“It is,” Milamber said simply.
Hochopepa poured another cup of hot chocha each. “Be especially wary of the Warlord’s pets, Elgahar and Ergoran, and a reckless youngster named Tapek. Their master rankles at the progress of the war upon your former homeworld and is suspicious of the Assembly. Now that two of our brothers died in the last major campaign, fewer of our brothers are willing to lend further aid to that undertaking. The few magicians left within his faction are overtaxed, and it is rumored he will be unable to subdue any more of your world without a miracle. It would take a united High Council—-which should happen when the Thün raiders become agriculturalists and poets, and not before—or a large number of Black Robes agreeing to do his bidding. The latter should occur about a year after the former, so you can see he is in a somewhat poor political situation. Warlords who fail in conducting war tend to fall from grace quickly.” With a smile he added, “Of course, we of the Assembly are far above matters political.” His tone turned serious once more. “You must face one thing: he may view you as a potential threat, either influencing others not to aid him, or openly opposing him from some deep-rooted sympathy for your former homeland. You are protected from his direct actions, but you still might run afoul of his pets. Some still blindly follow his lead.”
“ ‘The path of power is a path of turns within turns,’ ” Milamber quoted.
Hochopepa nodded, a satisfied expression upon his face. His eyes seemed to glint. “That is Tsurani. You learn quickly.”
In the following weeks Milamber grew into the fullness of his new position, learning the responsibilities of his office. It was remarked on more than once, and occasionally with distrust, that there had been few who had demonstrated so much ability so soon after donning the black robe.
For all the changes in his existence, Milamber discovered many things were unchanged. With practice he discovered he still had untapped wells of power within, which could be called up only in times of stress. He studied to bring this wild augmentation of power under control, but with little success. He also discovered he was able to put aside the mental conditions placed upon him during training. He chose not to reveal this fact to anyone, not even Hochopepa. His reordering of these mental conditionings also regained him something else, a nearly overwhelming desire to be with Katala once again. He put aside that desire, to go to her at once and demand her release from the Lord of the Shinzawai, well within his ability now he was a Great One. He hesitated for fear of the reaction of the other magicians, and for fear her feelings might have changed toward him. Instead he plunged into his studies.
His time in the Assembly brought forth his true identity, as he had been told it would. This identity proved the key to his unusual mastery of the Greater Path. He was a being of both worlds, worlds bound together by the great rift. And for as long as those worlds stayed bound together, he drew power from both, twice the power available to others of the black robe. This knowledge revealed his true name, that name which could not be spoken lest it let another gain power over him. In the ancient Tsurani language, unused since the time of the Escape, it meant, “One who stands between worlds.”
TWENTY-THREE - Voyage
Martin watched.
Motioning silently to his companions, they slipped through the wood line, just out of sight of those in the meadow. They could easily hear the shouts in the Tsurani camp as orders were given. Martin crouched low, so no hint of movement would betray their presence. Behind him scurried Garret and the former Tsurani slave, Charles. In the six years since the siege of Crydee, Charles had met Martin’s expectations, proving his loyalty and worth a dozen times. He had also become a passable woodsman, though he would never have Garret or Martin’s natural ease.
Whispering, Charles said, “Huntmaster, I mark many new banners.”
“Where?”
Charles pointed to a spot near the farthest edge of the Tsurani camp. With the aid of the dwarves remaining in the high villages, Martin and his two companions had made the dangerous climb over the Grey Towers, easily passing the few Tsurani sentries left along the western edge of the valley, the flank thought least in need of vigilance. Now they were within a few hundred feet of the main Tsurani camp.
Garret let forth a nearly silent whistle. “The man has eyes like a falcon. I can barely see those banners.”
Charles said, “I only know what to look for.”