Blood Reckoning

When they reached the cafeteria, a large group was gathered at the center of the room. Marcus and Halmar exchanged a glance. "Fight," they decided, and darted forward, pushing through the crowd; but they stopped when they reached the front of the group.

It was Jennon's gang, four young arrogant members who thought they 'ran the joint,' as they liked to put it. Typical, Marcus thought, always causing a scene. "Thought I told you not to sit here. Didn't we just tell you like, last week, not to sit at our table?" It was Jennon Wingstar who spoke, the leader of the gang. He was roughly pushing a young gray drake with a chipped beak and a bandaged right arm away from the table. The crowd snaked out of the way of the two boys, followed closely by the other three in the gang. Marcus frowned. Four against one hardly seems fair.

The gray drake was pushed again. He held up his hands defensively, anger becoming more evident upon his features each time he was forced back. "I don't want trouble," he said quietly, and Marcus could see his muscles tensing beneath his maroon jumpsuit.

"No?" Jennon laughed sarcastically. "Well, that's too bad, because you just got it." Without warning he raised his fist, and moved to strike the younger man square in the jaw.

He didn't quite make it.

The gray duck stopped the punch before it connected with his face, and twisted Jennon's arm roughly behind his back. Jennon cried out in pain, sinking to one knee. Halmar moved forward to stop the fight, but Marcus held up a hand. Halmar eyed him curiously but stayed back.

The three others rushed forward, yelling fiercely for the stranger to let Jennon go. Kenyan Landrake went to punch him, but the gray drake ducked at the last second. As Kenyan was thrown over his shoulder by momentum, the drake delivered a spinning kick to the back of his neck, releasing his own grip on Jennon. Kenyan crashed to the floor. The drake didn't bother looking over his shoulder. He knew he wasn't getting back up.

Jennon dropped to the floor, ducking out of his friends' way as they came at the drake with sabers drawn, intent on harming him. He agilely dodged the blades by flipping over them, and activated his own golden saber while in the air. The two turned around to face him, then charged again, and the three fought fiercely. The two gang members were determined to get through his defenses, but were unable to do so-the drake blocked all

their thrusts and stabs easily. Two against one, and the gray drake was winning. Soon enough, he had managed to flick the sabers out of their hands. He kept his weapon at the ready, seething, his face etched in fury. The two had their hands out in front of them, showing him they posed no further threat; Halmar could see they were fearful of what the drake was planning to do.

The gray drake's eyes narrowed dangerously. Then, without so much as lowering his weapon, he sprang into the air and delivered a foot into each of their faces simultaneously. The two were thrown back, and landed on the floor with a thud. When they didn't move, the drake deactivated his saber. He returned his attentions to Jennon, eyeing him fiercely.

Jennon had by now gotten to his feet and drawn his own weapon. He stared defiantly at the gray drake, and then charged at full speed. But the duck remained motionless, making the crowd hold its breath. At the last possible moment, the gray duck sidestepped out of the way and grabbed Jennon's wrist in a vise grip, making Jennon swing around and drop his weapon. With his other hand the stranger grabbed Jennon's jacket, and with as much strength as he could muster sent a knee crashing into the gang leader's stomach. Jennon doubled over and was dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.

The gray drake stood over him, panting between clenched teeth. The other three were down for the count, but he didn't pay any attention to them. He bent down and gripped the front of Jennon's shirt, bringing his back off the floor. Halmar watched him curiously. What's he going to do now? He's already won....

He got his answer.

The drake waited for Jennon to reopen his eyes, and when he did, the gray triggered a blade that had been concealed in the bandage on his right arm-or at least Marcus had thought it was a bandage. It was an eight-inch blade, sharp as they come, and he had it stationed inches from Jennon's throat.

Jennon gasped in fear, and tried desperately to move away; but the furious drake's grip on him prevented him from going anywhere. No options remaining, Jennon shakily met the eyes of the drake who held his life in hand, and saw only hate and anger. "You wanted trouble," the drake said, "now here it is."

He raised the blade, and Jennon cringed in absolute terror. "Wait...please...."

"I don't think so."

Maybe it was because the crowd of spectators had started to murmur, or maybe because he saw one of the three he had already beaten stir, or maybe because he heard the air conditioning kick on. Anyway, something got the gray drake's attention and he looked up. That was when he seemed to notice the horde of people eagerly awaiting his next move.

He blinked a few times, and all the anger left his eyes as if it had never been there. He released Jennon's shirt and the boy fell back onto the floor. Retracting his strange blade, the stranger hurriedly made his way toward the exit. The crowd parted at his approach, none of them wanting to be on the receiving end of that blade.

Jennon remained on the floor, too scared to move. Can't blame him, really, Halmar thought with a sly grin. Although he did deserve it.

The crowd slowly began to disperse, some talking about what had just happened, some refusing to admit they'd seen it.

"The kid's a loose cannon," Halmar said simply.

"Indeed," Marcus agreed. The brown-feathered Brotherhood leader watched the dissolving scene skeptically. "Who is he? I've never seen him before now."

Halmar crossed his arms. "Calls himself Duke l'Orange. He joined us about a month ago." He thought for a moment. "Funny. He's been practically invisible since he came here. I wonder what caused this fight with Jennon's gang?"

"I don't know." Marcus looked at his friend, a mischievous grin creasing his features. "Let's go find out, shall we?"

Halmar placed a hand on his arm. "I don't think that's a good idea, Marc. The fight's over, let it go."

"You left out one important detail, my friend," Marcus said, lifting Halmar's hand from his arm. "The kid, as you call him, just managed to take out four experienced members single-handedly. I think it's worth knowing just how that happened, don't you?" He easily pushed his way through the departing crowd of thieves.

Halmar hesitated before following his leader. "All right, but just so you know, I'm advising against it."

Marcus chuckled. "Duly noted."

Jennon still lay sprawled on the floor. No one had the nerve to help him up-no one except Marcus. "Get up."

Jennon opened his eyes with a loud groan, staring sightlessly at the Brotherhood leader towering over him. At last his eyes widened in recognition.

"Sir!" He scrambled to his feet, swaying slightly when he realized he'd stood more quickly than he should have. "Sorry, sir, we were just-"

"Causing trouble," Marcus finished, and his voice was devoid of the light humor it had held a moment ago. Jennon stole a glance at him, and winced when he saw the stern look on his leader's face. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

The other three who had been knocked down were on their feet and standing behind Jennon, trying desperately not to draw attention to themselves. It didn't work.

"What about you three?" Marcus questioned, looking over Jennon's shoulder. "What do you have to say in your defense?"

"We're sorry," they chorused automatically, and immediately began piping excuses for their actions.

Marcus suppressed a sigh. Kids, he thought, and heard a soft chuckle behind him; but he didn't bother turning around to get Halmar's I-told-you-so look. "Never mind," he said, waving his hand dismissively, and the four immediately fell silent. "I just want to know what happened and why."

Kenyan, the boy in the back of the group, spoke up first. "It wasn't our fault, man! That kid was eating at our table!"

"Yeah," the young raptrin next to him added, "he was in our spot, after we told him never to sit there."

"I see." Marcus crossed his arms. "So you started a fight with someone who has only been here a month and is at least-what-two years younger than yourselves, over a table?" His features hardened. "You're all old enough to know better."

The youths remained silent, but Halmar stepped forward. "For someone who's only been here a month, he made short work of these four rather easily." His expression was just as cold as Marcus' was. "Wouldn't you agree?"

The four cringed. "We apologize for any trouble we've caused, sirs," Jennon said a little shakily, "it won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Marcus said firmly. "Now report to the kitchen. You and your little 'gang' will do chores and whatever else I deem appropriate, as your punishment, for the next week. Go." They didn't move; and Marcus drew himself taller, his glare intensifying.

"Now," he thundered, and they left in a hasty rush.

Once they were gone, Halmar clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Nothing like handing out a little discipline to start the day out right, eh?"

Marcus drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He seemed suddenly distracted. "What? Oh...yes."

Halmar stared at him quizzically. "Something wrong?"

"No, not wrong." Marcus rubbed his chin. "But not right either."

Halmar sighed. He hated it when Marcus beat around the bush. "What're you on about? The fight?"

"No." Marcus started heading back to his office.

Halmar followed doggedly. "Then what is it?"

"How old is l'Orange?"

Halmar shrugged. "I don't know. From his looks I'd say sixteen, eighteen at the most. Why?"

They had reached the office, and Marcus dug in his pocket for the key. When they were inside he shut the door and locked it, and began rummaging through one of his filing cabinets. "Come on, Marc." Halmar was growing impatient. "What's troubling you?"

Marcus pulled out a file and dropped it on his already crowded desk. "Is he being apprenticed?"

Halmar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I don't think so. He hasn't been here long enough to make a name for himself. Besides, I don't think anyone wants to deal with someone like that-he's too wild."

"Maybe." Marcus finally met the older man's gaze. "But don't you find it odd that someone who hasn't been with us very long, and hasn't been apprenticed, should be that good in a fight?" He dropped into his leather chair and began to flip through the file he'd selected. "And outnumbered at that."

Halmar sat down across from him, the desktop between them. "He's a street kid. Punks like him learn to fight to survive." He leaned forward. "What are you looking at?"

"I think there's more to this kid than he leads on-ah yes." He gestured to a particular page in the file and turned the folder around so Halmar could see it. "See this?"

Halmar took the folder in his hands. "Assassin's Ring Disbanded-Talon Featherstorm Presumed Dead." He read the newspaper headline aloud, and then looked at Marcus. "So? I remember this-it was a great day when the Brotherhood learned that the Ring no longer existed." He passed the folder back. "But that was over a year ago. Why bring it up now?"

Marcus turned the folder in his hands, smiling a little. "I think this is the reason Duke l'Orange has joined us. He was an assassin before the Ring broke apart-then, with nowhere else to go, he came here."

"Don't be ridiculous, Marc," Halmar snorted. "No one from the Ring would ever join the Blade, especially not a kid like l'Orange."

"Think for a second, Hal." Marcus got to his feet. "How else could someone who's inexperienced defend himself so easily against four other fighters? Training in the use of a saber only comes in two places: here, where we know he hasn't received instruction yet, and in the Ring."

"You don't know that," Halmar argued. "Maybe he practices the stuff. Maybe his father was a fencing instructor. Truth is, we don't know, so don't jump to conclusions."

Marcus stood taller. "You are correct, my friend." He walked toward the door. "The only way we're going to figure this out is by going to the source."

"What? Now?" Halmar got to his feet hastily. "You can't be serious! You saw the look on that l'Orange kid's face as well as I did-he was pretty fired up about the fight. I don't think it's a good idea to go questioning him about his past. Most come here to get away from that in the first place."

"That's what I like about you, Hal." Marcus regarded the other drake with a kind smile. "You're my head advisor, but I also consider you my friend." He opened the door. "Think of it as a worthwhile investment. If it turns out he was indeed in the Ring, then the Brotherhood has grown past the old rivalry by admitting the Ring's ex-members. If not, then we just learn a little more about our new brother."

