Modesitt, L.E. - Timedivers -Timegods - 01 - The Fires of Pa

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THE FIRES OF PARATIME

By L.E.Modesitt

[?? apr 2002—scanned by BW-SciFi]

[14 apr 2002—proofed by WizWav]

Picture a man, or, if you will, a woman, standing in an empty room,

a plain hall lit by slow-glass panels and green glowstone floors.

The person standing there wears a black jumpsuit with a four-pointed

star on the left collar and wide silvered wristbands. The bands contain

microcircuitry.

Suddenly, the man, or, if you will, woman, is gone.

The slow-glass panels still light the hall.

Some time later—a few units, a few days, rarely longer—the traveler

reappears in the same spot and walks out of the hall.

That is all there is to it, the base action of the Temporal Guard at

Quest, the single city of the Immortals of Query, that hidden planet

circling a very ordinary yellow sun in a very ordinary galaxy.

There's no such thing as a race of time-divers, you say, Immortals

who ride the paths of time a million years or more, who manipulate

cultures in their corner of the galaxy?

Let us lay that question aside for a time.

Call me Loki. It's as good a name as any, better than most, and

besides, that's what my parents named me.

What better name for the grandson of Ragnorak, for the child of

fallen heroes, fumbler in the complex intrigues of the Immortals,

sometime god, time-diver, and idiot savant par excellence?

The dominoes of time have toppled, shoved into new patterns by the

winds of change, those chill winds that howl down the corridors of

time, those black rays of time-path tossed carelessly out by each sun

and vaulted and trod by the time-divers of Query in their ceaseless

efforts to maintain their precarious position on the top of time's

totem pole.

A too-florid description, perhaps, but accurate for all the

verbosity.

I am serious. Queryans are Immortal, but nature balanced it nicely

since the genetic interlock required for fertilization and the time-

diving ability kept births low—less than one per couple per

millennium. And accidents did happen, time-diving ability or not.

Queryan time-divers ranged through time, and since time is space, so

to speak, through space as well. As a precaution, all children were

locator-tagged at birth, although the talent didn't usually develop

until later, nor fully until puberty.

Only a few of us had innate navigational senses, and most Queryans

never went far from Query. Back-timing on Query itself is out. The Laws

of Time are inflexible. If you dive at all on Query, you dive planet-

clear.

It all starts with the Test.

The Test, that trial that determines whether a Queryan gets advanced

training, membership in the Temporal Guard, or whether he or she stays

a planet-slider for a long, long life—that was my first turning point

...On that morning that may never have been, the sky of Query was blue,

with overtones of green that made the hills circling the city of Quest

and the peaks behind those hills stand out in even sharper relief than

the clearest holo could project.

The morning was cloudless, as so many mornings in Quest are. I had

place-slid to the park surrounding the Square, breaking out of the

undertime with the thought-chill that always ends a planet-slide or

time-dive.

The Tower of Immortals stands in the center of the Square,

surrounded solely by grass and the low fireflowers that flicker scarlet

under the golden sun. The glowstone walks leading to the Tower are

edged by the fireflowers.

Although four portals open from the Tower, Queryans not belonging to

the Temporal Guard enter only through the South Portal.

The Tower soars from its rectangular base into a dome which climbs

to a spire. The Tower is out-of-time phase, and the spire flares with

the fires of a thousand suns captured in the timeless and untouchable

depths of the faceted slow-glass facing.

The oldest holos of the Tower from the Archives show no change, even

though the mountains in the distance are a shade sharper and the hills

a trace harsher. While Quest has altered in little particulars, the

Tower of Immortals has not.

As I stared at the Tower on that morning that may not have been,

none of this crossed my mind. Too young to note the changes in the

vegetation in the park from century to century, and filled with the

elation of becoming a Guard, I studied the Tower as a present I was

about to receive.

If you see a good holo of the Tower, you can see how the edges blur.

That's because the walls of the Tower proper, except for the

rectangular wings, are partly out-of-time phase, which renders it

indestructible, as well as unchangeable. That's unless the Temporal

Guard were to pull it down stone by stone.

I stood and stared, convincing myself that, red hair and all, I

would be the first of my family in eons, that is, since my grandfather,

to pass the Test and join the Temporal Guard.

