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wreathed the castle. The riders from Dalvador and the residents of Windward gathered in a ten-branched
star pattern on the bridge that arched across the chasm to the castle. Roca stood in one branch with
Eldri, Garlin, and a Dalvador couple.
A woman in a long red robe spoke the service, her voice like wind chimes. She wore her hair in a coil
on her head, but when she finished, she took down the coil and let the wind whip the long tresses around
her shoulders, a tribute to the rider who had lost his life while on the way to what the Lyshrioli also called
the Castle of Winds.
Garlin spoke next, his voice deep and melodic. He stood at the edge of the bridge, with only a stone rail
separating him from the chasm. Roca knew Eldri s people could never have carved that perfectly
cylindrical rail. Its ancient supports rose straight out of the bridge, all one solid piece with no seams.
When Garlin completed his eulogy, Eldri went to stand with him. He cast a handful of glittering dust over
the chasm, in place of ashes from the body, which they had been unable to retrieve. The glitter drifted
down, sparkling dimly in the overcast day. Only the keening wind broke the silence.
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Then the Lyshrioli began to sing.
Fifty people joined in the hymn, singing in the incomparable Lyshrioli language, their voices rising in the
clear mountain air, chiming like bells, caressing a bittersweet melody so beautiful, it brought tears into
Roca s eyes.
And when they finished, Eldri sang alone.
Roca knew then that even Brad s extravagant praise hadn t come close to describing the vocal gifts of
Dalvador s Bard. Eldri s voice soared into the air, filling it with such purity, such incredible clarity and
power, that no ecstasy they shared in bed could match this moment.
It would be a crime for anyone including her people to contaminate the rare splendor of these
people.
Eldri pulled his fur-lined jacket tighter around his body.  Garlin forbids us to leave. His breath
condensed in the air of the stable, making puffs of blue.
Leaning on the half door of a stall, Roca rubbed the nose of the lyrine butting her hand.  How can Garlin
forbid us to leave? Do you not rule here?
He crossed his arms on top of the half door.  Rule?
Roca wished she could go inside the stall, where the animal had made a nest out of the softened stalks of
glasswood piled there. It had pulled the stalks up around itself in a way a horse could never do, and now
it stood surrounded by their warmth.
 Your title of Bard, Roca said.  It means you lead, yes?
Eldri s forehead furrowed.  I sing. I keep our history.
 These people treat you as their leader.
 Not leader. Judge. He rubbed the lyrine s nose.  They bring me disputes. I try to settle them. Garlin
did it until a few years ago. He still advises me.
Dryly Roca said,  I m sure he does.
 Why do you say it like that?
 He troubles me. Why does he dislike me so?
Eldri hesitated.  I am not sure. He wanted me to take you back to the port right away. His face
reddened.  He says I let my loins think for me.
 Your loins? When her node provided the translation, she blushed.  Never mind.
His laugh tickled her ears.  Perhaps we should go back to my room and investigate what he means.
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Much as she would have liked to, she couldn t banter with him now.  Eldri, we must return to the port.
The snow has stopped. We should leave as soon as possible.
 Garlin says to stay. And he is wise.
She scowled at him.  Garlin wants you to think he is wiser than you. That way, he retains power.
 You say I should not trust Garlin. He leaned closer, his lips near her ear.  He says I should not trust
you.
Roca sighed and moved into his arms, though their heavy jackets kept them from coming too close.  I
have to go back.
 I do not understand why it is so important.
She searched for the right words.  If I do not vote, my people may have a war. A terrible war. Many
would die. Millions. Perhaps billions.
He pulled back and regarded her uncertainly.  I do not understand  millions or  billions. 
 Think of how many people live in Dalvador and the Rillian Values.
 Very, very many.
 Yes. Very. Now imagine five times as many as that. She wasn t sure if he could; she had no idea what
mathematics he knew.
He only paused for a moment.  All right.
 That is a million people. Her breath made plumes in the air.  Double, triple, quadruple that number and
you still won t have all the people who might die. Do you begin to see?
He blanched.  It is too many.
 Yes. Too many.
 And you can stop this?
 I think so. But I must be there. Otherwise my son will vote to go to war.
 Your son? His embrace turned rigid.  Where is his father?
Softly Roca said,  He died.
 Ai, Roca, I am sorry. Relief also came from his mind.
 It happened many years ago.
 Is the boy all right? I didn t mean to keep you from him. I had no idea.
 He is no boy. Roca thought of her indomitable firstborn.  He is a man, grown and strong.
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Eldri s forehead furrowed.  You are not old enough to have a son that age.
So. Here it came. She had to tell him sooner or later.  I am older than I look, older than Garlin, even.
He gave her an uncertain smile.  You play with me.
Roca shook her head. Then, remembering he might not recognize the gesture, she added,  My people
age differently than yours.
He looked doubtful.  This son, he is a warrior?
 A warlord. A great one. She shivered, though her jacket kept out the cold.  I love my son, Eldri, but
he also terrifies me. I must return home before it is too late.
 It sounds so strange.
 Please help me.
He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.  Garlin says it may snow again.
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