Halmar frowned. "I'll never understand you."

Marcus only chuckled. "Are you going to insult me or come with me?"

They stepped out and Halmar shut the door behind him. "I guess I'll do both."

***

Marcus knocked on the door ten minutes later, thankful for having finally found the correct room number. He was tired of his inquiries being met with "You're looking for who?" and equally tired of hearing Halmar tell him what a bad idea this was. "Relax, Hal," he said. "I know what I'm doing."

"Somehow I'm not very reassured."

They waited a few moments for an answer. When there wasn't one, Marcus knocked again. Still, no answer. Halmar turned to leave. "See? The kid isn't even here. Come on, let's get something to eat."

"I don't think so," Marcus said, and Halmar turned back around. Marcus was grinning widely; he'd tested the doorknob and found it unlocked. "Shall we?"

Halmar's shoulders slumped. "Wonderful. Breaking and entering in our own Haven."

They entered the room quietly. It was a plain room, with no furniture other than a bed, nightstand, dresser, and desk chair. That wasn't unusual; most of the rooms were sparsely furnished between inhabitants. But this one was exceptionally clean and neat, with everything meticulously organized. Rather odd for a teenager, Halmar thought.

The room was also strangely bare. Most Brotherhood members who lived in the Haven had pictures of their families, places for their tools, mementos of their profession. Here nothing was out in the open.

In the back of the room, a light shone from underneath a door; Marcus guessed it was the bathroom. The door creaked open, and Marcus and Halmar froze, their hands on their sabers.

The door swung fully open, and revealed Duke, the young gray drake with the chipped beak. He stood in the doorway, shirtless, eyeing the two carefully. After a few tense moments he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, but his gaze never softened. "Can I help you with something?"

Marcus drew himself to full height. "My name is Marcus Crusade. I'm the leader of the Brotherhood." He gestured at his companion. "And this is Halmar Sharpwing, my-"

"I know who you are," the boy said bluntly. He walked over to the dresser, opened the top drawer and pulled out a neatly folded black T-shirt. "Now why are you here?"

If Marcus was perturbed by the remark, he didn't show it. "We saw the fight you had with Jennon in the cafeteria. You defended yourself very well. Very impressively."

Duke pulled his shirt over his head and raised his eyebrows questioningly at the two older men. "Really." He sat down cautiously on his bed, as if he didn't want to disturb the sheets. Halmar leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable.

Marcus folded his hands behind his back. "However, I'd like to know how someone who's only been here a month has come to know so much about swordfighting."

Duke shrugged. "Learned how to use a saber from a guy who was kind enough to offer lessons to street kids. His only fee was that I promise to work hard at it." He drew his

foot up to the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around his leg, resting his chin on his knee. "Guess it came in handy."

Liar, Halmar thought, though his outward expression didn't change in the slightest. He watched the gray drake warily, and Duke's only response was to stare back steadily. Though he is pretty good at it.

Marcus cleared his throat; the lie hadn't been lost on him either. "Yes, well, that type of thing will be quite useful while you're here." He gestured towards the spot next to Duke. "May I?"

Duke fidgeted slightly and shifted, but nodded.

"Thank you." Marcus smiled and sat down, but his brow creased when he saw Duke's sudden nervousness. "Something wrong?"

"Oh, no." The boy shook his head vigorously. "I just don't know what to think. I got the two best thieves on Puckworld in my room...." He tried to smile but failed. "Kinda makes me nervous, you know?"

Marcus chuckled. "Then I'll make this as quick as possible." He shifted his position to get a better look at the young drake. "I'd like to know how you learned to fight. Furthermore"-he pointed at the bandage-like sheath on Duke's arm-"how does a street kid, if you are one, get a weapon such as that? Hmmm?"

Duke winced and stared at his wrapped arm. "I learned how to fight in order to survive-it's a must if you live on the streets, you know? As for the blade...." He trailed off, his hand on his arm, a distant look in his eyes as if he was recalling a painful memory. But he shook himself back to reality. "It was a gift." He looked uneasily from one drake to the other. "Am I in trouble because of the fight?"

"Not at all," Marcus answered hastily. He forced a smile. "But I don't think you'll have to worry about Jennon and his gang giving you a hard time anymore. That blade was more than enough to convince everyone not to bother you."

Duke narrowed his eyes at the mention of Jennon; but he blinked a few times, burying the anger as quickly as it had risen, and didn't speak.

Marcus leaned closer to him. "I'd like to learn more about you, Duke."

Duke looked at him curiously, his dark gaze instantly suspicious. "Me? Why?"

Marcus decided to get serious. "I've never run across a young one like you before. You have marvelous potential for the Brotherhood-I daresay with a little guidance you could be Puckworld's greatest thief."

"Marcus-" Halmar began.

Marcus waved him to silence. "What do you say, kid?"

Duke looked skeptical. "Puckworld's greatest thief, huh? Better than you?"

"Yes. Better than me."

The boy didn't look too convinced. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Marcus grinned. "What if we make a deal, then?" When Duke didn't argue, he continued. "You meet me in the training room first thing tomorrow and give me a day to learn more about your fighting style, and maybe you could learn a bit about mine. If you like it, we'll continue to meet and trade off fighting techniques. If not, then we all go back to business as usual, and you can live out your time in the Brotherhood-invisibly, if you want. Are we agreed?"

Duke looked from Marcus and Halmar and back again. He could tell from Halmar's pose that the older man didn't approve of the deal, but Marcus seemed sincere enough-at least, he didn't appear to be lying. Eventually he nodded. "Okay. Anything's worth trying once."

"Excellent." Marcus went to pat the youth on the shoulder, but Duke sprang up at his touch. Halmar reflexively drew his saber but didn't activate it. The boy stood back from the bed, already closing himself off again. Marcus watched him, frowning. "Problem?"

"Nothing personal," Duke answered, a little too shakily for Halmar's tastes. "Just don't like being touched. That's all."

Marcus watched him closely but for a long time said nothing. Finally he got to his feet. "I see. Very well, then...Duke. I'll see you in the morning. Come ready to work."

The young man nodded, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around himself. "I will, sir," he said, but he didn't look at the departing ducks.

Once they were gone, he sank heavily onto his bed, releasing a slow sigh. "I will."

***

"Have you lost your mind?!" Halmar nearly shouted. The stoic drake rarely lost his composure; but when he did, everyone tended to get out of his way. "What were you thinking?"

Everyone except Marcus, of course, who only regarded him coolly. "I'm not going to argue with you, Hal. This is my decision."

"You can't be serious," Halmar said. His voice had lowered to normal tones, but it was still filled with edge. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"

"I do." Marcus plopped into his chair. "I'm going to learn how Talon Featherstorm trained his assassins."

Halmar rubbed his temples tiredly. "Do you listen to yourself when you speak? How can you possibly know this kid was in the Ring? Yes, he does know how to fence and fight, but that's no reason to think-"

"What about the room?" Marcus leaned back in his chair.

Halmar crossed his arms. "What about it?"

"It's much too well-kept for some kid off the streets," Marcus said flatly. "And he keeps his weapon on him all the time, like it's some kind of security blanket. Street kids don't depend on weapons-or keep clean rooms. And his reactions to some of the things I said-no, we're only getting part of the story, not all of it."

"So what are you going to do?" Halmar demanded. "Torture him? Make him tell?"

"No." Marcus clasped his hands behind his head and propped his feet up on his desk. "His past is of no use to me. Let him keep his secrets-I just want to gauge his skill."

"Why?"

"If this kid really was in the Ring, and learned from Featherstorm himself, then he has incredible skill. Imagine how beneficial his talents will be to the Brotherhood if we can learn how the assassins functioned." Marcus grinned. "Think of it, Hal! We both know Featherstorm had more knowledge on fencing and fighting than we could acquire in three lifetimes. Now that he's gone, this kid may be the only chance we have to learn about his methods."

Halmar's frown deepened. "So you'll use this kid to learn about Featherstorm."

Marcus sat up straight. "Not use him. Learn from him. Just as he'll learn from me."

"Are you going to apprentice him, then?"

"I don't know." Marcus shrugged. "Maybe."

"I don't advise it."

"Why not?"

"You don't need an apprentice. You need someone with authority. Apprentices are for common thieves-"

"Fine," Marcus said. "I'll be a common thief."

"Marc," Halmar pleaded. "Be reasonable. You don't need an apprentice. You need a First Blade-you're the first leader in three hundred years who hasn't taken one! You've got to have someone authoritative and responsible-and you know the Elders' Council wouldn't stand for l'Orange." His voice softened. "Make Falcone your First Blade, he's the one they-"

"No. Not Falcone." Marcus released an irritated sigh. "If the Elders insist that I take a First Blade, fine. But not Falcone. I don't care if he was your pet pupil, Halmar, I don't trust him."

"Trust doesn't exist in this business, Marc." Halmar stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Look. We've been through this. We both know Falcone is the best suited for leadership. He's a terrific swordsman, he shows remarkable leadership abilities, and the others in his age group respect him."

"Whereas the others in our age group think he's an arrogant little bastard."

Halmar forced himself to keep his voice even. "All right. I know you admire l'Orange for his skill, but he's too young-more importantly he's too unstable. I'm sorry, Marc, but that's just how it is. Falcone's the man."

"No," Marcus repeated obstinately. "I think Falcone is too power hungry, and I don't feel comfortable handing the Brotherhood over to him." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "I want to make sure the Brotherhood is in the hands of someone who's capable of doing a good job."

Halmar cursed under his breath. "Do you think the Elders don't want that too? I mean, come on, Marc. You may want l'Orange, but the Elders want Falcone, and I have to tell them something. You can't have them both."

"Can't I?"

Marcus' advisor laughed in spite of himself. "Why not? You've gone this long without a First Blade, and now you want to settle for just an apprentice-hell, take two! Why stop bucking tradition?" But he sobered quickly. "You know as well as I do, Marc, that your First Blade doesn't have to succeed you. Take someone. Anyone. Pacify the Elders, at least for now. Put their minds to rest."

"In other words," Marcus said dryly, "give them Falcone."

Halmar smiled at the younger man. "You've always worried about what was best for the Blade, like a good leader should." He walked around the desk and placed a comforting hand on Marcus' shoulder. "Falcone will do a fine job. He's the one you should choose as your First Blade, and soon." He reached down and yanked a gray hair out of Marcus' head, making his friend grimace, and brought it around so Marcus could see it. "Before it's too late."

Marcus sighed and took the hair from Halmar's hand. "All right. I'll apprentice Falcone this week, since you think so much of him. But I still plan to work with l'Orange, and you can tell the Elders that my First Blade will be of my choosing." He let the hair flutter to the floor. "God, I don't remember getting older."

"Old, my friend," Halmar remarked. "We're old. Not older."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Haven't you said enough already?"

Halmar smiled. "It's my job."

