To find a home and then to have to leave it before ever seeing it. It was hard for any homeless, but for the tribe-less it cut to the heart. Gring felt that pain like a claw ripping at her innards, and only the steadfast guiding of Rahak dir corin Aghender got her through the first days of desolation.

That the leader had given her his name without a moments doubt also helped. She wondered if she'd been able to display such a show of trust in his place. Probably not, and that should have shamed her, but it never did. She had Rahak to thank for that as well.

The war leader made sure she never had a chance to grab the shame and hide it within her. How he knew she would have tried she couldn't understand, and as she refrained from even the subtlest of walking of his surface thoughts she couldn't learn without asking. That, however, would have shamed her no matter what he tried, and so she refrained from that as well so as not to place any extra burden on him.

The previous night they had crossed a border of sorts. They were back on the fields clinging to Ri Nachi.

One mission. To strike at the heart of a kingdom. She had expected to die in the attempt but not any longer. Every day they travelled halfmen warriors joined them, some accompanied by human warriors, all silent. How they found them they never told, and she never asked.

In what spread out on the moonlit fields Karia, his men and she was only a small group. There were hundreds of silent men methodically moving across the fields. Not in the disciplined but predictable pattern the colonel from Keen would have chosen, but with a confidence born of purpose nonetheless.

Small clusters of shadows reached the walls. A few swam the moat, and not once could she hear a sound. The warriors from Ri Kordari had brought their own mages. She could feel the power singing in her mind, but to those not brought into the secret of the senses they would be invisible and inaudible. She couldn't even smell the men around her. Not that it mattered. Ri Nachi had its own stench which would have covered the smell of sweat and fear, but whoever was responsible for hiding their approach wanted to be thorough.

When the first scaled the walls she held her breath like any halfman, scared she would give them away if her nostrils disturbed the air. Still no alarm was sounded and soon she climbed the walls herself.

Inside she knew they had only managed the easy part, and she saw how the killing started ahead of her. Not all guards were asleep, and a few had sparks strong enough to alert them to the wrongness of the night.

When they reached the castle they would be discovered. Nothing could prevent that. They were simply too many to hide from a strong mindwalker, and she expected nothing less than the strongest Ri Khi could offer around its royalty.

They waited. The moon vanished behind a cloud that shouldn't have been there and the final assault begun.

Whoever worked the gift dropped all subtlety and the shadows became a swarm of halfmen and humans dashing upstairs, climbing walls with grappling hooks and ropes and smashing windows to get inside.

A horn sounded. At the agreed signal she closed her eyes and covered her ears. The screech still forced her to the ground, and through closed eyelids she could feel how the night burst into glaring daylight. Then darkness, and silence.

She opened her eyes and ran.

All around her defenders flailed blindly before they went down under swords and daggers. She ripped through a throat and threw another into the moat. These weren't who they had come for. If they lived she didn't care.

Ahead of her soldiers closed the gates and barred them from the inside. Then sudden heat, but not of fire. Whoever the jump mage was he lacked Escha's strength and skill. Too much of the gift was used to control the power, and too little to achieve what the mage attempted, but it was strong enough. One half of the gates simply vanished before the mage collapsed to the ground.

She didn't wait to see what had become of him. The opening was still easily defended and she had no intention to make a closer acquaintance with the oversized crossbows favoured in Ri Khi.

Four leaps and a roar later she was in the centre of chaos, arms flailing, claws ripping and tearing and tusks closing over enemy faces over and over again. Battle madness took her and she danced to the music of death.

Around her men screamed and died, pleaded and fought, but they were like dream ghosts, immaterial, unimportant until the moment they became targets for her frenzy. Only then did they take form just to vanish again when they became broken and shredded remnants of thinking beings. She dropped the bodies where she killed, clawed and ripped an arm out of its socket and used it as a weapon for a while until the bones were so mangled she could no longer crush men with it.