Wishing would not make it so, and clutching my illusions, I began to

walk up the glowstones to the south portal. I could have slid right up

to the entrance, but ceremony means much to all Queryans, particularly

when a youngster elects to take the Test.

The portals were dark, but the interior of the Tower was bright with

slow-glass panels, glittering and lit with the light of not only golden

suns, but red suns, blue suns, orange suns, and white suns. Yet for all

the light, as I entered the Tower, I felt a sense of coolness, quiet,

and peace.

Not that I hadn't been there before. With my parents, tutors, and

friends, I had walked all the public corridors, the meeting halls, and

the Hall of Justice.

Before I realized it, I was at the archway to the Testing Hall in

the west wing of the Tower.

A tall woman, with white-blond hair and deep black eyes, waited.

I had heard all the Guard participated in routine functions, and I

concealed my surprise with a curt nod and a simple statement.

"Counselor Freyda."

Query made no distinction between civil and military, between

compulsory and voluntary. The Tests determined who could join the

Guard, and the Guard was the government. Ability determined position in

the Guard, and the Counselors directed the Guards to implement the

policies laid down by the Tribunes.

So I was surprised that Counselor Freyda, rumored to have been a

close friend of my departed and possibly late grandfather, whom many

had said I resembled, would be my examiner.

"Loki," she responded.

It was not a lack of warmth, I felt. Rather we are a laconic people,

except perhaps for me. That's what comes from living until some

accident in a planet-slide or a time fluke does you in.

When you contact the same people over centuries, tight speech and

good manners prevail, and the Counselor had always been impeccably

correct.

"You need not take the Test." Her eyes smiled, knowing I would.

The formal statement was necessary. Some Queryans never took the

Test, used their talents only to travel around Query.

Counselor Freyda had always been an attractive woman, though in my

youthful exuberance, I thought all Queryan women were attractive,

beauty being a matter of degree.

She rose from the simple straight-backed chair and led the way to

the Travel Hall.

The Travel Hall is nothing more than a long, high, slow-glass lit

room at the end of the West Wing of the Tower. A series of small

equipment rooms flanks the Travel Hall. They open directly onto it

through small arches. In practical terms, the Travel Hall is actually

outside the main time-protected walls of the Tower. So is the

Infirmary. If you think about it, it makes sense.

Most Immortals can't planet-slide or time jump from within the out-

of-time phase walls of the main Tower. That's why the Infirmary and the

Travel Hall are "outside."

Freyda conducted me into one of the equipment rooms, the

Counselors', where the slow-glass wall panels were flanked with heavy

gold and black hangings. From the drawers of a carved chest, she took

four wristbands, slipped one over each forearm and handed the remaining

pair to me.

I put them on, not having the faintest idea what they were for.

"The first part is simple. Go undertime as far as you can, or until

I squeeze your arm. When I squeeze, relax, and I'll bring us back.

Understand?"

I was all too aware we made a strange pair, she taller and in black,

so simple and stark next to my red. If I succeeded, I would wear black.

No actual law, but those who serve or have served in the Temporal Guard

wear black. My father said it has been so since before his great-grand-

father's time.

Realizing I had been daydreaming, I nodded abruptly.

Freyda nodded back and grasped my left wrist. I ducked understream.

Instead of latching onto the ground I just concentrated on trying to

force myself full back-time, trying to turn the universe bright red

like me. I could feel the redness flashing against the black of the

time-paths.

Flashes of blue alternated with the sense of back-time red I was

seeing, and I began to feel like I was dragging someone. Freyda was

signaling. I went limp, blanked my mind, and let her carry us back to

the Travel Hall.

"I doubt we need other tests." Her voice was level, but with a trace

of strain, it seemed to me.

Was there any question? I'd been confident of passing for as long as

I could remember. I'd been practicing fore-and back-timing on Query at

least as long as I could read. Not that I could actually break out,

given the Law of Non-Interference, but oh, how I had practiced.

Freyda looked carefully away from me toward the far end of the Hall.

"Custom, however, requires two other phases."

I tensed. What else was necessary?

"Next, slide off Query as you back-time."

"In any direction?"

"How do you determine, Loki?" The question was somewhat pointed,

perhaps because custom, again the unspoken, indicated that I should not

have experimented with off-planet time-slides.

Embarrassed by my gaffe, I tried not to flush, and stammered, "I'm

not sure ... there must be four. I mean, red and blue and gold and

black, except that you could call gold and black, cold and hot. Somehow

gold ought to be hot, but it's cold."