***

Halmar stepped through the door and demanded, "Well?"

Marcus leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was late afternoon; he'd had his first session with Duke this morning, and now he was trying hard not to think of how badly he wanted to go to bed. Hot shower. Soft pillows. And a beautiful woman to rub my back...yes, that would do nicely....

"He's good," he said simply. "He's very good."

Halmar sat down laughing. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"No." Marcus opened one eye and peered blearily across the desk at his friend. "I was going to tell you that you're quite right-I'm not as young as I used to be."

"You look beat," Halmar agreed readily. "What about the kid?"

"I don't think he broke a sweat." Marcus yawned hugely and forced himself upright. "He's quite agile, moves very easily...it's obvious that he's no stranger to a sparring match. Light on his feet-I don't remember moving that quickly at that age."

Halmar began idly shuffling the papers on Marcus' desk. "I don't think I even remember being that age. Did he beat you?"

"No. Of course not." Marcus leaned back again. "He does need some work. He's lacking patience, and he tends to lash out too quickly, as if he's accustomed to being the attacker rather than the defender. And his temper...." He shook his head. "There's definite work to be done there, he's as bad as Falcone. For some reason he's carrying around a lot of anger."

Halmar nodded. He had sensed it the day before. "You still think he was in the Ring."

"Yes." Marcus was unequivocal. "Because he's too quick to go for a killing blow-you saw that yourself, yesterday morning with Jennon. Duke could have killed him easily. He definitely thought about it...or maybe he didn't think. Maybe it was just the training taking over."

"Hmm." A deep frown creased Halmar's features. "He didn't go for you...?"

"No. Strangely enough he seems to trust me," Marcus reassured him. "But he's a little too fond of that...thing he wears on his arm. I've insisted that he's going to have to practice without it-I don't want to be on the receiving end of that when there's no one there to stop him."

"Marcus, if you think he'd kill you-"

"What are you going to say, Hal?" was the weary reply. "I don't need to spar with him? He's got to have a sparring partner, he's under the age limit to do without one, and there aren't many in his age group that even come close to his experience. No," he sighed, "if the boy's going to lose control and kill someone, let it be me. I'm old, after all."

Halmar winced; it was obvious that Marcus was still put out from the previous day's discussion. "I spoke to the Elders about your decision."

"Indeed?"

The older drake wrung his hands nervously. "They've agreed to let you apprentice Falcone...and Duke, if you insist on it."

Marcus nodded, smiling faintly. "What's the catch?"

"They're giving you two months to work with Duke, taking into consideration his existing level of expertise. But at the end of that two months you've got to choose one of them-or someone equally good-as your First Blade." Halmar scratched his head. "I'm sorry, Marc, but it's now or never."

"Is it?" Marcus sat up again and swiveled toward the wall. "And what if I find someone better before my two months is up?"

"That will be duly-" Halmar stopped suddenly. "Someone better? Come on, Marcus,

even if you searched the whole Brotherhood, you won't find anyone better. Not among the younger ones-and the rest of us are too old."

"You're wrong, Hal." Marcus chuckled. "Even if you're Duke l'Orange...or Ernie Falcone...there's always someone better."

Later Marcus would say he'd never suspected he'd be so right.

***

It was not yet dawn, though the sky outside was pinking rapidly. Inside, Marcus walked the floor of the Assembly Hall.

Three hundred years earlier, this part of the Brotherhood's Haven hadn't been a thieves' den. Rather ironically it had been a church-more specifically the Cathedral of St. Silverwing of the Holy Blade, complete with said Holy Blade, the Sword of War, firmly ensconced in a glass case on the high altar. But a retiring Brotherhood leader had seen the significance of this place-tradition had it that St. Silverwing had been the Brotherhood's founder-and had bought the church, the grounds, and the adjoining monastery from the saint's few remaining devotees, and turned it into a new Haven for his expanding organization. None of the original furnishings were left now, except for the Sword of War; the tapestries, velvet pew cushions, and stained-glass windows had been replaced many times over. Even the bells in the north and south towers had been silenced, their clappers removed by an incoming leader who hadn't wanted his group's presence made known.

On any other morning Marcus would have pondered this with awe, tracing with his eyes the old gilded corner moldings of saints and angels, the grace of the chandeliers. He would have climbed the ropes that still hung in the north tower, and stood in its windows, and found peace in the pulse of the still-sleeping world below.

But this morning he was furious.

Where is he? he fumed. I've been working with that ungrateful boy for two weeks and he's never been late-and he should have been here an hour ago! His pacing strides grew longer. Maybe Halmar is right after all, maybe I should pick Falcone....

"Marcus." He turned sharply; it was Halmar, coming from quarters, his normally

expressionless face set in a mask of annoyance. "He's not in his room."

"Dammit!" Marcus' patience was almost at its limit. "Where is that boy?"

"Maybe he decided to take off after all," Halmar suggested.

Marcus sighed. "This is all I need. I go out of my way for the boy, I take time out of my own schedule-" He paused; he could hear shaky laughter out in the vestibule.

The double doors to the Hall creaked open. First to enter was Duke, panting and a little unsteady; behind him was a slightly older drake, heavily muscled with glossy ebony feathers-Ciaran Blackdrake. Marcus scowled. The two young drakes saw him and stopped dead.

"Where have you been?" Marcus roared, and the tone of his voice made even Halmar jump.

Ciaran cringed; but Duke never moved.

"Please, sir," Ciaran began, "we were just-"

Marcus struck him hard across the face, knocking him back. "I wasn't talking to you!" He rounded on Duke savagely. "Where have you been? Didn't you know I'd be waiting for you? And what the hell is this?" He prodded Duke's right sleeve, making the boy yelp. Duke's arm had been sliced open in several places, as had the side of his neck, and the wounds still oozed bright blood; his sleeve was blood-soaked and practically cut to ribbons.

"We-" Duke gulped for air. "We were just having a little fun, sir."

"Fun?" Halmar moved in closer, but quickly turned away in disgust as his nostrils caught the sharp tang of alcohol. "You've been drinking too. So just what did this 'fun' entail?"

"We went to Whitecliffs," Ciaran Blackdrake said quickly, "we saw a house there we thought we'd try. Only the guy was home, and Duke tried to take him, and-"

"-and he cut me," Duke finished miserably.

Whitecliffs. The richest suburb in all Puckworld. Marcus swore colorfully, not knowing which to be more amazed at: the attempted theft or the fact that the house's owner was apparently a better swordsman than Duke. For a long moment he stood speechless, trying to sort out something reasonable to say; then Halmar stepped in. "Go to your quarters, Ciaran," the older drake said, "and don't come out until you're called for." The youth scurried gratefully.

"You!" Marcus had found his voice. "The great Duke l'Orange! The Brotherhood's great hope! Do you realize what you've done? Cavorting about with that-that idiot Blackdrake? You want to steal, well that's fine, that's good, but noooooo, you have to go to Whitecliffs and try for the real goods-and you let someone see you! Don't you have the sense to know when a house is empty? Or were you too drunk to care?"

Duke stammered a weak reply; but Marcus wasn't through with him yet. "I trusted you! I took time out of my own leisure to train you, to make you something, and then you go and do this! I make you my apprentice, give you a chance at being my First Blade, for God's sake, and you repay me like this?"

"Marcus," Halmar said suddenly; and he had his saber drawn.

Marcus followed his friend's gaze. The double doors had been pushed open again. In the gray light of early morning it was hard to see; but the light coming through the opening was partially blocked by a long shadowy figure.

The shadow spoke. "Excuse me," it drawled, "but is this your boy?"

The voice was a drake's voice; and he stepped inside, pointing at Duke. The doors swung shut behind him and suddenly Marcus saw before him a tall, rather slim drake, obviously young, with light brown feathers, long inky black hair, and an affectedly long mustache; he appeared to be dressed in a high-necked black suit.

Halmar was bristling; but Marcus managed to recover a more civil voice.

"He's not my son, if that's what you're asking. But he's in my training. Who are you, and why do you ask?"

The drake looked only briefly at Marcus before he turned his attention back to Duke. "Because I believe he has something of mine...don't you?"

Duke said nothing, but only scowled, and Marcus said sharply, "Duke, is this the man you and Ciaran tried to steal from?"

"Yes," the stranger said quietly, "there were two of them." He looked expectantly at Duke. "Now, young man, if you don't mind-"

Duke's scowl deepened and he fumbled, giving Marcus a chance to study this newcomer. Rich as Croesus, he decided, eyeing the suit and the foppish long hair; but then he saw an odd protrusion above the drake's left shoulder. A hilt-shaped protrusion.

A sword. Not a saber but a sword, obviously in a scabbard, its narrow belt buckled across the drake's chest. Marcus turned just in time to see Duke bring out something small and round, with a chain attached: some sort of pendant.

Halmar's irritation cut the air. "You followed the kid here for that?"

"Yes." The drake palmed the chain and slid it into a pocket. "A family heirloom, you know. Belonged to my mother." He bowed slightly to Halmar and Marcus, then turned toward the exit. "Good day to you both."

"Wait a minute," Marcus said; and the brown drake turned, looking faintly exasperated.

"What about this?" He gestured at Duke's wounded arm. "Did you do this-with that sword?"

The stranger sauntered back toward him and circled Duke slowly. "Yes."

Halmar coughed. "Don't tell me you cut the kid up just because he stole a-a necklace from you."

"Oh, no." The drake looked bemusedly at Halmar and gave a soft dry laugh. "No. I didn't cut him because he stole from me. I cut him because he wasn't fast enough."

"He wasn't-" Marcus began; but he didn't get to finish.

Duke threw himself at the dapper stranger and brought him crashing to the ground. He reached for his saber-but by then the drake had rolled out from under him and was on his feet again, sword in hand. They circled warily and Duke lunged again, his now activated saber aimed at the stranger's face.

The brown drake gave another soft laugh and seemed merely to turn. He seized Duke's wrist and twisted until the boy dropped his saber; then the drake whirled and tossed Duke over his shoulder. The young gray drake hit the floor with a thud, groaning as the air was dashed from his lungs. His adversary stood over him as he lay helpless, one well-polished black boot nudging the young man's neck, and the point of the sword only inches from his beak. But there was no anger in the drake's dark blue eyes-only a sort of melancholy reproach.

Marcus stared. He knew he should say something, do something; but his gaze was on this dark intruder and his only thought was Good God-now that's fast!

A sudden movement caught Marcus' eye. Halmar, too, had launched himself at the invader.

And to Marcus it was all a blur of motion: that same slight turn, a vague movement-to Marcus it was as if the brown drake had only flicked his wrist-and Halmar staggered back, clutching a now nerveless hand, his saber lying ten feet away.

The stranger turned his gaze to Marcus, as if inviting him to join in the fray; then Duke coughed and stirred beneath him, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, and he stepped back, walking to where Halmar's fallen saber now lay.

For a long moment no one spoke, the silence disturbed only by Duke's coughs and gasps for breath and Halmar's soft groans of pain. Marcus still hadn't moved.

