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doorway, and Keris
found herself stepping into the garden which lay beneath the window
of Mordal`s office.
    Bounded by the keep itself, the
refectory and a high outer wall, the garden was its own private
world. The section adjacent to the refectory was given over to
vegetables and herbs. However, this early in the year there was not
much to see other than neatly tilled soil. Inside the kitchen area,
there was an area where young plants were forced, so as to ensure
fresh vegetables for those of eminence within the keep’s
administrative structure.
    The rest of the garden was given
over to low shrubs, flower beds and curving walkways. As she walked
with Mordal, however, her mind’s eye saw not the serenity of
growing things, but a lean girl in a cart with eyes of hatred, and
a man lying face down on the ground, his fair hair stirring in the
breeze…
    She was shaken out of her reverie
as Mordal suddenly broke the silence.
    “Do you remember when you first
came here?” He paused, and then continued. “It was more than twenty
turns ago. You were young then; wary of everyone, but curious.” He
laughed lightly. “Your eyes were wide like a young child’s, taking
everything in, missing nothing.” Indeed, the city had seemed almost
overwhelming, with its massive cathedral and daunting keep. Half
the time, she had wanted to cower in the corner like some
frightened gundir pup.
    “I watched you carefully,” Mordal
continued, as if speaking to himself. “You said little but you were
sharp and learned quickly. And then you got into a fight with…what
was his name?”
    “Torinn.” Keris remembered the
day as if it were yesterday. Torinn was a loudmouth and a bully.
When she saw him roughing up a younger boy, she had thrown caution
to the winds and set about him like a wild scaran beast. It was an
act of nobility, courage and utter stupidity. “He beat me to a
pulp.”
    Mordal laughed out loud. “Of
course he did! He was a head taller than you and twice your size!
But that was only after he recovered from the shock of being
pummelled to the ground by a slip of a girl. That was the day I
made the decision to recommend your induction for training as
Keltar.” He smiled wryly. “I remember I had a long argument with
Lorcar over that. You were too young by almost a full turn, but in
the end I beat him down. It’s a decision I have never
regretted.”
    “I am grateful for all you have
done for me, my Lord.”
    Mordal blew through his lips and
waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, it is we who should thank you.
You have worked hard and used your talents in furtherance of the
Prophet’s cause.”
    “I live to serve.”
    “As do we all.” He nodded
thoughtfully. “Well then, to the business at hand.” They had
reached a small arbour near the centre of the garden. A sweet scent
emanated from a profusion of yellow blossoms. There were stools
placed conveniently, but Mordal did not sit; rather, he stood
facing the young woman.
    “There was an incident two days
ago in Corte. Garai was collecting tariff and tributes when he was
suddenly attacked by a man posing as Keltar.”
    “Posing?” inquired
Keris.
    Mordal shrugged. “He had the
trappings of Keltar; the flying cloak and staff. However, he was
beaten rather easily by all accounts and fled using the cloak.
Garai tried to give chase but his cloak was ‘accidentally damaged.’
Personally I think that the impostor gave Garai rather more trouble
than he is willing to admit. At any rate, he seems to have been
aided and abetted by a young woman. The soldier escort gave chase
but lost her in the town and did not have time to complete a house
to house search before they were due to return.”
    Keris frowned
as she listened to Mordal`s account. It seemed inconceivable that
anyone would have the gall to impersonate a Keltar.
    “The Prophet is away from the
keep, visiting Persillan in the north, where he is due to ascend to
the heavens in a few days. We Ringed him of course, to