When the entry hall emptied she rushed along a corridor, found another hall and took the stairs.

Speed was of essence here. Even in her trance she knew that. They needed to kill faster than reinforcements could arrive, kill so fast arriving soldiers chose to flee rather than join in the defence of a lost cause. They were immaterial as well. Defenders only, not targets of their own.

Deep inside the castle, several stairs up, lay the chambers where their real targets lived, and she had to get there before they managed to gather their mages and flee out of reach.

A young lordling arrived from a room, half naked, dazed eyes but with a sword in his hand. She brushed him aside. It was faster than killing.

Another flight of stairs had her viewing more exceptional finery, living statues, draperies, paintings and the idiosyncratic artwork of Ri Khi she couldn't begin to grasp.

She passed under a line of lamps usually only found in Verd, artefacts from a time when magecrafters had made Verd famous for the riches it produced, but to her they mostly meant light, and direction. The enemy could as well have painted signs for her to follow, and she never veered from the mage crafted lamps.

Behind her sounds of heavy feet reached her, and she turned to assess the new threat. Humans, with Rahak leading them. They caught up with her just a she turned through a doorway and entered a large hall. A courtroom or reception hall, she wasn't certain.

As Rahak overtook her he offered her an ironic growl and waved his warriors onward. They rushed over priceless mats, leaving red footprints as proof of their bloody work, and just as the hall widened soldiers emerged from the other end.

Careful now. She forced the frenzy under control. These were not the same as those guarding the outer walls. Cold eyes, even from this distance she saw the calculating, detached looks they gave as they readied weapons.

Rahak noticed it as well. He slowed and fell back into a defensive stance. She followed his movements and settled into a crouch behind the warriors. If true warriors over twice the size of the defenders deemed caution to be in order she wasn't going to play out any overconfidence.

And it was time for her to fulfil her mission. This time there would be no unknowing deaths. Those guilty should know why they died.

She wrapped herself in the gift, touched each warrior lightly with a thread of power and extended new ones to the enemy, and beyond. The minds behind the crime hid behind that screen of armed men. As she became aware of minds she touched them, walked their fears and surprise, but she never walked deep.

She never did uninvited. Enemy or not, it didn't matter. Maybe she would have found out faster if she did, but human mindwalkers didn't violate the gift that way. Golden did, she knew that for a certain now.

The memory of Neritan discoloured a strand, and she quickly reasserted control over it. Sharing language only, she wasn't here to lend her thoughts to anyone.

Rahak hissed his approval and relaxed his swords a little.

"Go! We are here for the king mother."

The defenders didn't move.

"Stand down! We are not here to harm your king."

We are not? Gring didn't know that. What happened here? She pushed herself back in her mind and concentrated on handling her powers. She had promised to amplify the spoken words as well as translate them. That took more of her that she was used to, but she didn't intend to overextend herself the way that jump mage had done at the gates.

Rahak repeated his request, and the tension crackling between the armed groups slowly sank back. They were the king's defenders. That much was certain, but she'd been as certain they'd come here for him.

Then the king entered the hall, and by now she was aware they'd arrived in the throne room. The simple chair between the defenders was the throne of Ri Khi. She hadn't even given the unadorned and bruised piece of furniture a single glance until the king sat in it.

A young man but probably older than he looked. They usually were from Ri Khi, or the halfmen from Braka looked older than they were. She didn't know, hadn't really considered the differences between one halfman and another until she met Arthur, and Harbend, and Nakora, always Nakora. Karia, however, tipped the scales once and forever.

She wondered where he had gone. By all rights he should be here now.

With that thought firmly in mind she sent a single strand back, through the doorway, down the corridor and a flight of stairs, and searched. She tasted rooms where people hid, corridors along which soldiers fled and she found Karia. He was on his way here and even managed a brief smile when she made her presence clear to him.

Growling with mirth she gave him the directions here and felt how he and his men disengaged from the battle and ran for the stairs.

