"He is High Lord Tiesto Telmarran, Alturan," the younger man said, "Legasa Telmarran's nephew and heir to Halaran. My name is Marcus. Marcus Toscan." He raised his chin with pride. "I'm the one who got him out of Rialan Palace before the Black Army arrived. And you are?"

"For now he's the heir," Rogan said. "When Ralanast is back in Halrana hands, then he can call himself High Lord. But to do that, you're going to need my help."

"Who are you?" Marcus demanded.

"My name is Rogan. Rogan Jarvish. Nearly twenty years ago I fought in the Western Rebellion at my High Lord Serosa's side, fighting with your people against the Emperor." Rogan's voice was grim. "Prince Tiesto, I fought with your uncle, Legasa, in the great battle where we tried to free this city." He took a deep breath. "I was a bladesinger of Altura, and then I was the leader of all the bladesingers. I've led the world's finest swordsmen in too many battles to count, and I've trained more soldiers than there are stars in the sky."

Prince Tiesto and Marcus exchanged glances.

"It's true!" Tapel piped. "I found him on the battlefield. He has a zenblade. I can show you!"

"I can help you liberate this city," Rogan said. "There will be those among the townsfolk who know how to fight. Some will be old men, veterans of the Rebellion like me, but they will be dependable, and they can help the younger men. And," Rogan paused, "the one who commands the forces in Altura was one of my students. Let me help your resistance. When I tell him we're ready, he will come."

Prince Tiesto looked at Rogan's scars and then at Marcus, evidently contrasting the two men. "How will you know?" Tiesto asked.

Rogan grinned. "Trust me. When we're ready, you'll know it, too."

13

13

THE Primate studied the book the old pilgrim had rescued from the destruction at the Pinnacle. He'd locked himself in his study, examining the damaged pages, desperate to unlock the secrets within. The only people he allowed to see him were Moragon and Zavros, the former to discuss the war, the latter to discuss the mystery of the book.

Primate Melovar knew, deep inside, that the book offered him the potential to turn his fortunes and salvage his dream to unite the peoples of the world, if he could only discover its secrets.

His withered and emaciated frame was thinner than ever from lack of food and drink. The thirst for the knowledge burned within him, and he translated day and night, working with the unstoppable energy of the fanatic. He'd learned to live with the pain of his wounds now; if anything the remorseless agony of his burned flesh drove him on, the fire in his blood reminding him he might not have much time left.

Now Melovar Aspen was coming close to the truth.

"Primate," a deep voice spoke, "you asked to see me?"