Her mouth opened without a sound. She needed a moment to compose herself before she could ask, “In awe, sir?”

“Oh, yes, Magister,” he replied at once. “Your control astonished me. To refine a power as vast as earthquake until it is little more than a chisel— ‘Awe’ is too small a word for it.”

Someone in the circle muttered, “Horseshit.”

Elgart smiled more broadly. “How did you learn such skill, Magister? It is scarcely credible. You must have spent seasons training.” And causing considerable wreckage. “What inspired you to make the effort? You could not have known it would be needed.”

The older man raised his voice. “Where is the King? Why does he permit this—?”

Astride silenced him with a small gesture. She had that much stature among her comrades, even with the Bellegerins.

Looking directly at Elgart seemed to cost her an act of will; but she met his gaze. Softly, she asked, “You are Elgart, sir?”

The sound of her voice tugged at his heart. For an instant or two, he almost lost his air of assurance. He forced a chuckle. “I am, my lady.”

That my lady startled the other sorcerers. Magister Astride gave no sign that she had heard it.

“What is your title in King Bifalt’s service, sir?”

Elgart grinned with half of his mouth. Different emotions twisted the other side of his face. “I have no title.” Deliberately, he repeated, “My lady. At one time, I served the King in and around the Open Hand. Now I am simply a soldier.”

She did not relent. “But you are also the man who brought those strangers to us? The el-Algreb?”

“I am.”

“And you have no title?”

“None.” To save his life, Elgart would not have confessed that he had spent the better part of twenty years as the King’s Captain of Spies, ferreting out Amikan plots. Not at that moment. A nondescript Magister named Vault and another woman were the only Bellegerins in the circle; and even they did not know what he had been.

After a moment, Astride seemed to reach a decision. “If you have no title, I must call you by your name.”

Unable to contain himself, Elgart laughed aloud. “That would please me, my lady.”

She did not smile. He did not know whether she ever smiled. “And you must call me Astride. ‘Magister’ suggests distrust, and ‘my lady’ is too formal.”

Elgart felt like dancing. Instead, he feigned gravity. “That, also, will please me.” Distinctly, he added, “Astride.

“Forgive one last moment of formality. I must thank you. You saved our lives, and mine is precious to me. If I err occasionally, remember that I wish to honor you.”

Astride shook her head, frowning somberly. “I do not want honor. I have a gift, nothing more.”

The older man interrupted her. “You are the most gifted among us, Magister.”

Another woman might have blushed, but her shyness took a different form. She ignored the compliment.