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learned much, or so people kept telling him. On thinking it over, however, Jessan realized that they were wrong. In his previous life, he’d had answers to everything. Now, he had only questions.
    He needed to be rid of this city, where he started out in the right direction, but always seemed to take a wrong turn and wind up in a blind alley or a dead end. He could not see the sky for the tall walls, he could not feel the sun for the shadows they cast, he could not breathe the air for the stench.
    His arrival at the tavern, with its confusion of heat and noise and bright light, confirmed him in his decision. Nor was he particularly surprised to hear that the strange Trevinici was a Vrykyl. In Jessan’s other life, he would have scoffed at such a notion. In this life, he was suspicious of everything and everyone. He knew that evil could lurk in a friendly form and he hated the knowledge.
    He was glad to see Bashae and the Grandmother, glad to see them safe and glad to see that they looked as lost and friendless and forlorn as he felt. One obstacle remained and that was the Sovereign Stone. Theyhad fulfilled their promise to the dying knight, Gustav. More than fulfilled it, in Jessan’s opinion. Bashae had tried to give the Stone to Damra, then he tried to give it to Baron Shadamehr. Neither would accept it, leaving the enormous responsibility to Bashae. Looking at the small and frail-seeming pecwae, ringed round by large, ham-fisted humans and shadowed by the Vrykyl, Jessan burned with anger.
    â€œThis Stone is their worry. Let them take it,” Jessan said to himself. “We have done our part. We have done enough.”
    Bashae scooted over on his chair, offered Jessan half of the seat and more than half of the bread and cheese.
    â€œI’m glad to see you, Jessan,” Bashae said. “I was worried about you. Fire Storm said you’d been arrested.”
    Jessan looked intently at Fire Storm, who was watching him warily. Was this man truly a Vrykyl? Jessan couldn’t tell. Fire Storm looked as a Trevinici warrior should look, right down to the fringe on his leather breeches.
    â€œI am glad you came to the aid of my friends, Fire Storm,” Jessan said. “They are not used to the dangers of a city. But I am curious as to why you claimed to know me, when this is the first time we’ve met.”
    Jessan felt that was a natural question, one that either a Vrykyl or a Trevinici would expect him to ask.
    Fire Storm’s tense expression relaxed. “I must admit that I exaggerated the truth, though not perhaps as much as you might think. The fame of Jessan and his quest has spread among our people.”
    â€œIt’s my quest, too, you know,” Bashae pointed out, offended. “We’re in this together, Jessan and I. And the Grandmother.”
    â€œOf course,” said Fire Storm politely. “My mistake.”
    He might be telling the truth, Jessan conceded. My people would have shared the story of the dying knight and those who set off to take his “love token” into eleven lands with every other Trevinici they met. But that doesn’t explain what Fire Storm is doing here in New Vinnengael—a long way from our homeland.
    On the other hand, no Trevinici warrior ever stoops to flattery. He is much more likely to insult you than fawn over you.
    â€œBashae,” Jessan said blandly, “I need to use the privies. Come along with me, so that you don’t get lost again.”
    â€œI’m not the one who managed to get myself arrested,” said Bashae,indignant. Switching to Twithil, he went on to describe just exactly what Jessan could do with himself in the privies.
    Twithil being a very descriptive language, Jessan couldn’t help but grin. He gave Bashae a look, nodded ever so slightly at Fire Storm.
    Bashae slid a sidelong glance at the Trevinici. The pecwae’s right eyelid flickered.
    â€œAll right, Jessan. I’ll come,”