What is this? he asked himself. Something odd about this man, something definitely odd, but what is it?

He watched closely as the stranger stood over the weapon, then shifted his sword to his other hand and bent to pick up the saber. Marcus' eyes widened as he realized what he'd just seen.

He's left-handed, he thought, and that's extremely rare, and suddenly he heard himself say, "You're very good."

The drake looked up only briefly from Halmar's saber, which he was examining curiously.

"Yes," he said simply, turning the weapon in his hand. "I've been properly trained."

"In what?" Duke was on his feet, rubbing his chest. "Swordfighting or kung fu?"

The drake's response was a thin smile. "Both, actually."

Marcus had to admit he was impressed with what he'd just seen. "It's not often I see my two best fighters disarmed so easily."

"It's a gift," was the answer.

Halmar groaned. Marc, what are you doing? Why are you suddenly kissing up to these strangers? First l'Orange and now this loon....

The drake walked back to Halmar and offered his saber to him. Halmar took it gingerly, feeling a new jolt of pain in his wrist. "Who are you?"

"Yeah," Duke echoed weakly, "remind me not to knock over your house again...."

The drake grinned suddenly. "Sorry," he said, "I forgot to introduce myself properly. My name is Jezrael Swordfeather."

Swordfeather, Marcus repeated to himself. Very apt indeed. He indicated his comrades. "My advisor, Halmar Sharpwing, and my student, Duke l'Orange. I'm Marcus Crusade-I'm the leader of the Brotherhood of the Blade-and this is our Haven."

Halmar permitted himself a nod, scowling. Go on, Marc. Tell him the secret password and invite him in for tea.

"You use a sword," Marcus said, and extended a tentative hand. Swordfeather regarded him warily, but at last relinquished his blade. Marcus hefted the weapon briefly before handing it back and watching it disappear into its scabbard. "Good balance."

"The best," Swordfeather answered, and then looked askance at Marcus. "Okay, what's the catch?"

"The catch?" Marcus didn't understand.

"Yes, the catch. I'm standing in the Haven, as you say, of the craftiest thieves on Puckworld. I've just disarmed two of your best men-so you say. Why aren't you trying to kill me?"

"After what I've just seen, I doubt I'd succeed." Marcus smiled.

Swordfeather's mustache twitched. "Are you saying you're impressed? Do you want something from me? An apology, perhaps?"

Marcus hesitated. What was he about to do? Why hadn't he called out for help, or defended Duke and Halmar, or even drawn his own saber? Why was this stranger so fascinating and yet so familiar? And why, above all, was there an insistent little voice in his head that kept whispering He's the one?

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I do want something from you. I want to talk to you-if you'll follow me, please."

And he turned on his heel and walked off, Jezrael Swordfeather trailing him bewilderedly, leaving Duke and Halmar behind to look on in amazement.

***

Marcus had seated his guest and now sank into his own chair. "Jezrael Swordfeather-may I call you Jezrael? I can't help thinking I've heard your name before."

"You probably have," Jezrael responded. He kept gazing around the room, his blue eyes wide and inquisitive. Despite his refined appearance he looked oddly comfortable in Marcus' rather drab and cluttered office. "My great-grandfather made quite a name for himself as an architect. Last year the Puckworld Museum of Modern Art and Architecture opened-"

"-the Swordfeather Pavilion," Marcus finished; he remembered now. "What about yourself, what do you do? It's evident you're young-what about your family?"

Jezrael laughed. "One thing at a time, Mr. Crusade."

"Marcus. I insist."

"All right. Marcus." The younger drake stretched his legs and sighed. "My family: I have none. I don't remember my parents; they died when I was two or three, I think, and my grandparents raised me. Grandfather died when I was fifteen, and Grandmother when I was seventeen-I'm twenty-three now. Since then I've been my own man."

"I'm sorry," Marcus said. "You've seen a lot of loss for your age."

Jezrael only said, "Yes," but his deep-set dark eyes glistened slightly, adding to the already melancholy air that clung about him. He turned sideways in his chair and draped

one leg over the armrest. "As for what I do, I'm strictly a man of leisure. I don't work; I don't have to. My great-grandfather died a very wealthy man. My grandparents didn't do badly either, and I had the lot of it dropped in my lap when they died."

Marcus was astounded at how easily the young man was able to pass all this off. "If you don't mind my asking...how much are we talking here?"

"Several million credits-excuse me, no." Jezrael coughed politely. "Several hundred million. Eight, to be exact." A touch of bitterness had crept into his voice at last. "Six servants, enough antique furniture to fill a small museum and a house that's straight from the Historic Buildings List-Swordspoint." He gave Marcus that odd sideways look again. "If you're wanting my money...Marcus...you're welcome to it. I certainly don't need it."

Marcus was taken aback by his frankness, and decided to change the subject. "What about the swordfighting? You're too good to be just a hobbyist."

The compliment brought a faint smile of pleasure. "I was brought up hearing that a gentleman has certain skills. That's all."

"Who trained you?"

"Santiago DeCorvi. The-"

"The best fencing instructor on Puckworld," Marcus finished. "For you, only the best," and Jezrael nodded. "What about the...kung fu, as Duke called it?"

"Duke? Is that his name?" Jezrael looked thoughtful. "Kickboxing actually-and ballet, both to augment the fencing. Helps with the agility, you know."

"Yes." So that's why he's so fast. For some reason Marcus found himself liking this odd young man immensely.

"DeCorvi always did say that the fancy swordwork's no good if you can't get the hell out of the way."

"Indeed." Marcus chuckled at this little gem, but decided to get to the heart of things. "Why did you follow Duke and Ciaran? Why didn't you just let them go? I know it wasn't for the sake of a family heirloom."

Jezrael shifted positions again. "It was stupid of me, really," he admitted, "but I was bored."

"Bored?" Marcus repeated, puzzled.

"Yes. Bored. I don't do anything, Marcus. I sit at home and send hundred-thousand-credit checks to charities, to give myself the feeling that I'm contributing to society." He laughed sourly. "When I was a teenager I used to slip out at night and steal-petty things, nothing serious-because I could. It was fun-and Grandmother could always pay the police off if I got caught."

"Did you?"

"No. Never." Jezrael flashed another quick grin. "I even broke into the Snowdrake Museum once-oh, I didn't take anything. I just wanted to look around."

Marcus was flabbergasted. He remembered that mysterious Snowdrake break-in-where had this guy been that he hadn't been noticed by the Brotherhood? "And no one ever suspected?"

"Of course not. A kid's rich as-as God, he doesn't need to steal." The younger man's eyes danced with amusement. "You probably think I'm crazy, or lying, or both. But it's true. I did it for fun. After all, I know how to defend myself, and I'm quick on my feet. The rest wasn't a problem to learn."

"Where'd you learn to pick a lock?" Marcus demanded. "More to the point, how'd you get past Snowdrake's security?"

"Our gardener taught me how to pick locks. As for the security, I can't tell you, because I don't know. I just seemed to figure it out." Jezrael fixed Marcus with a brief piercing stare. "Is this conversation going somewhere, Marcus, or are you just pumping me for information?"

"Good question." Marcus drew a deep breath. Here's hoping I don't regret this.... "I want you, Jezrael Swordfeather. I want you in the Brotherhood. I realized when I saw you out there in the Hall that you're just the man I've been looking for."

"I see." Jezrael stroked his mustache, suddenly uneasy. "And...what do I get in return?"

"You won't," Marcus said with a smile, "be bored."

Jezrael was about to reply when the door opened; it was Halmar. He regarded the young man with ill-concealed distaste, and Jezrael stood up and stepped aside deferentially.

"Duke and Ciaran are in their rooms," Halmar said. "I think you'd better see to them."

"Of course." Marcus, too, got to his feet, and held out a hand to Jezrael; but the brown drake responded with only a slight inclining of his head-respectful enough, and yet oddly regal and distant. "Look," Marcus said, "I've got business to attend to. Just think

about what I'm offering you. Come back in the morning-you can show yourself out? -and we'll talk more about it. I trust you can find this place again."

Jezrael nodded, and made a slight bow in Halmar's direction, and was gone in a swirl of soundless black.

Marcus chuckled, but Halmar didn't look amused in the slightest.

"Just what was that about?" he demanded.

Marcus' smile widened. "I think I've just found him, Hal."

The older drake merely scowled, rubbing his sore wrist. "Found him? Found what?"

The Brotherhood leader gestured for his friend to precede him out the door. "What you and the Council are insisting I look for. My new First Blade."

***

"No! Absolutely not!" Halmar slammed his fists down on the desk so hard that the guard outside the door jumped; but Marcus never even blinked. "I refuse to stand by any longer and let you make a-a fool of this organization!"

"What are you going to do?" Marcus replied icily. "Challenge me?"

"Marcus." Halmar sank into a chair and put his face in his hands. "Marcus, come on. Be reasonable. It's all over the Brotherhood that you've cracked."

"I assure you I haven't."

"All right." Halmar sighed. "I'll give you Duke. The Elders have agreed to Duke. But this guy-Swordfeather-you don't know a thing about him! What good could he possibly be to us?"

"A great deal," Marcus said simply, and smiled. "I knew his name was familiar...he was Santiago DeCorvi's pupil-"

Halmar nodded at the mention of the famous swordmaster. "He's good with a blade. He's very good. I'll give you that, too. But Marcus-"

"And if I'm not mistaken"-Marcus got to his feet and went to his filing cabinet-"he's the richest man on Puckworld." He opened a drawer, rummaged in it, pulled out a tattered magazine that was bookmarked. He opened it to the bookmark and smiled. "Oh

yes, here we are. The five wealthiest people on the planet-as of last year." Marcus sat back down and flipped the magazine at Halmar. "Read them to me."

Halmar scowled at his friend, but picked up the magazine. "Five-Anton Snowdrake, sixty-five million credits. Four-Mr. and Mrs. Paul Firewing, jointly, one hundred two million credits. Three, Makedi Greyraven, one hundred seventy million credits-Marcus, this is stupid."

"Keep reading. Consider it a lesson in humility."

Halmar sighed. "Two, Isadora la Plume, two hundred thirty million credits-she's tied with the Puckworld military. And one...." He looked askance at Marcus, then down at the list again, and he froze, his eyes huge. "My God...."

Marcus chuckled. "Well?"

Halmar gritted his teeth. "One...Jezrael Swordfeather...eight hundred ninety-six million credits."

Marcus raised his eyebrows as he took the magazine from Halmar. "Eight hundred ninety-six million, eh? He only admitted to eight hundred-must have taken a loss in his investments, or else he's naturally modest." He chuckled again at Halmar's stricken look, and began to relate the conversation he'd had with Jezrael.

When he'd finished he sat back. "You realize what we've got here."

"Yes," Halmar snapped, "a fool with a lot of money. I still don't see what you're getting at."

