:So what is the reason?

:I don’t know for certain. We can’t read the mind of a race like we are reading the minds of individuals tonight. Customs and traditions accumulate over time and are resistant to change. Only a great need for change can alter the way a people live, or their sense of morality.

:So if we didn’t have enough men to fight, women would learn to?

:Probably. The trouble is, by the time the situation forces women to fight there is no time to train them. Now, seek another mind.

Leiard followed Jayim. The boy brushed past the minds of Dreamweavers camped around their tent. From one came a sharp jolt of alarm, but not at their touch. Something else. A shape in the darkness beyond the camp…

:Wait. Go back.

Jayim paused, then returned to the alarmed Dreamweaver’s mind. Through her eyes they saw a figure walking out of the darkness. A priestess. A high priestess. As the woman drew closer, the Dreamweaver recognized her and felt a wary relief. It’s the friendly one. Auraya.

:Auraya. Leiard felt a thrill of both pleasure and fear rush through his body. She has come looking for me.

:Looks like my lessons will have to end early tonight, Jayim said smugly.

:We’ll make up for lost time tomorrow, Leiard replied.

:Then I expect you to make sure my sacrifice is worth it.

Leiard sighed. The boy was as bad as Mirar.

:Enough, Jayim. Assert your identity.

As Jayim followed the ritual, Leiard concentrated on his sense of self. I am Leiard, Dreamwe—

And a fool, a voice in his mind interrupted. You knew she would join the army, yet you still tagged along with your fellow Dreamweavers when you should have run in the other direction.

Mirar. Leiard sighed. When am I going to be rid of you?

When you regain your senses. It’s not your identity you’re having problems with, it’s your loins.

I am not here to see Auraya, Leiard thought firmly. I am a Dreamweaver. I have a duty to treat the victims of this war.

Liar. You have a duty to protect your people, Mirar retorted. If these Circlians whom you feel a duty to treat discover you seduced their high priestess, they’ll pick up their swords and slaughter every Dreamweaver they can find. It’ll be a nice little warm-up to the battle with the Pentadrians.

I can’t just disappear, Leiard protested. I have to explain to her why I must leave.

She already knows why you must leave.

But I have to talk to—

And say what? That you know of a nice little remote spot, perfect for those times she fancies a bit of rough and bumpy? You can tell her that in a dream, just as you can explain why you can’t—

“Leiard?”

It was Jayim. Leiard opened his eyes. The boy was staring at him.