"So you've experimented on your own. I might have guessed. Have you

followed a black line out-system and tried a break-out there?"

Was there a trace of a smile on her face?

"I've followed the lines a little way, but never tried a break-out."

That was certainly true. The Temporal Guard keeps its secrets. I

wasn't about to break-out somewhere or some-when that wasn't favorable

to my continued existence. I had followed the black time-paths both

blue and red directions just up to break-out on a number of worlds. At

that time I had no way of knowing whether they were cold asteroids,

moons, or planets. I thought I knew, but when you're experimenting on

the edge of the forbidden, you hold back. At least, I did then.

"All right. We can skip phase two. Follow any black line back-time,

red direction, as far or as near time as you want. Pick a favorable

break-out. If it's dangerous and you have trouble, I'll recover you."

I picked the strongest time-path till it branched, took what seemed

about a Queryan-sized trail to break-out.

Now, it's easy to say "followed," or "took," but unless you've been

a time-diver, the words don't mean much. You can move your body, but

the work is all inside your head.

When I first started time-diving, I actually tried to walk through

the undertime nothingness. That's a bad habit, like mouthing words when

you read. Unless you break the habit you'll never get any distance. You

mentally "see" the paths and visualize the shade of red or blue. That's

your acceleration back- or fore-time. Most divers can't slide or dive

off the planet's surface except along the black force lines, the arrows

of the stars.

Some of the older races speculated that the suns throw time rays, as

well as other energies. They do, and the black arrows, paths, call them

what you will, are what we follow. You have to know when to get off. If

you follow the strongest path to the end, you'd wind up in the middle

of some star. Not that you'd get that far. The distortion is so great

even in the undertime that you'd have to force yourself beyond the

mental abilities of all but the strongest Temporal Guards to approach

close enough to injure yourself physically.

A knack, that's what it is.

A Guard can feel the "home" sense of the Tower of Immortals if he or

she is near Query. Being both in and out of time, it acts like a

beacon. Even if you lose your path you can home in on it.

With a quick shiver through the mind I popped out, catching a

glimpse of stars in a frozen sky, eyeballs bugging out. Gasping for

breath, I ducked back understream, thinking what a dunce I'd been.

That's it. Pick an easy path, stick your nose out without even a

question as to whether there's any air out there to breathe.

I fired myself back to Query and the Travel Hall.

Freyda arrived a moment later.

"Like your grandfather. Rash. But stronger. With training, you'll

do."

That was my Test.

Sounds simple—but either you can or you can't.

After passing my Test with Counselor Freyda, I slid home to wait the

days or seasons before I was called for training.

"I passed! I passed!" I shouted, plunging onto the porch where my

parents were eating their midday meal.

"I didn't doubt you would for a moment," said my father, scarcely

looking up from his fruit.

"I hope you'll be happy, dear," added my mother.

"But ... I mean ... not everyone ... " I couldn't understand it.

They were the ones who had told me the legends of the Guard.

All of them, from the terrible losses of the Frost Giant/Twilight

Wars to the heroic deeds of Odinthor, the Triumvirate, my grandfather

Ragnorak—all the sacrifices made by the Guard to restore Query to the

glory that had preceded the devastation of the Frost Giants.

I'd gone to sleep so many nights as a child looking up at my

father's shining gold hair, listening to him tell about the hardships

that his father Ragnorak had endured on mission after mission for the

Temporal Guard.

"You don't seem particularly pleased," I charged.

"If that's what you really want, dear," answered my mother, "we're

both happy for you." She smiled so faintly it wasn't a smile and turned

back to her lunch, a wild salad she'd gathered from the woods behind

the house.

Even my father didn't meet my eyes after the first few instants. He

picked at his fruit silently.

I thought about sliding out into the mountains to be alone, but what

difference did it make? I was apparently alone even at home.

My room was on the second level at the back, overlooking the small

gorge which separated the meadow where the house stood from the woods

covering the hills. In the distance on a fair day, I could sometimes

see the heights of the western Bardwall over the evergreens.

I slumped into the hammock chair on the shady side of my small

balcony and stared at the trees.

There was a tap at the door. Doors weren't really necessary, but

were there as a matter of custom and courtesy. Once when I was about

ten, I guess, my door stayed locked for a month. It didn't seem to

matter. That was before I realized my parents could slide around it if

they wanted to.

