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invisible fog, but then he shook his head, smiled, and the peril withdrew. Yet it never quite disappeared entirely, and his flaming eyes gleamed between his lashes.
    “As it happens, however, the last thing I want would be your death,” he said. “If you die, I’ll undoubtedly accompany you to Isvaria, and I still have much to do. I’ll admit to selfish as well as selfless motives, but you have enemies, both mortal and of the art. Your own skills may protect you against the former, but only I can aid you against the latter.”
    “But why?!” The red-haired man half-shouted. “Damn you and your cryptic hints!” He mastered himself with a visible effort. “At least answer me this much Wizard—how did you find your ‘puzzle piece’?”
    “I didn’t find you; I waited for you.”
    “Very helpful.” The younger man drummed on the table, frowning, and tried another approach. “Give me one good reason to trust you—one reason I can understand now, Wizard!”
    “I still honor the Strictures of Ottovar,” the flame-eyed old man said softly.
    “Words! This is my life , Wizard! I don’t know one single thing about you, and even less about your damned puzzles. I know nothing at all about altogether too much, so give me a better answer. How will trusting you keep me alive? Tell me, Wizard! ”
    “I never said it would.” The old man’s voice deepened and his fiery eyes flashed. “But if you trust me, you won’t be the first, and no man who’s ever trusted me has been betrayed, though many have died of knowing me. They died attempting to aid me, or simply because they came too close to my world of darkness and half-shadows. Don’t mistake me! I offer you no promise of life, only a choice . I live in the shadows at the edge of what you’re pleased to call ‘the world,’ and I’ve lived there a very long time. But I’m not part of the darkness.”
    “How can I know that?” the red-haired man whispered. “I want to trust you—the gods know I’d sell my soul to know who I am! But I don’t know how to trust you. I don’t even know who you are!”
    “Remember what I said about asking ‘who,’” the old man said gently. “I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you what men call me. After that, you must judge for yourself. Perhaps you may even know my name. But beware! Reputation is only hearsay, and even if I mean you no ill, you may yet come to curse the day we met.”
    He paused, his face cold with warning, and the red-haired man felt a sudden urge to disavow his questions before he could hear their answers. The strange eyes burned brightly, their polychromatic depths dancing, and when the wizard spoke again, his deep, measured voice rang like iron on an anvil.
    “I am called Wencit of Rūm, last Lord of the Council of Ottovar, Keeper of the Strictures of Ottovar, Chief Councilor to the Gryphon Throne of Kontovar, and I’ve waited thirteen centuries for this conversation!”

CHAPTER TWO
    Friends at Need
    “ Wencit of Rūm! ” The red-haired man stared open-mouthed for at least ten seconds, then shook himself as if to fight his shock physically. “ You’re the wizard who destroyed Kontovar?!”
    “Like all tales, that one’s less than completely accurate,” Wencit sighed, turning his head to look into the fire. “But, yes. I spoke the Word of Unbinding, yes, and freed the Council from the Strictures to let us strike our enemies.”
    He sat silent for a long, still moment, as if his wildfire eyes saw memories in the flames, then looked back at the younger man.
    “We were three hundred strong, and we were powerful. Oh, yes! We were powerful , my friend.” His voice was soft, and he sighed again. “And we poured out our strength like water and wasted our lives like fire. The world had never seen a working like it, not since Ottovar ended the great Wizard Wars ten thousand years and more before…and when we finished, there were four white wizards in all the world. Just four, and two of