"I married once," said the stranger abruptly. "It was a mistake." Tir had taken him for a woman, with that slender, androgynous figure, but the voice that came from beneath the hooded cloak was low- too low to be a girl's, that of a woman or a boy's. A weariness clung to it, dispelling the fleeting resemblance to Lady Leknaat he'd seen when they first met. "You don't look like you've ever been married."

	That was true; Tir smiled faintly and took a sip of his drink.

	"Carried your rune long?"

	"Fifty years."

	"Ah," said the stranger. "That would be the Dunan Wars, or the Toran Rebellion, yes? I forget."

	"Toran," said Tir, "Although I fought in the Dunan Reunification Wars as well."

	The stranger picked up his cup and drained it. As was only polite, Tir hastened to refill it for him. "It's always about war," the stranger said somewhat sadly, when he was done. "Nowhere else are lives shed in more abundance."

	Remembering old horrors, Tir shuddered. The rune on his right hand began to throb, reacting to his thoughts of death. He clamped down on it ruthlessly.

	"I hate war." He said.

	The stranger leaned back in his chair. "Aye, boy. As well you should. War is evil, like a ravening beast. And the Runes fan the wars to feed their hunger."

	"That's the first time I've heard tell of that."

	"Oh?" said the stranger. "What caused your Toran war, if not the Gate Rune's attempt to subvert the Sovereign Rune? What was the Dunan war but an extension of the conflict between Sword and Shield? The Gods use us as proxies for their jockeying. As pawns. As," he snorted, "entertainment."

	"Strong words," Tir said. His voice was mild.

	The stranger looked at him. "Truth."

	This time Tir finished his drink, and the stranger poured for him. "Have you heard," he said at length, "about the conflict in the Grasslands? Twenty- nay, thirty years ago?"

	"A little. We were.. the Magician, Luc- we were old comrades."

	"I see." He said. "You speak his name as if you were ashamed to claim acquaintance."

	"That I am not."

	"So I see." The stranger regarded his drink thoughtfully for a moment, then put it down. "And yet, maybe you should be. He was quite, veritably mad."

	Tir shook his head. "I don't think he was ever mad. Perhaps he merely saw things in a different way."

	"Isn't that the very definition of madness? That which is not normal?"

	"Then we are all mad, since we all see things differently."

	"I suspect 'differently' generally does not include trying to destroy the world in order to escape fate."

	"No, it doesn't." Tir agreed. "

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