"Hal, Hal, Hal." Marcus smiled indulgently. "You know what I'm looking for in a First Blade. Stability. Responsibility. Skills. This man Swordfeather, he could buy most of Puckworld, and except for the occasional charity function, you never hear of him-I doubt that most of the planet would even know who he is. He knows already how to keep a low profile. He's been on his own a good bit; he knows how to stand on his own feet. He knows how to make money, and keep it, and make it breed more money. And he's undoubtedly got connections-connections that could be beneficial to us."

"Aside from the fact that he could bail us out of anything and make his money back in a day's time?" Halmar suggested dryly.

"Aside from that, yes. And it's obvious he's skilled...I'm surprised the Assassins didn't court him-or make him a target."

"Oh, for God's sake, Marc, would you quit going on about that? You have no proof whatsoever that Duke l'Orange was...." He trailed off. "That reminds me. He's been here six weeks-the Elders want you to schedule his ranking. It's time to pick his Tier."

"Yes." Marcus looked thoughtful. "Where do you think they'll place him?"

"He'll go Third," the older man answered automatically; and when Marcus raised his eyebrows he added hastily, "Because of his age."

"I see. Well, I might as well get it done. Tell them they can rank Swordfeather while they're at it."

"Marc." All friendliness had gone out of Halmar's voice. "You can't do this. The Elders have already said they won't stand for anymore of your whims-first you make l'Orange your special pet, then you refuse to make Falcone your First Blade, and now this? You can't. You just can't."

"Don't," Marcus said quietly, "tell me what I can't do."

For a moment the two drakes regarded each other silently; then Halmar folded. "All right. All right. For the sake of our friendship, if nothing else, I'll see what I can do." He sighed again, more heavily this time. "You want Swordfeather, don't you?"

"Yes." Marcus was unequivocal. "He's the one, Halmar, I know it. Call me cracked if you want to, but I know." He smiled crookedly. "He'll be back in the morning. I've told him I want to talk to him a bit more, and I'm going to ask him to move into the Haven."

He was smiling, but Halmar looked skeptical. "You think he will? He's used to far better conditions, after all."

"He will," Marcus said, "and I'm going to bunk him with Duke."

***

"You've got to be kidding," Duke said sullenly. "I'm sharing a bathroom with this guy?"

"You shouldn't complain," was Halmar's testy answer. "There's two beds in here already, and from the way you keep house, there should be more than enough room here for two people."

I hope, he told himself grimly. If this Swordfeather's as loaded as the papers say, there's no telling what he'll bring with him....

There was a soft tap on the door and it opened; it was Marcus.

"Halmar," he said quietly, "I'd like a word."

Halmar nodded curtly to Duke and followed his leader out into the hall. "Well? Have you seen Swordfeather this morning?"

"Oh yes, it's all settled." Marcus grinned. "He'll be coming in this afternoon-what have you been up to?"

"Prepping Duke for his new roommate." Halmar frowned. "The Elders have agreed to let you have him, Marc. I don't think they'll stand for whatever weird plan you have for making the guy your First Blade-he won't rank high enough anyway, he's too young-but they got word of what he did to Duke, and they're rather impressed." He sighed resignedly. "So, what's your new wonder boy going to do with all his fancy trimmings? Bring them with him?" He gestured at a spot on the bare wall behind Marcus. "I could see that a nice abstract painting would fit in right there-"

"Halmar." Marcus' tone was suddenly stern. "You've made it abundantly plain that you don't care for Jezrael-or Duke for that matter. Please stop trying to make it plainer."

The older drake scowled; but at last he nodded. "All right. I'm sorry-God knows I've spoken out of turn a few too many times lately. I just don't think you know what you're

doing, Marc."

"That," Marcus told him, "remains to be seen."

***

There was the softest of taps on Marcus' office door and Duke slid timidly into the room. "Sir...you asked to see me."

"Yes. Sit down." Marcus smiled at the youth's discomfiture. "No, don't look at me that way, you're not in trouble for anything. It's been a week now, and I just want to know how you and your...new roommate are getting along."

Duke shrugged. "Okay. He's a little weird, but I guess he's all right."

"A little...weird?" The older drake's eyebrows lifted, and his mouth quirked in a faint smile. "How so, Duke?"

"He hardly ever talks-reads a lot, but don't say much." Duke grunted disapprovingly. "Spends half an hour in the morning doing his hair-when I see him."

"Oh, that." Marcus forced himself to hide his smile. "Well, Jezrael's right to want to look his best, he's used to being in the public eye...but what do you mean, when you see him?"

"I mean I don't know where this guy goes," the gray drake replied. "I get up at three or four in the morning to take a p-" He caught his breath. "-to go to the bathroom, and he's gone."

Marcus frowned. "Does he say anything to you about where he goes?"

"Not much. Just says that he's been out for a walk...looking around. Thinking. That sort of thing-though I think some mornings he goes up in the north tower and sits, and I thought that was off limits to everyone but you."

"It's not," Marcus answered, "but it's a hell of a climb, so most people don't bother." He sighed. "But that's beside the point. I'll have to have a word with him-do you know where he is now?"

"No."

If Halmar hears of this, Marcus told himself, he'll never let me hear the end of it. I don't deny that the boy's probably a bit eccentric, but.... "All right, you can go-but if you see him before I do, tell him I want a word. You two are up for ranking next week, you need to be on your best behavior."

He watched Duke leave. The north tower? Surely not, the view's better from the south.... Marcus smiled to himself as he looked at the clock: half after six in the morning. All the same, I suppose I should have a word with him.

He got to his feet. "Well, old bones," he said to himself, "let's see what you're made of."

***

After fifteen minutes on the tower ropes, Marcus was panting. Halmar was right, we're not as young as we used to be.... I think I'm going to have stairs built up here. He leapt nimbly to the floor and immediately spotted his quarry; Swordfeather stood in one of the tower's open spaces, shrouded in a long black coat, his feet firmly planted on the bricks even though he stood perhaps an inch from certain death if he slipped.

The younger drake turned at his approach. "Marcus." He smiled, not sounding the least bit surprised. "What are you doing up here?"

"I came," Marcus huffed raggedly, "to ask you the same thing...."

Jezrael put out a steadying hand. "I think you'd better catch your breath first."

Marcus shook his head. "I'll be all right in a minute, Halmar reminds me of my age often enough...." He fixed the young man with a piercing stare. "Are you up here every morning?"

"Mmm." The sound was noncommittal. "Most mornings, yes."

"And what do you do up here? What are you doing here now?"

Jezrael shrugged. "Thinking, mostly."

"Oh, no." Marcus frowned. "This isn't Duke you're dealing with here-just what's on your mind?"

Jezrael brushed hair back from his face and smoothed his mustache with the quickness of nervous habit. "How I came to be here. What I can do for you. What you want me to do for you-this First Blade business."

"And are you pleased with your...pondering?"

"Yes." It was said without hesitation. "Very much. I think my being here's going to work out to everyone's best advantage."

"Good." Marcus was actually taken aback; he expected this new prize to have at least a few regrets. "Look...I know this is none of my business, but Duke says you've been keeping odd hours-have you been up here all night?"

"No." Jezrael chuckled. "An hour ago I was down in the transepts, looking at the rose windows-they're lovely at sunrise."

"The what?" Marcus was completely lost. "No-not the windows-you were down in the what?"

"Transepts," Jezrael repeated, "north and south. Where the First Tier members sit." Marcus had explained the formal assemblies to him, and he was obviously learning quickly. "This is a cathedral, or at least it used to be, so that's the proper name for them."

Must be the architect in him, Marcus mused, oddly pleased by this new bit of knowledge. "Do you have names for the entire Assembly Hall?"

"Oh yes. Where you and Halmar sit-that's the apse, and the Elders are in the choir. The Second and Third Tiers are in the nave, and the open space between you and them, that's the crossing." Jezrael grinned. "You see I grew up with this stuff."

Marcus nodded, smiling back. "And yourself? Where would you like to sit?"

"In the apse." The younger man didn't miss a beat. "But enough of all that-I haven't spent the entire morning studying windows. I went down to the Snowdrake-oh, that reminds me, I suppose this is yours."

He took something from one of his pockets and pressed it into Marcus' hand, and the older man recognized the rounded coolness of stone; and then he realized that he was holding one of the largest emeralds he'd ever seen. "What in the world...?"

"I don't know what they call it-it's from this month's exhibit, the Featheringham Collection," Jezrael said. "Cabochon cut, that."

"But how...." Marcus was practically speechless. "Do you mean to say that you just walked in and...?"

"More or less." The younger drake seemed suddenly embarrassed. "It's probably cheating, in this business-but I'm on the board of trustees, I know all the layouts and the security systems-and how to get past them."

Marcus raised his eyebrows. "What about the Puckworld Museum? Are you a trustee of that too?"

"Yes. And a few banks too," and then softly Jezrael added, "It is all right, isn't it? I mean, that's what's expected of us, I gathered...stealing...because if it's not-"

"All right?" Marcus threw his head back and laughed as he hadn't done in a long time. "My boy, of course it's all right. It's more than all right, it's damned sweet." He passed the fist-sized green stone back to Jezrael. "It's yours. Do what you want with it."

Jezrael nodded, obviously relieved. "I'm going to sell it-I've got a friend in Sikarta who's a collector, and he won't ask questions about where I got it." He laughed, a little shakily. "I was ten when I realized just what kind of money I'd been born into. I used to tell my grandparents I'd be a billionaire before I was thirty-looks like I'm going to make it before I'm twenty-four."

A billionaire? Marcus asked himself. My God-but all he said was, "How much more do you need?"

His companion hefted the emerald. "The price of this, maybe."

"You must have had a windfall," Marcus said dryly, "you didn't admit to that much when I met you."

"I've found it's a good practice to keep a little back." Jezrael drew a deep breath and thrust his hands in his coat pockets. "Have you ever been to Whitecliffs, Marcus?"

"No." Where was this going? "Only passing through."

"I'm going home in a bit-I've still got a house there, after all, and it needs looking after. The help's completely trustworthy, you needn't worry about them-I've just told them that I'm involved in some business that requires me to be away a great deal. Actually that's where I am most mornings, when it's early. It's nice to sleep a little in your own bed."

Marcus was about to reply, but Jezrael continued, his voice dropping conspiratorially and a grin spreading slowly across his face. "The people at the Snowdrake will notice in about an hour that their bauble's gone missing. They notify the trustees, you see, when there's been a theft-and God, do I want to be there when I get that phone call."

"I see." Marcus had to smile himself; it was funny in an odd sort of way. "And what's this got to do with me?"

"I want you to come with me."

Marcus stood there for a moment, studying the younger man. He was still grinning broadly, in the way that young men have, and his deep blue eyes danced with amusement; and then Marcus realized I've seen this boy every day for a week. I've had lunch with him every day, and watched him spar with Duke, or Falcone, or Jennon. But I haven't seen him angry. Duke's like a volcano, always about to blow up, but Jezrael's just as cool as water...it's odd, it's very odd.

