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friendships with all the people he had guided through the steps leading to Scholar status. He had little free time; still Noren had dropped by to see him occasionally, and had often felt the better for it, although he was invariably offered not consolation, but challenge. And of course, they had had several discussions within the past few days about Brek.
    On his way up in the Hall of Scholars’ lift, Noren recalled what had taken place during the last of those discussions. Stefred had been quieter than usual, and there had been something in his manner reminiscent of their early interviews, before any of the secrets had been revealed. “You’re hiding something,” Noren had accused finally. “If I’m to help Brek, I’ve got to know all the facts.”
    “I’ve told you all that are pertinent,” Stefred had replied slowly. “But there are—other issues, Noren, and I don’t want you sidetracked right now. If things work out as I expect, you may soon be placed under rather more pressure than is usual for a trainee of your age. Once again I may have to gamble on your ability to withstand it.”
    “Won’t I have a choice?” Noren had demanded.
    “Of course. But knowing you as I do, I’m pretty sure you’ll choose involvement—and you won’t understand what you’re getting into until it’s too late.” Soberly Stefred had added, “Think that over. In a few days, once Brek is settled, we’ll talk again.”
    Noren had indeed thought it over, and had been more curious than worried. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that Stefred evidently didn’t plan to explain whatever it was he’d be getting into, for he had learned that many of the things a Scholar met could not be explained. They had to be experienced. All the experiences he’d undergone so far had proved worthwhile: unpleasant at times, but on the whole exciting or at least enlightening. Training did involve pressure, but it wasn’t a sort of pressure he disliked. Just one comment of Stefred’s had made him wonder.
    “The issues I’m referring to have nothing to do with your training,” Stefred had said. “They are real.”
    Now, entering the familiar study which, like the conference room where he’d met Brek, was one of the few places in the City that had windows, Noren began to piece things together. He had been too absorbed in his own problems, in Brek’s, to do so before; he’d dismissed Grenald’s remark about the Prophecy’s coming true as the kind of wistful speculation sometimes heard from older Scholars who had few years left in which to see the research progress. Maybe it will begin sooner than you think , Grenald had said… . There could be a connection with the issues Stefred had mentioned, and with the unusual meeting to be held that night. Scholars did not meet formally except on matters of gravest importance, and even then the uncommitted—those who had not assumed the blue robe and the obligations of priesthood it symbolized, and who therefore had no vote—were rarely included. Sudden hope lifted Noren’s spirits. Perhaps a breakthrough was imminent! Perhaps there was no need to worry that he might have sanctioned an empty promise.
    One look at Stefred confirmed the hints that something crucial had arisen. He was obviously troubled, more troubled than Noren had ever seen him, and he did not seem at all eager to proceed. “I must do some things I’d like to put off,” he declared without preamble. “First, there are questions I’ve got to ask you. If it were possible, I would wait till you’re further along in your training; failing that, I’d at least delay until your responsibility to Brek is finished. That’s no longer feasible. You must cope with them now. Bear with me, Noren, if this hurts; I won’t probe deeper than I have to.”
    “I don’t mind questions,” said Noren, settling himself in the chair next to Stefred’s. “We’ve always been honest with each other.”
    “Yes. You will be more honest with