"What is the meaning of this," the king said suddenly. He didn't tremble much. For anyone but a mindwalker it would have seemed he believed he was firmly in control of the situation, but she could smell his uncertainty with senses enhanced by her handling of the gift.

"We have come for the king mother," Rahak repeated again. "Order your men to stand down!"

The king blinked and sat up straighter. "I am Panared, king of Ri Khi. Why should I do your biddings human?"

"You should undo wrong, because you are king. The king mother has done wrong. She must be undone."

The king mother? But she's as much a woman as Nakora was. Why should she be involved in this?

"State your accusations and leave," Panared ordered.

"Nakora of the Weinak family is dead."

A shadow of grief spread over the young king's face. "I know. Clan leader Garak has paid for the killing of her murderers. I have chosen not to stand in his way."

That was more news. Had the court known of their mission for vengeance all along? Had Neritan told them?

"When the caravan returned with only an imperial escort I personally ordered an investigation. I have confirmed the unlawful murder of Nakora of the Weinak family. In honour of her I also ordered the family risen to full clan."

Gring coughed with surprise. Her hold of the gift faltered for a moment and she hastily grasped control of it once more. The second time she almost lost it during a single session. She would shame her teachers if she didn't keep her threads in order.

"We are aware of this. Rumours spread. When young Garak spread his coins, tongues loosened further than he had planned."

And events slowly unfolded for Gring. It hadn't been a coincidence that they'd encountered the war party so far inside Ri Khi.

"And you still believe I had something to do with her death?"

"We have already told you that is not the case. The king mother, however, is guilty of a vile crime and must be undone."

"Why should my mother involve herself?"

"We know young Weinak caught your interest. We know you made true the dreams of a warrior girl."

King Panared blushed.

"We know you acted, not like an oath breaker but with the honour a halfman can muster. The king mother did not. She must be undone."

And Gring had a flash of events from long before she had ever met an outworlder taleweaver. She saw a young king infatuated with a sword woman and how he gave her her due in a land where women usually had none. She understood a mother's fear and jealousy, and she guessed the rest.

"Weinak's murderers forced her mating before they killed her. Perhaps they would have done so anyway. Halfmen ways are not easy for humans to understand. The king mother sent coins to ensure that the mating took place before the killing. She must be undone."

This time Panared paled. "You dare accuse my mother of an atrocity like that?"

Rahak's fur bristled with rage, and Gring felt how he barely managed to keep his glands closed. "We are human. We serve Cor. We do not lie. You could ask anyone who serves Cor when a human in His service last lied."

So it was true that the tribe following the white god of war and healing were as strict in their ways as her own. More so, she admitted. No human had ever been imbued with Cor's powers, but the same was not true for her own.

She saw the young king tilt his head, swallow once and stand. "I apologize," he said, and there was a tone of slowly burning wrath in his voice. "My mother sleeps in the south wing. I will have her fetched."

"The king mother does not sleep. She and her entourage are on their way here to sway the mind of a king."

"I understand," came the curt reply.

Rahak rose to full height. "You do not understand, young king. We are finished here. You have been proven guilty of being born by the king mother. She must be undone."

Panared stared back. Something unflinching had entered his eyes, and his mind was hard as a golden's. "I understand," he said at last.

"Mindwalker, we are finished here. Follow!"

Gring looked up just in time to feel the presence of Karia behind her. He had entered the throne room undetected when she concentrated on not to lose control of her gift a third time. With him stood all his sworn men, stone faced, silent. They had listened, and understood long before the message came clear to King Panared.

They turned and followed Rahak out, and so did Gring. She threw a last glance over her shoulder and looked at the boy king who had just grown into a man. A passing feeling of regret touched her. Then she left the throne room before the sound of running feet made their way into it from behind the throne.

Slowly, filled with sorrow, she made her way down the stairs. Above and behind her she heard loud voices of fear and denial. Then a sharp command. Then the screaming started.