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have in mind for Incendra."
    Raina laughed bitterly. "A vested interest? In that you're mistaken, Cyra. I don't care what happens to Incendra. When I left it fifteen cycles ago, I left nothing of value behind. Nothing, do you hear me?"
    The scientist glanced questioningly at Marissa. "Then perhaps we must look further for another to accompany Brother Tremayne. I know it'll be difficult, finding another Incendarian quickly, but if she's unwilling—"
    "I said I was unwilling to help Incendra," Raina snapped a fierce resolve forming within her. "I didn't say I was unwilling to help the Imperium. Moraca is part of the Imperium, and my sister Sodalitas live on Moraca. If I truly am so vital to the success of this mission, I'll do it for them—and for Marissa and her family—but never, ever, for Incendra."
    Cyra eyed her intently, then nodded. "Whatever your motive, I respect it." She offered her hand. "And I wish you success."
    Raina took her hand and shook it. "When do we depart?"
    Marissa and Cyra exchanged hooded looks. "Within the week, if all goes as planned. We still await the monk's decision."
    "He hasn't decided yet?" Raina's mouth twisted derisively. "His purported courage and altruism are most inspiring."
    "Brother Tremayne arrived earlier today," Marissa explained. "He requested a short time to consider all aspects. He'll give us his decision on the morrow."
    "Oh, he will, will he?" Raina's hands clenched at her sides and her chin lifted a notch. She, who had suffered unspeakable degradation and the cruelest of betrayals at the hands of Incendarians, was willing to go, yet this monk hesitated? "Perhaps I just might be able to hasten his journey through his terrible dilemma a bit."
    She turned to Marissa. "Where is this indecisive holy man to be found?"
    Marissa glanced toward the mountains towering over Rector. Already they were swathed in shadow. "Up there," she said, gesturing toward a tiny point of white illuminated by flickering light high on the mountainside. "Monks of Exsul never remain within the walls of a city after nightfall. They are forbidden to sleep among the laity. And it is also forbidden," she added, with a quelling look at Raina, "that any woman disturb a monk once he sequesters himself for the night."
    Raina's gaze lifted to the mountains. "And when, sweeting," she asked with a taut, secret smile, "have I ever cared a whit for the laws of men?"

Three
    The wind whipped down from the mountains, setting the perpetual light torches on the four corners of the exercise enclosure to fluttering wildly. The erratic undulations of the blue-violet flames plunged the hard-packed dirt yard alternately into flickering, demented shadows, then eerie, otherworldly light. Teague stepped through the solid robur-wood door and locked it shut behind him. He set down the heavy orichal metal brazier of charcoal and the sheathed ceremonial dagger and glanced up at the heavens.
    High in the cloud-strewn firmament, three of Bellator's five moons gleamed in the blackened sky. Star clusters twinkled. Tangy woodsmoke from his dying cookfire assailed Teague's nostrils, followed closely by the pungent scent of the evergreen sempervivus trees that surrounded the monastic grounds on three sides.
    A pleasant eve to be snugly ensconced in a hermitage, Teague thought, with a small pang of longing, the wail of the wind and sounds of the night rising around him. But the time for the Grandmaster blade ritual was long overdue. And perhaps, just perhaps, the ancient ceremony—known only to the highest members of his order—would finally afford him the peace of mind and strength to face the morrow. It had always sustained him before.
    With one final glance at the star-studded heavens, Teague turned to his disrobing. He removed his long, sleeveless black overtunic, carefully folded it, and placed it before the door. Next came his gray homespun robe and black breeches and boots, until he stood clad only in the simple red loincloth of the