A/N: This is the beginning of the third novel of the Rowansglory, or the series of novels about Herran Turnlong. You should definitely read the first two, Harper of Glory Forerunning and More Than Glory Abounds, before this.

I'm a little nervous about putting this one up, as I think it less well-written than the others. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but especially on this one. Please let me know when you see places that the writing could be improved, whether by removals or additions.

And here we go.

Touched With Glory

Prologue

897, Age of Ascent, Midautumn

Herran turned quickly at the sound, his eyes scanning the shadows, searching for some sign of the man he had come to meet. His muscles rippled with angry tension for a moment, and then subsided. *He* had wanted to meet here and now, and he was late...

The sound was repeated. Herran moved a few steps forward, his steps light and flowing, graceful, still a fighter's, even though a scroll was more often in his hands than a sword now, and things had been this way for almost two centuries.

"Councilmaster." The voice came floating from the other side of the huge room, beyond the dais where petitioners and criminals stood before the Council to defend themselves or spit their defiance. "I had thought to find you here before now."

Herran checked a response and moved in the direction of the voice, his footsteps echoing well from the sonor that formed the walls and floor. The Council Chamber at night seemed a different world, with the light of the moons rather than the sun pouring through the high stained-glass windows and falling over the seats where the twenty-one members of the Council sat. Herran paused to study a scene of a silver unicorn trampling an Elwen beneath his hooves in the fall of Rowan, and felt a shudder run up through his spine.

It was worth the impatience that showed when the voice spoke again, though. "Are you coming to me or not, Herran? I do not have all night for foolishness like this, though you may think so."

Herran smiled without taking his eyes from the window, his faith restored. "You know Council protocol, Aereri," he said casually. "By all that is under the stars, I should make you come to me."

There was a soft hiss, and then the man who had summoned him here came into view. Herran turned with slow and deliberately disrespectful ease, running his eyes over Aereri and then biting hard into the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

What was funny was not so much the fact that Aereri wore golden clothes that would be less visible in the golden moonlight than black clothes would, but what those clothes implied. The young man, Herran's most implacable foe on the Council, was too clever in the ways of intrigue to need such clothes as these; he could enter the Chamber by any one of a dozen passages, as any Council member could. He was wearing the clothes to make Herran think he needed them, to encourage the Councilmaster to underestimate him.

And Herran never underestimated anyone. It was amusing that Aereri thought he could force him into making that mistake.

Amusing, but not enough to make Herran forget the interruption of the first real sleep he had had in twelve dances. "What do you want?" he asked softly, his eyes seeking and finding Aereri's blazing green ones as the amusement died from both of them.

It seemed that Aereri thought it was his turn to be amused, though. "My lord, I should think you would know."

"Aereri, I keep track of all the business that goes on in the Council. I don't have time for all the foolishness as well."

It worked. Aereri's cheeks flushed silver with rage. "You will not think this so foolish, when you hear it," he said, his voice low again, as though someone could enter the Chamber and listen to them without both sensing it. "I know something that you will pay me not to say to others."

"Which thing would that be?" Herran yawned, and leaned against the dais, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He could feel the slight humming of the sonor; with so much magic spent here over the years, during attempted assassinations if nothing else, the Chamber had a slight and constant magical resonance. It comforted him.

"How you really gained the Council seat."

Herran snorted. "Oh, by all means. Tell anyone anything about that, and you will find yourself on a table in the Paws of the Bear quickly enough."

"I will not, because you're going to destroy the master torturer for me."

"When I destroy him, it will be for myself," said Herran quietly, studying Aereri, wondering why he was so in earnest about this. It had been almost two centuries since the master torturer, Quirrin, had murdered his father Aerian and filled the empty seat on the Council with Herran. Aereri was a patient man, but Herran's sources said he had forsworn vengeance. This seemed a little late, and entirely unnecessary.

"I want his life. And I want him to suffer."

"Why should I do this?"

"I have a witness who is prepared to swear that you knew about the killing of my father before it happened, and you are not the victim of Quirrin's countless plots that you pretend to be."

"Impossible. I did not know about it, and our people can tell truth from lies, in case you were born not knowing that."

Aereri flushed again. "But with the right spells, that magic can be defeated as easily as any natural ability of Elwenkind."

Herran eyed him closely. "Why now, Aereri?" he asked quietly. When in doubt, likewise confuse the opposition with the direct attack. "Why would you risk everything that you have for this?"

"What risk?" Aereri shrugged. "You have no choice but to do as I say. Even if you manage to convince the others that you knew nothing about it, your seat on the Council will still be suspect, and you will most probably lose it."

Herran tried not to let his swallow show. He had never craved power, but he could not lose the Councilmastery, not now. He had too much to do, so many visions to fulfill that sometimes they pressed on him.

"I know things about you as well, Aereri."

"Such as?" The man was smirking, and Herran could almost read his thoughts, as he so often could. This heart was no secret to him. Aereri was thinking that whatever it was would not be enough to make anyone he told about Herran's seat and his way of obtaining it forget Aereri's news in favor of Herran's.

"That you have a lover."

Aereri's face paled, and went still. Then he said in the fragile voice of someone about to break a mirror, "Don't you hurt her."

Herran snarled before he could help himself. "If you think that is what I am, then why in the name of the stars did you come here tonight?"

"I brought-"

There came a muffled cry from somewhere in the shadows. Herran smiled. "The Councilmaster's guards tolerate no threat to the Councilmaster," he said, and then the smile dropped from his face. "You have forgotten what I am, Aereri, in terms of power as well as in terms of soul. Do it again, and you are likely to die of your own stupidity, with me having nothing to do with it."

"Do not tell anyone of this."

"Will you agree to keep this away from those you planned to tell, as well?"

"Only for a dance. Find it in your power to destroy Quirrin, or I will tell anyone and everyone. By then, she will know of the danger you pose her and will be able to defend herself."

Herran's heart sang with anger and fear. He ignored it. "And if I do not?"

"Then you will lose your seat on the Council, and I will kill you with my own hands."

He turned and walked away.

Herran stood breathing softly for a moment, then called into the shadows, "Did you hear that, Lapida? All of it?"

"Yes, my lord." There was a movement, and a tall, slender woman with a drawn sword in her hand dropped onto the dais. Silver eyes flashed as she looked in the direction Aereri had gone with undisguised hatred. "I am almost certain that I know who his lover is. I can have an assassin in the Prison by tonight."

Herran's lips curved in a reluctantly amused smile. "There are other ways to solve this than by the sword."

Lapida's face remained grave. "Are there, my lord?" she asked. "I hadn't noticed."