The tarn was simple and undecorated, and the driver a hired man. Leiard settled next to Arleej on the seat. The Dreamweaver elder told the driver their destination, and soon they were travelling along the narrow, crowded roads of the city.

As the tarn neared the Dreamweaver House, Arleej considered her companion. He was not what she had expected, but then her expectations hadn’t been specific. Just someone less like a Dreamweaver and more like a Circlian.

Leiard was, if anything, more Dreamweaver-like than she. The way he answered her questions reminded her strongly of her teacher. Keefler had not known his year of birth, and had lived for most of his life in a remote location. He, too, had been quiet and watchful.

The answers to her questions about his relationship with Auraya of the White had startled her into silence. He had begun teaching the woman as a child in the hope that she would become his student. She had joined the Circlians instead. If Arleej had suffered such a disappointment she doubted she would have been able to face her former student without struggling with resentment. Leiard appeared to have accepted Auraya’s choice and her elevation to the White. He described her, of all things, as a friend.

It all seemed too good to be true. That the gods had chosen someone who had been taught by and sympathized with Dreamweavers was incredible. That they tolerated any thought of their people working with Dreamweavers was even more so. Had they finally come to accept the existence of heathens?

She doubted it. A century of persecution had lessened Dreamweaver numbers, but not eliminated them. The early years of violence after Mirar’s death had encouraged the compassionate to sympathize with Dreamweavers and the rebellious to join the cult. Now, perhaps, the gods sought to woo heathens to them by appearing to be generous and benevolent.

They will fail, she thought. So long as Dreamweavers pass link memories from generation to generation there will be no forgetting the true nature of the gods.

The tarn turned a corner and pulled up in front of a large building. The street was busy, and people moved constantly in and out of the building. Leiard looked up at the symbols carved into the façade.

“The only Dreamweaver House still standing in Northern Ithania,” Arleej said. “Come inside.”

He followed her into a generous hall. Three elderly Dreamweavers stepped forward to greet Arleej, speaking Somreyan. When she introduced him as the Dreamweaver adviser to the White, their expressions became wary.

Leiard greeted them in Somreyan. Arleej stared at him in surprise. “Your grasp of our language is impressive,” she said.

He shrugged. “I know many languages.”

“The spring link is about to begin,” a voice called.