Free Marion Zimmer Bradley's Ancestors of Avalon by Diana L. Paxson

and the gardens around it. As a child, confused and grieving, she had taken little notice of her surroundings, and by the time the pain of loss had faded, she had learned her way about too well to really see the place for what it was.
    “How glorious.” Chedan, ascending close behind them, echoed her thought. “It is a sad fact that we often appreciate things most deeply when we are about to lose them.”
    Tiriki nodded, surreptitiously wiping away a tear. When this is gone, how often will I regret all the times I passed this way without stopping to really look?
    For a moment the three paused, gazing westward. From here, the greater part of the broken city was hidden by the glittering roofs of the Temple district. Beyond them was only the ambiguous blue of the sea.
    “It looks so peaceful,” Chedan said.
    “An illusion,” Micail gritted, as he led them through the portico. Tiriki shivered as they crossed the decorative bridge that had, she reminded herself, always swayed slightly beneath the lightest step, but since the morning’s quake, she had become preternaturally aware of the leashed stresses in the earth. Whenever anything shook, she tensed and wondered if the horror was about to begin again.
    Here, she observed, there were no chaotic piles of keepsakes and discards, none of the frantic bustling that rippled through the rest of the city, just a soft-voiced servant, waiting to escort the visitors to Reio-ta and Deoris. Tiriki’s heart sank with a premonition that their errand here would fail. Clearly, her parents did not intend to leave.
    Chedan had gone ahead of her into the wide chamber that looked out on the gardens, and stood, saluting Deoris. It seemed to Tiriki that his voice trembled as he spoke the conventional words. What had Chedan been to her mother, she wondered, when they were young together in the Ancient Land? Did he see the mature priestess, with silver threading auburn-black braids coiled like a diadem above her brow, or the shade of a rebellious girl with stormy eyes and a tangle of dark curls—the girl Domaris had described when she spoke of Tiriki’s mother, before Deoris came to Ahtarrath from the Ancient Land?
    “Have you . . . finished packing?” Reio-ta was asking. “Is the Temple prepared for evacuation, and the acolytes ready to . . . go?” The governor’s speech stumbled no more than usual. From his tone, it might have been a perfectly ordinary day.
    “Yes, all is going well,” Micail answered, “or as well as can be expected. Some of the vessels have departed already. We expect to sail out on the morning tide.”
    “We have saved more than enough space on Reidel’s ship for both of you,” added Tiriki. “You must come! Mother—Father—” She held out her hands. “We will need your wisdom. We will need you! ”
    “I love you too, darling—but don’t be foolish.” Deoris’s voice was low and vibrant. “I need only see the two of you to know that we have already given you all that you need.”
    Reio-ta nodded, his warm eyes smiling. “Have you forgotten, I . . . gave my word, in council? So long as any of my beloved people hold the land, I . . . I, too, shall stay.”
    Tiriki and Micail exchanged a quick but meaningful glance. Time to try the other plan.
    “Then, dear Uncle,” Micail said reasonably, “we must drink deep of your advice while we can.”
    “G-gladly,” said Reio-ta, with a modest inclination of his head. “Perhaps you, Master Chedan, will . . . drink, of something sweeter? I can offer several good vintages. We have had some . . . banner years, in your absence.”
    “You know me too well,” the mage said softly.
    Micail laughed. “If Reio-ta hadn’t offered,” he went on, disingenuously, “no doubt Chedan would have asked.” Catching Tiriki’s eye, Micail jerked his head slightly in the direction of the garden, as if to say, The two of you could talk alone out there.
    “Come, Mother,” Tiriki said brightly. “Let the men have their