If I had a son, he told himself, I'd want him to be like this, and then he said, "That's kind of you, Jezrael, but I really mustn't."

"Oh." The amusement in the younger drake's eyes was suddenly gone; disappointment shimmered only briefly in those depths and then it too was swallowed. "Well...you do have your work to attend to. I suppose it was silly of me to ask you."

"Not at all," Marcus said quickly. "I'd like to see your home. See how the other half lives, if you will." He smiled wryly. "But you've got your Tier ranking soon, and the Elders will dock your points if they think I'm favoring you.

"Tell you what," he finished, "go home and get your business done, and then come back here. Find Duke, and then find me. I need to talk to both of you anyway. In the meantime I'll have a few words with the Elders. They've got you and Duke scheduled for ranking next week-I might be able to convince them to move it up a bit."

"All right." Jezrael reached for one of the ropes. "Are you coming down?"

"No, not yet. I like to come up here and have a look round myself"-Marcus grimaced as a small burning pain crept down his back-"and besides, I don't think I'm up to it yet."

"Down's easier."

Marcus smiled. "My boy," he said, "it always is."

***

"I hope you both realize what you're up against." Marcus looked across his desk at the two younger drakes, but neither of them spoke. "There are three stages to our ranking process. The first is a demonstration of skill-you'll be asked to go somewhere and steal something. Your points will be based on how quickly you return and whether or not you get back in relative security. If you set off any alarms, we'll know about it." He smiled.

Duke looked a bit puzzled. "No points for technique."

"No," Marcus answered. "It's too subjective-individuality and all that. Get in and get out. You'll be doing that tonight."

"The second stage is another demonstration, this time with weaponry. You'll be paired with a ranked member of comparable skill and expertise, so it's basically just a high-level sparring match. I really think that with you two, we'd be best served to set you against each other"-Marcus chuckled as the two men regarded each other-"but we're not allowed to do that."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Can't do both of you at once, obviously, so let's see...Duke, your match will be tomorrow morning...and Jezrael, yours in the afternoon. Don't bother bringing weapons; they'll be provided. That leaves just the third stage for the morning after, and it's no trouble at all. Just an interview with the Elders, a few questions."

Jezrael said nothing; but Duke squirmed in his seat. "Questions? What kind of questions?"

"Nothing too personal." Marcus hoped his saying this would help the boy relax; it didn't. "Mostly they want to know how you feel about where you are and what you're doing. Who your friends are and how you're getting along with people. It's just to give us a feel for your personality...." He started to add, and your stability, but thought better of it.

"Now. When that's all done, at the end of your interview, you'll be given a sealed envelope-after the Elders reach their decision, of course. Your ranking papers will be in that envelope, and with them your Tier placement. You'll bring that to me-unopened, if you please-prior to the formal assembly we'll be having that afternoon. I'd suggest you get this taken care of in time to change your clothes, if it's deemed necessary; I've already explained the Tier colors to you."

He paused, thinking that one or the other of them would have a question; but again, neither spoke. He sighed. "Well then, if you understand everything so well"-he got to his feet, and they did the same-"I'd suggest that you both rest up a bit for tonight. You're definitely going to need it."

***

They walked out to the Assembly Hall, where Jezrael draped himself haphazardly across one of the benches in the first row; and Duke, having nothing better to do at the moment, decided to hang around. "What do you think about all this?"

"Hmm." Jezrael lifted his shoulders. "Probably better if we don't think about it."

"Yeah, well." Duke sat on the floor and wrapped his arms around himself. "I've heard about what Marcus has got in mind for you-this First Blade thing. I guess word got out. People are talking about it."

The older drake arched one thin black eyebrow, faint amusement showing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh?"

"Yeah, see...." Duke hesitated; then the words came tumbling out. "He talked to me a little bit about it. It was supposed to be me, that's why Marcus apprenticed me, but...." He shook his head. "I blew my chance."

"How? You seem capable enough."

"Ha!" Coming from Duke, the sound was unmistakably bitter. "That was before I met you, pal." His eyebrows drew together. "Man, did you have to follow me here? Ain't you got any sense?"

"Oh, please!" Jezrael snorted. "Put the shoe on the other foot, Duke-what if I'd stolen from you? Wouldn't you come after me?"

"Depends," was the youth's sullen answer. "If I was the richest man on Puckworld, like Marcus says you are"-a thin smile creased his face as the other man winced-"I sure wouldn't be going to all this trouble for a dumb necklace."

"Oh no?" Jezrael was frowning as he reached into a pocket and drew out the necklace in question. He flicked the pendant open and handed it to Duke. "Look."

Duke looked. The pendant was a locket, each half containing a tiny picture. On the left was a brown-feathered, black-haired drake, bright-eyed and smiling broadly; he was faced by a buff-feathered duck with curly brown hair and deep blue eyes, also smiling, but with a familiar melancholy air about her.

Duke closed the locket and handed it back. "Yeah, so?"

"My parents." Jezrael tucked the locket away again; and then, almost as an afterthought, he added softly, "I don't remember them."

"Oh." Duke seemed to grow smaller, to shrink into himself. "Oh, God. So that's why you-"

"Yes," Jezrael replied gently, "that's why."

"Oh, God," Duke repeated; and after a few moments of strained silence he said, "Jezrael, I'm sorry I tried to steal from you."

The older drake smiled. "And I'm sorry I cut you.... and if I'd known what I was costing you...."

"Oh, that." Duke passed it off. "That doesn't matter anymore. Look, I gotta go, I think Marcus is coming." Impulsively he put out a hand. "I don't expect us to be friends or anything, at least not till this ranking business is over, but...truce?"

Truce? Interesting choice of words. But Jezrael decided, for the time being, to put it out of his mind.

"Yes," he said as they shook hands. "That will do nicely."

Marcus came in just as Duke was going out, but it was obvious that he had glimpsed their exchange; and when he got to where Jezrael was sitting he said, "What was that about?"

"Oh, nothing really." Jezrael got to his feet and stretched. "Just patching up a little difference. That's all."

"Well." The older man looked askance at him. "Nice to see that you're attempting to get along these days...." He trailed off, casting a glance in the direction Duke had taken. "Pity he didn't hang around."

"Duke?" Jezrael sat up in the presence of his superior, crossing his legs so that his right ankle rested on his left knee. "I think he's afraid of you, Marcus."

"Afraid!" Marcus hooted. "Of me-my boy, what gives you that idea?"

"I've seen how you are-with discipline and such. I can see that to the younger ones here, you could be a bit, let us say, intimidating."

But Jezrael was looking at the floor as he spoke; and Marcus said, "There's something else."

"Yes." For the first time, the black-haired drake appeared distinctly unsettled. "I don't know what it is, Marcus, but there is something. Something he's hiding-you noticed how nervous he got when you were talking about the interview?"

He made it a question, and Marcus could only nod. He had noticed.

"There's something bothering him, Marcus, it's obviously on his mind a lot, and he doesn't want you to find it out." Jezrael studied his fingernails intently. "Duke admires you a great deal, you know."

"Yes, well...." Marcus coughed, crimsoning faintly at the compliment. "I suppose I shouldn't worry about the boy. But you're right: he's hiding a great deal, and it's a shame to see one so young with so much to conceal."

"We've all got secrets, Marcus." Jezrael's dark eyes were suddenly unreadable. "That's part of why we're here."

Marcus couldn't help smiling, a little crookedly. "Even you?"

"Yes." Once again the younger man averted his gaze uncomfortably. "Even me."

***

Halmar sank into his usual chair and propped his feet up on the corner of Marcus' desk. "I take it you've sent our wonder boys out on their mission?"

"Just an hour ago," Marcus said. "I sent Duke to the Snowdrake-there's a new diamond being exhibited."

"The Heart of Ice?" Halmar asked. "That thousand-carat deal?"

"Yes, that's the one. And Jezrael's gone across town to the Puckworld Museum. There's a pre-Invasion bronze sculpture there, about so"-Marcus indicated, with his hands, a six-inch span-"that I've had my eye on for a while."

The older man grinned. "Didn't know you were an art lover, Marc."

Marcus indicated the piles of paper on top of the desk. "I need a paperweight. And speaking of that...." He pulled back one sleeve to check his watch. "They've had plenty of time, they should be back soon."

As it was, he'd barely finished speaking before there was a soft knock and the door eased open; it was Jezrael. "Sir."

"Jezrael." Marcus got to his feet. "You got it."

"Oh yes." The drake was wearing the same voluminous black coat Marcus had seen him in the other day; and from one of its pockets he drew forth a hand-sized parcel in soft paper. "I'd have been back sooner but the trains are a bit late tonight-still, I think you'll find everything in order there." He put it in Marcus' hand and the leader's eyes widened with the weight of it.

Halmar raised his eyebrows. "Gift-wrapped too. Thoughtful of you."

"I broke into one of the storage rooms for that," Jezrael answered, though his eyes had narrowed a fraction; he hadn't missed Halmar's caustic tone. "What about Duke? Any word from him?"

"No, not yet." Marcus was unwinding the paper from the sculpture. "Good marks for this-you can go."

"Thank you." But Jezrael lingered, shifting from one foot to the other; and then he said, "If I may ask-where did you send Duke?"

"Now you know we can't-" Halmar began; but Marcus waved him to silence.

"It doesn't matter now. To answer your question, Jezrael, he's at the Snowdrake. He's lifting a jewel for us, and trying out that new security system."

"New security-" Jezrael began, but he stopped abruptly. Beneath his dark feathers he'd turned a ghastly gray, his dark blue eyes wide and hollow with sudden shock.

Marcus started forward. "Jezrael...?"

"You should have told me," the drake muttered rapidly, "you should have told me, Marcus, I could have-oh, God, oh, God-"

And before either Marcus or Halmar could ask what he meant, he'd bolted.

***

The Heart of Ice.

Getting into the Snowdrake itself had been child's play, but that was always the easy part. Now Duke nimbly made his way through the maze of hallways and stairwells to the main gallery on the third floor, where his prize was being kept. It was the matter of a moment, too, to skirt the walls and snip a few wires here and there, disabling the security cameras. Wouldn't look too good to have this on film....

Marcus had already told him that the huge diamond would be protected; and as Duke got closer to his prey he could see four guards, stationed around the case in a square. That's it? That's the new security system I'm supposed to look out for? Heh, no problem. He reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew two small black spheres. Some of the Brotherhood's more scientifically-minded members had thought up these little non-lethal distractions, designed to release a harmless anesthetic gas when they hit the ground.

Careful to keep his distance, Duke drew a deep breath and held it as he tossed the spheres in front of the guards. Immediately the pellets released the gas; and the guards had only a few moments to exchange puzzled looks before they fell to coughing-and crashed to the floor unconscious. When the gas had dissipated Duke let out his pent-up breath and got to his feet, smiling slightly. That was way too easy....

He began to work on the case, and within seconds he was cradling the Heart of Ice in his hands, too engrossed by his reward to notice a small door in the wall sliding open to unleash the new security system....