"Come in," I called, knowing from the sharpness of the knock it was

Dad.

He opened the door quietly, came out, and sat in the high-backed

stool closest to the hammock chair.

"You don't understand, Loki, and you're confused." He waved me to

silence and went on. "How could your father, the son of the great

Ragnorak, hero and Guard, be so casual about your ability and your

decision to join the Guard? I can tell from your face. You're about to

say I couldn't make it, didn't pass my Test."

He smiled gently. "That's not quite true. I never even tried to take

the Test. Nor did your mother. She's the great-granddaughter of Sammis

Olon. I suspect, looking at you, we could have passed. That wasn't the

question. My question was: What's the Guard for?"

What was Dad diving at? And why had he chickened out of taking his

Test? Who was Sammis Olon?

"To protect us," I answered automatically.

"From what? Nobody's seen a Frost Giant in over a million years."

His voice never lifted.

"That doesn't mean there aren't any. And what about the rest of the

universe?" He just didn't seem to understand.

"What about it? There's no danger in it, particularly to you."

I couldn't understand him. "Then why did you tell me all those

stories about the Guard? They were true, weren't they? Weren't they?"

"Yes, Loki, they were true. My father, your grandfather, destroyed

promising civilizations, changed history on a dozen planets that were

no real threat because of a million-year-old fear. When I told you

those stories, I thought you would understand the Guard is a grubby and

unnecessary business. I tried to portray the dangers, the horrors, and

the arbitrary nature of meddling with Time and the lives of innocents."

"Innocents? What about the time the soldiers of the Anarchate blew

off his wrist?" I remembered that one vividly. "Or the time he stopped

the Perrsions from using a planet-buster on Kaldir? Or—"

"Everything I told you was true," he interrupted, "or what my father

told me. Lying wasn't one of his many vices."

"You were jealous of your own father! That's it!" I was seething.

He backed away from me with a strange look in his eyes.

"That's enough, Loki," he said calmly, almost gently. "I don't think

we have much more to talk about. Your mother wanted me to ask about

your decision once more. Passing your Test doesn't mean you have to

join the Guard, but I can see that your mind is made up."

He held up his hand to stop my objections and continued. "The entire

nature of the Guard is subjective. Your mother and I have tried to

become as self-sufficient as possible here. We built the house with our

own hands, harvest what we can from the lands and the woods. In the

Guard you'll find machines to supply everything ... "

He went on and on and on, telling me over and over, way after way

that the Guard was wrong in this, wrong in that. And he'd never been in

the Guard. I wondered if he hated his father for being such a hero.

Obviously I wasn't going to have that problem.

I listened and didn't try to say a word until he finished.

"Thank you, Dad. Is there anything around here that needs to be

done?"

He looked at me as if I'd climbed out from under a rock.

"You really don't understand, do you?" He flexed his forearms,

ridged with the muscles developed from his years of manual self-

sufficiency, and kept staring.

What was there to understand? For some strange reason, he was giving

the Guard a trial and judging it guilty without any firsthand

experience.

We sat there for maybe twenty units, neither of us wanting to say

anything. An odd picture—a young man and a youth almost a man, yet one

was father, one son. On Query you can't tell age by physical

appearances.

Finally, Dad slipped off the stool, brushed his longish hair back

off his forehead, and walked back into the house.

"You're welcome here as long as you want to stay, son." And damn it,

he sounded like he meant it.

I kept watching the trees, as if I could see them grow or something.

They didn't. Only thing that grew was their shadows.

The first few days of summer were like that. I couldn't take the

sitting. Thought about Dad's comments on the Guard, the harsh

conditions, the struggles, and I got scared. Just a little.

Why should I have been scared? I didn't know, but I Started in with

the ax and split a winter's worth of wood in a ten-day.

Next came the running. If the Guard wanted toughness, I intended to

be ready. I've got heavy thighs and short legs. Do you know what

running over sandy hills is like with small feet and short legs?

I tried to chase down flying gophers. Never caught one, but within a

ten-day I was getting pretty close before they disappeared into their

sand holes.

At first, the temptation to cheat on the running, to slide a bit

ahead undertime, was appealing, but I figured that wouldn't help my

conditioning much. Besides, I could already slide from rock tip to rock

tip without losing my balance.

