced himself for the blow, but it never came. A great white body hurtled into him, throwing him to the ground. The crow shrieked in rage, the first sound it had made, and turned to face the intruder.

Both Messenger and bird stared in astonishment at the great white owl that paced the ground between them. Its talons were over six inches long and its wingspan covered more than ten feet. It looked the young man up and down and then, satisfied with what it saw, it launched itself at the crow, its eyes burning with green fires.

The crow was large and its evil purpose strong, but it knew when it was defeated. There was only one thing left-escape.

With long, powerful strokes of its mighty wings, the owl took to the air and quickly climbed above its fleeing prey. Then, with talons extended and gleaming in the moonlight, it folded back its wings and struck.

The two birds hit the ground with an audible thud. Holding the crow securely under one massive foot, the owl bent its head to feed.

A persistent tickle disturbed the sleep of the second Messenger. Tiny balls were being rolled across his face. No matter how many he batted away, more kept coming. Finally he dragged himself up out of slumber to deal with it.

To find the tiny balls were trickles of dirt and the ground below him was giving way. He was sinking, being swallowed by the earth!

Successfully fighting panic, he got his hands beneath him and tried to sit up.

The movement made him sink faster. He tried to lift his legs and found he couldn't.

He lay in a Messenger-shaped trench, one foot, two feet, four feet, six feet deep, flat on his back and looking up at the stars. He did the only thing left to do-he stopped fighting the panic and screamed.

And then the walls fell in.

The earth rolled quickly down to cover him. The bonds that had held him were gone, but that did little good as the world sat on his chest, crushing the breath out of him. Worst of all, he could no longer scream.

His lungs were crying out for air and stars were exploding behind his eyes when he felt the movement at his back. A hundred tiny fingers touched him and moved on. He remembered all the small and slimy things that lived in dirt and began to tremble with terror. Was being buried alive not enough?

He felt a firmer touch.

And then another.

Something grabbed at him and held.

The earth rolled back and he was lifted, gasping and choking, into the night air. He finally came to rest cradled high off the ground in the branches of a full grown silver birch.

* * *

The third Messenger was caught in a dream. She was running. At first the way was easy and she covered the ground in long loping strides, but then the path began to climb and her pace slowed. Soon she had to use her hands to scrabble up and over mounds of rock strewn across a shattered hillside.

It was then she became aware that she was being chased. And her pursuers were moving much faster than she.

In the shifting shadows of night, the long, broken path to the top of the hill was doubly treacherous. A misstep, a fall, could mean death.

Not far behind her, something bayed. A dog... or worse.

One torturous step at a time, she struggled toward the summit. Her hands and knees became cut and abraded by the sharp edges of rock and her feet were bruised by the shifting masses of stone. Her thighs trembled as she forced them to carry her over one more ledge. And one more.

She was almost to the summit when the baying began in earnest. They were on the scent, her scent, and now the chase would truly begin. With desperate haste she covered the last few yards, but not without cost, for a rock which had seemed solid rolled suddenly and crushed her hand. Whimpering with pain, she pried up the rock and dragged the damaged hand free, leaving an ugly smear of blood on the stone.

Her mangled hand tucked in her belt, she crested the hill and turned, breathing heavily, to look back the way she had come.

Half a dozen animals-possibly dogs, but she doubted it-long-legged and lean with narrow heads and glowing eyes, were just reaching the bottom of the hill.

Not very far behind them rode a red-cloaked man on a pale horse. Lord Death, true son of the Mother, the Huntsman who escorted the unwilling dead back to Her arms.

The Messenger knew a terrible fear. She wasn't dead. Why did Death hunt her?

The beasts started up the hill.

She turned and ran. In the distance was a dark line of trees. If she could make the forest, she might stand a chance. She ran as she'd never run before, ran until the soles of her boots were worn through and she left a bloody trail of footprints behind her. Until the stitch in her side was a pain too great to breathe through. Until the bitter iron taste of blood filled her mouth. Sweat ran into her eyes and her wounds and they burned.