The bay of a tracking dog got his attention; and Duke whirled just in time to see two enormous hounds leap into the air and crash into him with full force. Duke landed flat on his back-but the hounds landed on their feet. Fear rose in the young drake's throat and he crammed the jewel into his belt pouch, desperate to get up and run, but the dogs wouldn't even allow him to stand up. They kept nipping and worrying him, as if he were an oversized chew toy. He tried to push them away, but they were too strong; by the same token their nearness made it impossible for him to grab his saber, and they weren't allowing him to gain any footing. He was trapped.

Finally Duke stopped struggling, drawing his knees up to his chest protectively. Puzzled by his apparent surrender, the hounds stood still, watching him with curious dark eyes.

The impasse gave Duke a little time to assess the situation. Both dogs were wearing collars that he hadn't noticed before, collars that bore tiny blinking red lights. Some kind of homing device, obviously: a thief that escaped would be pursued, and a remote agent-in this case, probably the local police-would be able to track his every move.

Great. The cops are probably on their way now, he thought bitterly. Think, l'Orange, think! How are you gonna get yourself outta this?

Inspiration came: a long shot, but worth a try. Ever so slowly he picked himself up off the floor, fighting the urge to cut and run. All the while the dogs growled their warning, but they didn't make any moves to attack him again. So far, so good....

He began to edge his way out of the gallery, toward the exit at the near end of the hall, the dogs moving with him. "That's it, boys," he muttered, "good dogs...." He was maybe six feet in front of the animals, but they were quickly closing the gap. Duke glanced up. Just a bit further....

The dogs must have guessed his plan. They charged, teeth bared in ugly snarls, darting and snapping. But this time Duke was faster, and with an awkward leap he was able to grab a hanging bar from a display, hauling himself out of the hounds' reach. Taken by surprise, the animals tumbled to the floor. Duke dropped to the ground, sprinting for the window.

He shattered the window with a well-placed kick, setting off a cacophony of alarms. But by now he didn't care; his head was full of the wail of sirens. He aimed his grappling hook at the building across the street, glancing nervously at the dogs. They'd gained their feet again-and in a burst of speed they rushed at him. Duke yelped and quickly sidestepped, hoping they would go through the window.

But they didn't. Instead they pounced, and bore the thief to the floor again.

There was no escaping them. He flailed wildly, bile rising in his throat. It ain't supposed to happen this way, he thought-but then one of the hounds nipped at his throat and his only thought was Good God, I can't breathe!

But suddenly one of the hounds let out a high-pitched yelp and dropped to the floor, forelegs scrabbling uselessly. The dog at Duke's throat turned his attention to his companion; then he, too, whined in sudden pain and fell back.

For a moment Duke lay stunned, his eyes tightly closed; then, cautiously, he sat up, and saw that each of the dogs had a deep gash across his withers, gashes obviously made by a saber...or was it a sword....

Before he could puzzle this out, Duke was seized by the collar and pulled to his feet-and he found himself face-to-face with Jezrael. The brown-feathered drake had his sword drawn, its long blade bright with blood.

"Boy," Duke said shakily, "am I glad to see you, buddy."

"Never mind that," Jezrael answered tersely. "Are you all right?"

Quickly Duke felt himself all over. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so. But what-I mean, how did you-"

"Later." Jezrael took Duke's arm and propelled him toward the shattered window. "We'll discuss it later. Right now we've got to get the hell out of here."

Moments later the police arrived on the scene-but by then the two young thieves had already vanished.

***

"You mean to say," Halmar said icily, "that you knew about that...'security system'."

Jezrael was sitting on the floor of Marcus' office, his hands in his lap. "Yes."

Halmar made a small noise of displeasure. "And you didn't see fit to tell us?"

At that Jezrael looked up, and the two drakes locked gazes for a moment, considering each other; then, more quietly than before, he said, "You didn't ask."

"We didn't ask!" Halmar clapped a hand to his forehead. "For God's sake, Swordfeather!"

"Hal." This from Marcus, who was watching this exchange from behind his desk with not a little amusement. "Be reasonable. Jezrael's right-we didn't ask." He looked thoughtful. "Hounds. Well, I'll give them this-it's original."

He tried to smile but the effort fell flat; and Halmar, still glaring at Jezrael, didn't look the least bit satisfied. "And may I ask how you knew the dogs were there?"

"I'm a trustee of the museum," was the scarcely audible answer. "We're all notified of changes in security."

"Isn't that convenient," Halmar snapped. "I suppose you've got blueprints too."

"I can get them," Jezrael said, "if you want them"; and the sudden unfriendliness in his tone was unmistakable.

"Please," Marcus said, and the two drakes stopped scowling at each other long enough to look at him. "I'm afraid your apparent...mutual dislike of each other is not the issue."

Halmar said nothing, though he was stony-faced; likewise Jezrael kept his gaze on the floor in front of him, his suddenly rigid posture making it plain that he didn't care for being chastised. And it was to him that Marcus said, "But you were only there the other day."

"Yes."

"And there were no dogs."

"No." The young drake folded his arms across his chest decisively. "There were no dogs. This has only been done...oh, about three days ago, I'd say."

"Well-" Marcus began, and then stopped, rubbing his eyes wearily. "There's no point in talking about it. What's done is done, and I'd prefer not to be going at this all night. But the truth is you'll both be docked ranking points for this-you for helping him"-this was to Jezrael-"and you for needing help." This last was to Duke, who had tucked himself away in a corner and remained silent.

He sighed. "You're dismissed. Go down to the Cloak and Dagger and have yourselves a drink-you both look like you could use it."

Duke scampered out with no questions, obviously relieved to be gone; but before Jezrael was on his feet and out the door well, Halmar said, "Oh, Swordfeather...there's one thing."

Marcus cursed under his breath. Not again....

But Jezrael only released a sigh of irritation as he turned back. "Sir."

"What were you expecting to gain from this?"

"Sir?" The young drake's eyebrows lowered. "I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"Going out of your way to rescue Duke." Halmar smiled slyly. "Oh, I admit, it was all very noble of you, but it's not as though he's your personal responsibility-"

"But isn't he?" Jezrael answered. "We call ourselves a Brotherhood-it's only fair we should act like one."

With that he nodded respectfully to Marcus and walked out, leaving Halmar to look at his friend with something akin to surprise.

***

They'd decided to split a pitcher of beer; and for a few minutes they didn't speak, but only drank in silence. But at last Duke pushed his glass aside and said, "Why?"

Jezrael only looked at him. "Why what?"

"Come on! You saved my life, " Duke answered. "And-you didn't have to."

At first Jezrael didn't answer, but only returned Duke's gaze steadily. Then he turned back to his glass and said, "I believe in helping my fellow man. That's all."

"That's not a reason."

Jezrael sighed, feeling strangely paternal. "It's true. And I did know about the security system-hell, the bloody security system's my fault."

"Yeah." Duke drained his glass and refilled it. "Yeah, I heard about that rock you lifted. How much did you get for it?"

"Three hundred thousand-but that's not the point, the point is that I knew, Duke-and I could have told you, if I'd known you were going to be sent there." The brown-feathered drake wore a grimace of annoyance. "They should have sent me, I could have dealt with it-oh, not that you didn't do your best, but-"

"Did Marcus know that you're a trustee of the museum?" Duke interrupted.

"Yes. Yes, he knew."

"Before tonight?"

"Yes." Jezrael's frown deepened. "Why?"

"I'd say there's your answer." Duke lifted his glass and took a long swallow. "If he'd sent you to the Snowdrake it probably would have been cheating."

"But I'm a trustee of the Puckworld Museum too," Jezrael protested.

"Yeah, but the PM doesn't have all the pretty flashy things, does it? There's the art," Duke grinned, "but art's pretty hard to carry off."

Jezrael laughed at this; and Duke shifted on his seat.

"Look," he said at last. "What you did, I know you got your own reasons for doing it. I ain't too good at saying thank you, but...." Briefly he trailed off; but then he said, "I take back what I said earlier...about our not being friends. You-you're a good guy, Jez."

'Jez'? How utterly barbaric. But Jezrael realized that the young drake was making an effort to swallow his pride; and so he only said, "I'm glad you think so."

The two drakes exchanged a glance, and something like understanding passed between them. Then silence fell again, heavy and awkward, until Duke broke it by saying, "You like Halmar, Jezrael? I mean, I thought he was giving me a hard time, till you showed up."

"Oh." Jezrael mouthed his beer thoughtfully. "No. To be honest, I don't. I try to respect him, but Halmar's not an easy man to like. And I do mean try-though he doesn't make it easy."

"Nah." Suddenly Duke didn't feel much like talking. "He certainly doesn't."

He emptied his glass again, and looked questioningly at Jezrael. "Three hundred thousand?"

"Yes. Three hundred thousand."

"Lucky bastard," Duke said amiably, and reached for the pitcher.

***

"He's going to be trouble," Halmar said.

Marcus sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "If you're talking about Jezrael," he said slowly, "then allow me to remind you that we've had this conversation, and we're not having it again. I've explained to you once already that he's a very capable young man-although I should think that would be apparent by now-and I've no doubt that if I take him for my First Blade I'll be leaving the Brotherhood in very capable hands-which is what I want, after all." He could feel a headache coming on. "I thought that was what you wanted too."

"Marc." Halmar sounded hurt. "Of course it's what I want. But Swordfeather-you see how insolent he's getting-"

"I see," Marcus answered testily, "that you're giving the boy no reason to like you, Hal. As you like to tell me-be reasonable." Halmar's hurt look deepened, and Marcus found himself smiling with a grim pleasure. "This is Jezrael Swordfeather we're dealing with. He's his own man. He intends to stay his own man. Don't expect him to-to lick your boots like Ernie Falcone."

Halmar nodded wearily. "All right, Marc. I won't argue with you-we've been friends too long to let something like this come between us. Still"-he rubbed his eyes-"I wish I knew why you insist on taking his side so much."

"Because he's usually right." Marcus smiled. "Bright boy, our Mr. Swordfeather."

"That may be true, Marc, but let's face it-at this stage of the game you don't want him aspiring too highly."

"Why not?" Marcus chuckled. "He's a man of wealth and privilege, Hal. Men like that are born to rule. They speak, and we listen. They don't take orders-they give them. You'll just have to pardon Jezrael for living up to his social status."

His back was beginning to smart, so he got to his feet. "That reminds me. I had a very interesting conversation with some of the Elders this morning-seems they're concerned about finding an adequate opponent for Jezrael's match tomorrow."

Halmar looked distinctly ruffled. "They choose an opponent from his expected Tier. You know that."

"I do...but what is his expected Tier? We already know what he can do to Duke, and you've seen some of the sparring matches lately. Look at what he's been paired against. Ciaran Blackdrake-God, that was a disaster! That great bumbling fool-if I hadn't owed his father a favor...." Marcus shook his head. "Never mind that. And the other day, with Falcone-did you see how that little bastard was bleeding when Jezrael was through with him? He could have spared himself if he'd yielded sooner, but you've taught him to be stubborn. And Jennon Wingstar had to have stitches after their last bout, and he's going to be Black Squad."