Once when I was sprinting back across the meadow to the house, I

caught a glimpse of Dad watching through the railings. I don't think he

knew I saw him and the expression on his face—pride mixed with

something else, confusion, sadness, I don't know.

Through all the quiet meals we shared those long ten-days, I knew

they didn't understand, couldn't understand.

One morning a Guard trainee in black arrived with a formal

invitation from the Tribunes for me to begin training.

Along with the invitation was a short list of what I was to bring

with the notation that nothing else was required.

That made packing pretty easy.

III

Ten of us were ushered into a small Tower room with comfortable

stools, a podium, and a wall screen.

Six young women, four young men, girls and boys really, we sat and

waited. None of us knew each other, and with the reticence common to

Query, no one said anything.

I couldn't stand it.

"I'm Loki." I glared at the tall girl. She had her black hair cut

short, and, surprisingly, it suited her.

"Loragerd," she said gravely.

The other women were Halcyon, Aleryl, Shienl, Patrice, and Canine.

The men were Ferrin, Gill, Tyron. I thought women and men, but we were

all at that age of being neither youth nor adult.

Like rocks on the beach, waiting, we sat.

Through the open archway marched a small man dressed in the black

singlesuit of the Guard. On his left collar was a four-pointed silver

star. His hair was so black it was blue, and his dark eyes glittered.

"Good morning, trainees. I'm Gilmesh, and this will be your

indoctrination lecture." He settled himself behind the podium, studied

each of us for a fraction of a unit, cleared his throat, and went on.

"First and foremost, the Guard relies on voluntary subjection to

absolute discipline. The rules are few and absolute. But why do you

think we have to do it this way?"

Dead silence. No one was about to volunteer anything, which was just

as well because Gilmesh rushed on as if he hadn't expected an answer.

"The Guard is a small organization with a big job. We don't have the

personnel to coddle discipline problems. Minor offenses merit special

work-assignments or dismissal. Major offenses normally result in a

sentence to Hell and dismissal. High Crimes lead to a sentence to Hell

and a chronobotomy."

I understood everything but the last term. Most of us must have worn

the same puzzled expression because he stopped and explained.

"Chronobotomy—that's a condensation of a medical term I'm not

certain I can remember, let alone pronounce. Means surgical removal of

all time-diving abilities." At that point the room seemed a whole lot

colder. "Well ... what does the Guard do?" asked Gilmesh, ignoring the

chill he had created with his casual revelations. "The Guard is charged

with the maintenance of civil order on Query, the elimination of

possible threats to Query and other peace-loving races in our sector of

the galaxy, and the encouragement of peace. That's it." Gilmesh

surveyed the ten of us.

"Any of you may drop out of the trainee program at any time in the

next three years before we get to field training—and probably half of

you will. If you decide to leave the Guard after that, you're

responsible for two years of administrative duties or an equivalent

sentence on Hell. Administrative duties are routine clerical or

maintenance functions. In return you'll receive restricted time-diving

privileges to a number of systems. Is that clear?"

It was quite clear, even to a group of mixed-age youngsters.

Gilmesh went on outlining more guidelines, rules, regulations,

without arousing much interest until the end of his spiel.

"Academic training will take four years roughly, and diving training

will start about two years from now. You will not, I repeat, not,

attempt any time-diving on your own during this period until you are

cleared by the Guard. Here's why."

The screen flashed on again, and the narrator began cataloguing the

possible dangers of diving by untrained personnel. Impressive—airless

planets, planets with poisonous atmospheres, predators, black holes,

everything that could possibly go wrong.

It ended with a condensation of the Last Law. "No time manipulation

by a member of a species can undo the death of any other species member

from that same base system." Translated loosely, once a Queryan dies,

no amount of time-fiddling by the Guard can undo that death. If you

blow it and die, you stay dead. Dead is dead.

As I recalled from school, the casualties among the earliest time-

divers had been fantastic ... well over eighty percent. I was beginning

to see why. You don't think about it as a child. You slide where you

want to on the planet, and even if you back-time or fore-time on Query

itself, you can't break-out. You feel safe.

Gilmesh ended the indoctrination lecture by giving room assignments

in the West Barracks. He dismissed us after telling us to locate our

rooms, drop off our gear, and report back in one hundred units.

