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tales among the Hthras of magic workers who had taken potions to farsee, only to leap to their deaths from their homes in the forest giants, thinking themselves winged or invulnerable.
    But even now the council might be meeting …
    Khith stared at the dark, viscous liquid, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature control that still prevailed, deep in the bowels of the ancient city. It had worked for two days to decoct this mixture. But … would it work for anyone but an Ancient—whatever they had been like?
    What if it poisons me? Khith thought. I could die down here and no one would ever know. The thought caused the silky fur on its arms and back to stir and rise up in reaction to danger. Its tail lashed back and forth.
    And yet, to have the power to see things happening far away, or possibly even the future …
    The mixture was a distillation of lian roots and vilneg leaves. The Hthras had combined them, adding a dollop of its own blood to give the spell strength and focus. But if I haven’t the courage to use what I’ve learned, I might as well go back to my village, give up sorcery, the scholar thought.
    There is no gain without risk.
    Khith stared at the potion for another moment, then resolutely picked up the bowl, balancing it on its slender, four-digited hands. Cautiously, it sniffed the brew, its nostril-flaps quivering at the sharp, bitter odor. It hesitated for only a second. I must know!
    The liquid tasted every bit as vile as Khith had expected.
    The scholar’s throat tightened, and for a moment it feared its stomach would revolt. Putting down the bowl, it clapped both hands over its narrow-lipped mouth, fighting the urge to retch.
    Now to say the words …
    Khith stared down at the text, and the letters tilted strangely. It blinked, trying to read the words, but its eyes would no longer track.
    The Hthras looked up, and slowly, the room swung, rippled, and elongated. It was now long and narrow, like a burial net. Then it contracted, rotated, and widened, extending farther, farther …
    With some small, still unaffected portion of its mind, Khith remembered that the potion was a powerful hallucinogen. Must focus … speak the spell …
    Fumbling atop the table, the Hthras managed to close one narrow-fingered hand around the rune-pieces carved from jagowa bone. Shaking the pieces, it mumbled:
    “Forest-juice, help me see,
Bones of hunter, let me hear,
Show me those who wish me harm,
Let me farsee, so to warn …”
    As Khith spoke the final words of the charm, it opened its fingers and the bone pieces thudded down onto the tabletop.
    Khith peered at the pattern. The rune-sign for danger … the sign for the present or the near future, the jagowa itself …
    As it peered down, its vision blurred, swam, then darkness gathered around the Hthras … grew … enfolded …
    Khith sighed and closed its eyes, letting the darkness take it.
    It opened its eyes and was in a different place, seeing with eyes that were … strange. Eyes that did not perceive most shades of color, eyes that were faceted, so that each view was repeated a hundred or more times. Khith tried to blink, tried to focus, but the eyes it was seeing through were so alien, it was several minutes before it could force itself to see through only one of the multiple eye-lenses and make out what lay before it.
    The Council of Elders sat hunched around a high table.
    Their voices sounded odd through the insectoid ears, but Khith could hear them. “… cannot allow this to go on,” the Eldest was saying. “Who knows what young Khith has found there, in those ruins? Foolish one! We warned it. In this very chamber, we told it what would happen!”
    Third Eldest spoke up. “Shall I summon the Peacekeepers?”
    First Elder Nkotha considered, then signaled assent. “Yes, do so. And tell them to bring their Trackers. We cannot have Khith roaming loose after we have angered it. It was a Sorcerer before living amidst the remains of the