Behind, but getting rapidly closer, came the baying of the Huntsman's hounds.

She kept her eyes locked on the trees ahead, but she knew she wouldn't make it. The echoing hoof beats of a steel-shod horse sounded above the cries of the beasts.

And then, over the pounding of her life in her ears, she heard another sound.

Hoof beats, but unshod and from the right. She risked a glance over her shoulder.

Gaining quickly, but only marginally closer than the hounds, came a white unicorn with silver hoofs and horn. Its nostrils were flared and its eyes flashed green fire.

Her eyes drawn from the path, the Messenger stumbled and fell. As she got to her feet, the unicorn reached her side.

"Get on!" it commanded.

"Wha... "

"GET ON!" A flashing hoof neatly crushed the skull of the foremost hound.

The messenger grabbed a handful of silky mane and dragged herself awkwardly up on the broad back. She was barely seated when the unicorn leaped forward, out of the range of the rest of the pack, and landed galloping. The trees which had seemed so far away were reached in seconds. She closed her eyes and held on tightly as her mystical mount wove among them without losing speed or breaking stride. Suddenly a thought struck her, almost causing her to lose her balance.

"I'm not a virgin!" she wailed.

"That's hardly my fault, " the unicorn muttered in reply... or it might have just been the wind of their passing.

Abruptly they were out of the trees and then, horrifyingly, they were out of ground. A horse could not have stopped in time, but the unicorn reared and managed to halt on the edge of the cliff. They both looked down.

Many miles below, clouds scuttled about like sheep, herded by a wind they were too far away to feel. They could not see the ground. About thirty feet out from the edge, perched on a marble pillar that tapered into the depths, was the home of the Duke of Aliston, the Messenger's destination.

The unicorn backed away from the edge. "Hang on, " it warned. Powerful muscles bunched and it launched itself forward.

And screamed shrilly as razor sharp teeth tore into a hind leg.

They landed safely, although three legged, and turned to face back over the gap. The pale horse stood at the precipice, the hounds winding about its legs.

With a toss of his head, the rider dropped his hood. His red-gold hair shone dully in the moonlight but his blue eyes and smile blazed as he lifted his hand in salute.

The Messenger awoke to find herself staring up at familiar stars with a crushed hand and the knowledge that had she died in the dream, she would be dead indeed.

A cold and driving rain woke the fourth Messenger. He'd camped in a small hollow on a treeless plain and had no protection from the wet. Huddled miserably in his bedroll, he wondered where the storm had come from for it had been a clear, moonlit night when he'd gone to sleep.

The rain fell harder. Soon he was soaked and shaking uncontrollably. It was far, far too cold for a spring night so close to summer. The rain seemed to leech the warmth from his body. He'd lost all feeling in his hands and feet when the wind began to blow. It whipped the sheets of rain viciously about, giving him blessed moments of dryness. Its touch carried the promise of golden sunshine and summer's warmth and the scent of trees, and grass, and forest loam.

Up above, the massive black storm clouds were losing their battle with the winds. They were thinning, being forced apart. Here and there, through sections grown tattered, a star could be seen.

Finally, the rain stopped and the young man lifted his dripping face to the sky. The last thing he saw was the dazzling blue of the lightning bolt as it arced down from the clouds. He didn't see those clouds break up and drift away as harmless vapor. Nor did he see the moon come out and bathe the land in silver light. He was dead.

For a time he lay as he had fallen; one arm flung up to stop the blow, his clothes gently steaming from the heat; then the ground beneath him began to crumble away as he was welcomed back into the body of the Mother. Gently, the earth enfolded him and covered him against the cold. Soon, all that could be seen was a grass-free patch of dirt.

Moments later the patch began to tremble, clots of earth danced and tumbled about. No less majestic than the moon itself, a birch tree rose to mark the young man's grave. Its trunk was a silver headstone and its leaves sang dirges with the wind. From out of the cloudless sky swooped a giant white owl. It plucked the War Horn from the Messenger's gear and headed north to Lorn.