"Swordfeather's bloodthirsty," Halmar said.

"No. He's just disciplined, and extremely agile," Marcus answered. "A little bloodletting never hurts anyone, usually, and it's a good way to wear down an opponent. DeCorvi taught him well."

"A little too well, I think." Halmar yawned. "This is fascinating, Marc, but it's time we turned in for the night. I'm sure the Elders will find someone suitable for Swordfeather, even if they have to look in the Second Tier."

"Oh, they have," Marcus told him. "Someone volunteered."

"Volun...." Halmar didn't bother finishing the word, his expression growing harsh as he stared at Marcus. "Who?"

Much as he tried in the face of his friend's concern, the Brotherhood's leader couldn't stifle the impish grin that was growing across his face.

"Who else? Me."

***

A table had been set up for the Elders in the arena, and now Halmar paced behind it nervously, his gaze on the pair awaiting combat in the ring. You're not doing this, Marc. Tell me you're not doing this.

He didn't have to look around much to know that most of the Assembly was there, crowded into the few seats provided. The turnout had been good for this morning's bout between Duke and Falcone; the raptrin's discipline and experience had offset the young drake's skill and ill-kept temper, and so the match had been fair enough. But Jezrael Swordfeather was still a stranger to most of the Assembly, though word of his expertise had spread, and people were curious.

Setting the match up, before the Assembly gathered, had been a little problematic too. Jezrael had come in wearing a mesh shirt and loose black trousers, and without a word had peeled the shirt off and draped it over a chair-a move which had raised eyebrows and harsh questions among the gathered Elders. The drake's answer had simply been that he found it easier to move in a sword fight without the distraction of a shirt; and after a few moments' deliberation and much tossing about of the phrase "appropriateness of conduct," the matter had been let stand.

But it hadn't ended there. Swordfeather had insisted on using a sword instead of a saber-and so Marcus had handed him the Sword of War, his own weapon. It had caused quite a bit of murmuring among the Elders, until Marcus told them that relinquishing the Sword simply proved that his leadership didn't depend on a weapon, that he could win just as easily with a saber-were they doubting his skill? Then they had exchanged embarrassed glances and nodded assent, and Jezrael had weighed the Sword in his hand and said yes, this would be quite suitable.

At the Elders' request Jezrael had done a bit of shadow fencing for them, to show his deftness with the larger, heavier weapon. To Halmar it had looked like merely a complicated and rather ridiculous sort of dance, but Marcus and some of the Elders had recognized it as a modified version of the Eighteen Steps, an archaic skill-building sword dance supposedly created by Gaylen Silverwing himself; and Marcus had come over to Halmar and said proudly, Look at him, Hal. He handles that blade like he's made for it-even I can't wield that great monstrosity one-handed, not as easily as that.

He'd sounded inordinately pleased, and worry had begun to gnaw at the pit of Halmar's stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was a terrible mistake-especially when the Assembly had gathered, and Jezrael had taken his place inside the great combat circle carved into the stone floor, and his opponent had been called forth-and Marcus had stood up.

There had been gasps and murmurs from the onlookers, but now all was silent. There was a scuffling noise as a chair was pushed back, and in the stillness it echoed like a gunshot. It was Lazarus Fellblade, president of the Elders' Council; he was getting to his feet.

"Cross swords," he said.

All eyes were on the ring as the two drakes touched blades and bowed to each other. They were perverse mirror images, their feathers almost the same color, though Jezrael was taller and heavier than Marcus; he was also left-handed, whereas Marcus favored his right, the juxtaposition making their mutual salute seem oddly one-sided. But where Marcus' face was hard-set and determined, Jezrael's was almost dreamy in its lack of expression; his deep blue eyes were utterly empty, hollow and dangerous. Halmar shifted uncomfortably.

And Lazarus Fellblade said, "Begin."

For a moment the two drakes held their stance; then Marcus whipped his saber around and Jezrael batted the stroke aside, and they began circling.

To Halmar it seemed that the fight went on for hours: thrust, parry, dodge, block, all standard and flawless. But after half an hour the trained eyes of the Assembly could see that Marcus, already bloodied by a few cuts, was wearing down; his responses were a fraction of a second slower, a millimeter less precise-but against an accomplished swordsman, seconds and millimeters would give a man plenty of time and space to die. Jezrael, on the other hand, was considerably fresher, though he was breathing hard and his feathers were growing dark with sweat.

But despite his freshness he offered one parry that was a trifle clumsy; and Marcus, sensing an advantage, aimed a great sweeping downward stroke at his young opponent's sword hand. Jezrael darted away, but his boots skidded on the stone floor and he went down on one knee. Marcus went down too, carried by the force of his movement, and sparks flew as his saber struck the floor-

-but it was Jezrael who cried out and stumbled, his free hand clapped to his face. For a moment he swayed; and Halmar, watching, couldn't help feeling a certain smugness.

But Marcus hesitated to move in; and that hesitation was his undoing. He lunged, trying to catch the younger man off guard, but his thrust met only empty air; Jezrael had hit the floor and rolled to his feet again. His left cheek was bleeding, and now Halmar could see that his blue eyes were no longer void but had filled with hurt and anger.

They were circling again, but Jezrael was moving in on Marcus, tightening the circle, closing it. With less than the length of a blade between them he plunged forward. Marcus lost his footing and fell back onto the floor, his dark eyes wide with sudden terror as he flung up his saber to ward off Jezrael's swift, decisive stroke-

-and blade met blade with a clang, and Marcus' saber snapped, hilt and blade parting as effortlessly as butter before a knife, the blade clattering to the floor.

Halmar jumped to his feet, his own saber in hand. A quick glance told him that the Elders were standing too-so, apparently, was the entire Assembly.

Marcus was nearly flat on his back. Dazedly his gaze went from the now bladeless hilt in his hand to the sword point prodding his throat, and then up the length of the blade to the cold-eyed young drake looming over him; and every eye was on him as he opened his fingers and let the hilt slip to the floor.

"I yield." He was hoarse with fatigue, but still he shouted. "By God, I yield!"

And to everyone's astonishment, he started laughing.

***

"Remind me again of what you were thinking," Halmar said.

"I was thinking," Marcus replied, "that the boy needed someone of at least equal skill to go against-no sense in making it look too easy." He scratched disconsolately at a bandage on the side of his neck, where one of Jezrael's strokes had parted the skin.

"But he beat you, Marc," Halmar fumed. "He beat you! Now you'll have every half-assed pickpocket in the Assembly trying to challenge you-"

"They're welcome to try."

"It was the Sword," Halmar muttered. "You just had to give him the Sword, you knew he'd have the advantage-it'll have to be done over, Marcus, you let him beat you."

Marcus frowned tiredly. "I most certainly did not. Is that what the Elders are thinking?"

"It's what I think, and-"

"Halmar," Marcus said patiently, "I didn't ask what you think. I asked about the Elders."

Halmar shook his head; with Marcus he always knew when he was defeated.

"The Elders," he said sourly, "think Swordfeather would have beaten you anyway. They say the match proves that it's time you retired."

"And I agree with them." Marcus sounded almost cheerful. "Let it stand, Hal."

"Let it stand! Marcus, for God's sake-"

But he was interrupted by a knock on the office door; and Marcus called, "Yes?"

Jezrael walked in, holding a pad of red-tinged gauze to his cheek; he skirted Halmar's chair with clear disdain, and took the one on the far side of the room. "I thought I'd see if you were all right."

"No lasting damage." Marcus smiled. "Excellent work you did out there-but what the hell happened to you?"

"This." Jezrael held a closed fist over Marcus' desk, then opened his hand, and something clattered to the desktop, a small gray triangle. "It's a chip from the floor." He peeled the gauze away from his cheek gingerly, revealing an inch-long cut just beneath his left eye that was still seeping freely. "A little too close for my liking."

"Yes." Marcus looked thoughtful. "You'd better go down to the infirmary and let them put stitches in-that's going to scar."

The younger man nodded and left without another word. Marcus and Halmar looked at each other; Halmar scowled, and Marcus looked down at his desktop.

"A chip from the floor," he said. "Imagine that."

"Should have put his eye out," Halmar grumbled.

***

Watching the Brotherhood's members file in for a formal gathering always made Marcus feel oddly paternal. He was picking a bit of lint from one black sleeve when Duke walked into the Assembly Hall, envelope in hand, looking distinctly uneasy in his maroon suit.

Halmar came and stood over Marcus' shoulder while he opened the envelope and inspected the contents. "Well?"

"Third," Marcus said, and Duke looked somewhat crestfallen. "Thank you, Duke-no, I'll keep this. Go and sit with Falcone, he's in your Tier."

As Duke crept away, Marcus turned to Halmar, who was standing there with his typical I-told-you-so look in full bloom.

"It was those docked points," Marcus said; and he put a piece of paper in Halmar's hand. "Look. He'd have gone Second without them."

"He's pending Second as it is," Halmar pointed out. "Relax, Marc. A few months in the Third Tier never killed anyone, you...." He trailed off abruptly; and Marcus, looking round to see what was the matter, caught sight of Jezrael, clad in his usual black suit.

"I'll let you be the one," Halmar muttered, "to tell him he's got to change his clothes," and he walked out, toward the foyer.

But only a few minutes later he was faced with Marcus again, clutching another torn-open envelope, nearly white beneath his feathers. "Hal."

It was an odd croaking noise. "Marc! What in the world-"

"Look." Marcus held out the envelope, suddenly smiling. "Look. You won't believe this. It's First. He went First."

Halmar stared at him, then plucked Jezrael's envelope from his friend's hand and pulled out its contents. "Marc, you've got to be-my God!"

"You see," Marcus said. "Not Third. Not Second. Not pending anything-just First. Docked points and all."

Halmar felt his knees threatening to buckle. "There's got to be a mistake somewhere, Marc-"

"No, Hal. No mistake."

"But he's only-what? Twenty-five? Twenty-eight?"

Marcus took the envelope back. "Twenty-three."

"Twenty-three," Halmar repeated weakly. "And the Elders have ranked him higher than half the Assembly? Higher than-than me, for God's sake?"

"Yes." Marcus' smile widened a little. "Higher than you. Which means he's made a hell of an impression, Hal-and you probably owe him an apology."

Halmar sighed. Personal feelings or no, Marcus was right.

"You're right," he admitted. "And you know I hate it when you're right."

Marcus said nothing, though his expression had become oddly angelic.

The older drake sighed again. "Twenty-three," he groused. "First Tier at twenty-three-God, Marcus, we are getting old." He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling all his years. "What are you going to do?"

"Right now...." Marcus turned his attention back to the Assembly Hall, watching the seats fill rapidly. "I'm going to hold an assembly, and present the new Tier rankings, and...."

He drew a deep breath. "And announce my new First Blade."