We did and when we returned were directed to Special Stores for

uniform fittings. We each got four black single-suits and a green four-

pointed star to go on the collar.

That was the beginning of the routine.

The classroom work didn't seem all that hard, not to me, but within

weeks Shienl and Gill had left.

I enjoyed the mechanical theory class, taught by a blond giant of a

man called Baldur. Often he was units late or held us, and his

explanations of the importance of mechanics in culture could be long-

winded.

Baldur asked questions—lots of them—in a quiet light voice that

penetrated, made you listen.

"Tyron, I know you're not the most mechanically inclined trainee,

but you do have the capability to understand the basic outline of

something as simple as a generator."

Tyron flushed and mumbled, "Is it that important?"

Baldur didn't raise his voice, didn't seem flustered, just asked

another question.

"Tyron, most cultures have a ruling class or elite or power

structure. That elite's position is normally based on its control of

the available technology, directly or indirectly, and its ability to

direct the use of resources. Control and direction are maximized when

that elite understands the technology it directs. What happens when an

elite loses its collective ability to understand the basis of the tech-

nology it controls?"

"I don't understand. What does that have to do with generators?"

I didn't understand either, but both Loragerd and Halcyon nodded as

if they did, and Ferrin grinned.

"Loragerd?" Baldur asked.

"They begin to lose control. They aren't the elite anymore."

"What about the Guard?" countered Ferrin.

I thought it was a dumb question.

"It's all dumb," protested Patrice. "Ruling classes don't just

disappear. And the Guard's no elite."

Baldur never let it go with a simple resolution. "Is the Guard an

elite?"

Tyron suppressed a groan, I could tell, but I didn't see why. Sure

the Guard was an elite. Pretty obvious.

"Yes," I burst out.

"Why don't you finish the logic for Tyron, then, Loki?"

What logic? I didn't have any, but I decided I'd better bumble

through as well as I could.

"If the Guard is an elite," I started slowly, "then it must control

some technology. If Guards don't understand technology, then the Guard

will lose control." I paused before the immediate objection came to

mind. "But the Guard has its powers because Guards can time-dive, and

that's not based on technology."

"It's not?" responded Baldur. "How can you power stunners without

generators? How can you stay warm and dry in storms without heat or

housing, without becoming a rootless society that shifts with the

weather? I'll admit the line is harder to draw for Query, but it's

still valid."

He stopped, cleared his throat, and continued speaking. "That's

something you all ought to think about. In the case of a mid-tech

culture like Sertis, the example is clear ... "

He launched into a description of how the local monarchs ruled

through control of the water supplies—the water empire model, he

called it.

We got back to generators before too long, and this time Tyron paid

attention. Why the digression would have motivated him I didn't see.

That was because I thought generators were more interesting than all

that speculative stuff about elites and control.

We had other courses, too, on the administrative law of the Guard,

on meteorology, EQ biology, comparative weaponry—a whole mishmash.

The first year was a sort of crash backgrounder.

In the second year, along with more advanced mechanical and

technical training, Baldur started us on simple equipment repairs in a

side area of the Maintenance Hall.

Patrice protested.

"Why do we have to know how to put all this tangled junk back

together? I'm not going to be a mechanic. I'm a diver."

Baldur just smiled. "Do you want an answer, or are you angry because

it's difficult?"

Patrice glowered at him. "An answer."

"As a diver, you will be using this equipment, and you'll use it

better if you understand it. Understanding only comes when you have a

feel for it. Knowing how to repair it gives that feel.

"Incidentally, Patrice," he finished in a milder tone, "no one in

the Guard is just a time-diver. We all have support jobs as well. If

not in Maintenance, then in Linguistics, Medical, Assignments,

Research, Archives, or what have you."

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THEFIRESOFPARATIMEByL.E.Modesitt[??apr2002—scannedbyBW-SciFi][14apr2002—proofedbyWizWav]IPictureaman,or,ifyouwill,awoman,standinginanemptyroom,aplainhalllitbyslow-glasspanelsandgreenglowstonefloors.Thepersonstandingtherewearsablackjumpsuitwithafour-pointedstarontheleftcollarandwidesilveredwristbands...

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Modesitt, L.E. - Timedivers -Timegods - 01 - The Fires of Pa.pdf

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Modesitt, L.E. - Timedivers -Timegods - 01 - The Fires of Pa

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