Auraya drew her tawl back up around herself and considered her dream and why she was now so certain the village was doomed. On the scroll had been one paragraph:

“Leven-ark” means “honor-leaver” in Dunwayan. It describes a warrior who has cast aside all honor and obligations in order to be able to fight for an idealistic or moral cause.

It hadn’t made sense to Auraya that a Dunwayan warrior would dishonor his clan by taking unarmed villagers hostage or killing defenseless people. Now she understood. These Dunwayans no longer cared for honor. They could do anything, including slaughter the villagers.

The White were powerfully Gifted and could easily defeat the Dunwayans in a fight, but during that fight the Dunwayans might kill the villagers before the White overcame them. However, if the White gave in to the Dunwayans’ demands others might copy them. Many more Hanians could be imprisoned and threatened.

The White won’t give in, she thought. They’d rather some or all of us were killed than encourage others to take villages hostage. Auraya shook her head. Why did Leiard send me this dream? Surely he wouldn’t torment me with the truth if there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

She considered the information in the scroll again. “Leven-ark.” “Cast aside all honor.” How can we turn that to our advantage?

For the rest of the night she lay awake, thinking. It was only when the dawn light began to filter softly into the room that the answer came to her.

After several days, tempers were thin and the stale air was heavy with unpleasant odors. When Priest Avorim wasn’t settling disputes among the villagers he was bolstering their courage. Each day he gave several sermons. Today he had told of the dark times before the War of the Gods, when chaos ruled the world.

“Priest Avorim?” a young boy asked as the story ended.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t the gods kill the Dunwayans?”

Avorim smiled. “The gods are beings of pure magic. To affect the world they must work through humans. That is why we have the White. They are the gods’ hands, eyes and voices.”

“Why don’t they give you the power to kill the Dunwayans?”

“Because there are better ways to solve problems than killing. The Dunwayans…” The priest’s voice faded to silence. His eyes fixed on a distant point, then he smiled.

“Mairae of the White has arrived,” he announced.

Auraya’s stomach fluttered. One of the White is here, in Oralyn! Her excitement died as the door to the Temple opened. Bal stepped inside, flanked by several warriors and his sorcerer, Sen.

“Priest Avorim. Qurin. Come.”

Avorim and Qurin hurried out. Sen did not follow. The radiating lines on his face were distorted by a frown. He pointed at the blacksmith’s father, Ralam.

“You. Come.”