At dawn, Tayer and Mikhail met Lapus at Crystal's door.

"Majesties, " he said, bowing himself out of their way. "My anxiety for the princess made it impossible for me to sleep. If I can be of assistance... "

"Stay if you wish, Scholar, " Tayer replied, worry making her voice sharp.

"Mikhail, open the door. "

Mikhail, who had seen Lapus trying to open the door without success as they approached, shot the Scholar a suspicious glance when the latch lifted easily in his hand.

"Oh, Crystal!" Tayer rushed forward and clasped the limp body of her daughter in her arms. "Mikhail, she's been hurt. "

A rust red patch of dried blood stained the white gown and pasted it to Crystal's left calf.

Mikhail knelt, eased the fabric away, and inspected the wound. New pink skin had already formed over what appeared to be an ugly bite.

"It's not bad. " But he carefully did not let Tayer see the damage, for it certainly looked as if it had been bad, whether it was now or not. "It's already nearly healed. "

Crystal's eyes fluttered and opened; the green so washed out that they appeared a pale gold. She gazed around, unsure of where she rested.

"Mother?" Her voice quavered, sounding very tired and very young.

"I'm here. " Tayer stroked the silver hair back from Crystal's face and with a little cry Crystal buried her head against the warm security of her mother's breast. She could take no comfort in duty and responsibility for she had failed.

"I couldn't save the last one, Mother. I was spread too thin. I wasn't strong enough. He died and I couldn't stop it. " She sounded very close to tears.

"Hush, " Tayer softly kissed the top of Crystal's head. "I'm sure you did your best. "

"My best wasn't good enough. " She closed her eyes and the face of the fourth Messenger looked back at her from the inside of her lids. Later perhaps she would mourn him, but now she was frightened. Kraydak had allowed her only a glimpse of his power, but that glimpse let her know she would have been unable to save any of the Messengers had he truly wanted all four dead. He'd been playing with her. If she was her world's only hope, then it appeared they had no hope at all. Just for that moment, she wished she'd not been so thoroughly trained and could give up before she had to face him again.

"So one War Horn will not be delivered. " Lapus kept his voice carefully neutral.

Crystal's eyes opened and a green ember stirred in their depths as she glared up at the Scholar. "All the War Horns will be delivered, " she told him, struggling to rise. "That, at least, I did. " She put out a hand to steady herself and knocked over the copper brazier. Soft gray ash fell to the floor.

Mikhail offered his arm and Crystal pulled herself to her feet. She staggered and only Tayer's grasp about her waist prevented her from falling.

"You'll feel better after a little breakfast, " Tayer reassured her.

Crystal brushed several black feathers off the front of her gown. "No, thank you, Mother, I've eaten. "

In the old capital of Melac, now the heart of a cruel and corrupt Empire, a blue light flashed from the top of the highest tower and the folk who saw it quailed. Within the upper chamber, Kraydak sat and considered the night's work, hands steepled beneath his chin and blue eyes thoughtful.

"This wizard-child is not as powerful as I feared she might be, " he said at last to the the ancient skull that sat on the table before him.

The skull, once a king, made no reply.

"Neither, " he added, rubbing a finger over the yellow bone, "is she an unworthy foe. " She had used only as much power as she needed to defeat him except... At the end he had given her a glimpse of what he could do. She had not met it in kind although he was as certain, as only five thousand years of existence could make a man, that she held more power than she'd let him see.

"Perhaps she is wise. " He smiled, his teeth very white even in the red-gold glow that lit the room. "The longer she holds my interest, the longer I will let her live. "

On an afternoon when the sunlight spread over the circle of trees like a golden blanket and the breezes brought the promise of summer, Tayer and Mikhail said farewell to the Sacred Grove.

They stood quietly, letting the peace of the Grove wipe away the darkness that had wrapped about them these last few weeks and touch them with a gentle healing. They had no need to speak, words were so clumsy when a look, a smile, or a touch could say all that was necessary.

As the shadows started to lengthen, they clasped hands and headed back to the horses and the war.