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swirled in the air,
    shifting and changing subtly. The effect was dazzling. Then, without any warning, the
    shape rushed at them, trailing long streams of vapor. Mikhail felt a mist brush across
    his brow, and he shrank back, his heart pounding against his ribs. Beside him, Dyan
    gave a yelp of pure terror, and clamped his hand so hard he nearly broke Mikhail's
    fingers.
    It was over quickly, and the mist withdrew, but Mikhail found he was gasping for air,
    and that in spite of the cold of the chamber, he was drenched with sweat. Beneath the
    table, his legs were trembling.
    "Their hearts seem good enough," the spirit admitted grudgingly.
    "Of course their hearts are good. They are very nice boys."
    In spite of his terror, Mikhail nearly laughed at being called a boy. Priscilla was
    perhaps eleven years his elder, but she acted like a crone most of the time. He sucked
    in his cheeks and swallowed the chuckle that threatened to burst from his mouth. He
    had always had a tendency to laugh when he was frightened or alarmed, and his
    mother had sometimes said he would likely laugh on his way to the gallows.
    Slowly, his fear dissipated, and with it, the urge to giggle. Mikhail swallowed in a dry
    throat, wishing for a 'glass of wine. If all the ghost could do was surround him with
    mist, there really was nothing to be afraid of. And it was a shame he had given his
    word never to speak of the incident, because it would make such a good tale.
    Mikhail was lost in his own thoughts, so he almost missed Derik's next words. "The
    Guardian wants you. It is time!"
    "At last!" Priscilla looked delighted, even in the poor light of the fire. Her thin face
    was alight with pleasure, and she looked more like a girl than a woman with five
    children. But there was also something unhealthy about her reaction,
    and Mikhail lowered his eyes quickly. Guardian? What was that? "Soon we will be
    together again, brother," she whispered just loud enough for Mikhail to hear.
    Despite his intense curiosity, he decided he did not want to know any more than he did
    already. Be together? Was Priscilla planning to die? It did not sound like it. Then he
    shrugged, to ease his tension and banish his own sense of embarrassment. He had
    stumbled into something that was none of his business, and the sooner he was out of it,
    the, better.
    The shimmering shape above the medium began to fall apart, and then the globe on the
    table clouded up again. Ysaba's hands opened, releasing her grip on the others, and she
    slumped forward, onto the table. She banged her head against the shining surface with
    an audible thump, and he winced with empathy.
    Duncan, who had remained in the shadows until now, stepped forward. He had a glass
    of wine in one hand, and he lifted the woman up by her shoulder, and held it against
    her lips. Then his eyes met Mikhail's, and there was an expression of shame and
    loathing in them. The mouth of the medium opened a little, and some wine trickled
    into it, though more dripped down her chin.
    From the corner of his eye, Mikhail could see Dyan wipe the hand which Ysaba had
    held against his trousers. His young face was twisted with distaste, and Mikhail felt a
    stab of guilt. He never should have brought his friend to Elhalyn Castle.
    Mik, I feel filthy! I never want to go through anything like this again! Let's leave at
    first light — please! This is a terrible place!
    I think you are right. But I wonder what this "Guardian" is?
    I don't care if it is Aldones himself —I just want to get away from here!
    Mikhail silently agreed with Dyan's sentiment. The following morning, in spite of the
    rain, they rode back to Thendara. They did not speak of the strange event, as if by
    silent agreement, then or afterward. But, from time to time, Mikhail thought about it,
    and wondered if he had really heard the voice of the ghost of Derik Elhalyn, and asked
    himself who the Guardian might be.

PART
ONE
    1
    Mikhail Lanart-Hastur rode along the banks of