Changer (Athanor) by Jane Lindskold Page B

helped him order suitable attire.  The former dog coyote now wears a dark green cotton shirt open at the neck and blue jeans, the knees of the latter begrimed with the marks of puppy paws.
    Sitting relaxed in one of the chairs, his daughter crouched between his bare feet, her nose wriggling as she catalogs the newcomers’ scents, the Changer looks scarcely less civilized than he does as a coyote—and far less so than he does as a raven.  As often before, Arthur wonders how much of this is pose, how much is the ancient’s naturally protean nature.
    When Lovern seats himself across from the Changer, the contrast is marked.  Like the Changer, Lovern wears his hair long, but his hair is silver and gathered in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck.  His tidy beard and mustache are the same shade of silver-grey and his eyes an icy blue.  Although his attire is casual, his off-white button-down shirt and khaki trousers are custom-tailored.  Needless to say, he is shod.
    The wizard wears several pieces of jewelry: a loose chain, a wide bracelet on his left wrist, several rings on his fingers.  One of these, Arthur knows, holds a truthstone set low in its open silver band so that it can touch the wearer’s hand.
    Truthstones are amulets of transient power and, undeclared, are considered a great rudeness.  Arthur is willing to take this risk to confirm the Changer’s story.  Lovern agrees, for he has always used his magic as would best suit his needs without concern for what offense he might offer.
    Given what the wizard is capable of, this truthstone is a mild enough affront.  The Changer might even agree.
    Vera, seated to the Changer’s left, is charged with making certain that if he does take affront, the violence is minimized.  Warrior maid, warrior saint, she is well suited to the job, although her hands are currently busy with weaving a pouch from beads, needle, and thread.
    Eddie is, as ever, bodyguard to his King.  His light sports shirt and khaki trousers could conceal nothing, but his wrestler’s shoulders and heavy arms remain weapons that cannot be taken from him.  
    Their casual circle of five—six if one includes the puppy—is shielded from eavesdroppers by one of Lovern’s spells, a neat little thing that replaces what is said with other words that will match the lip movements.  Thus, not even a lip-reader could garner the truth of what is being said.
    Clearing his throat, Arthur turns to the Changer.  “I’ve filled Lovern in on the basics.  However, I was wondering if you would tell him your tale yourself.”
    The Changer nods.  In that dry, throaty, almost growl of a voice, he recounts his family’s death and his investigations thereafter.  Lovern listens, nodding sympathetically and asking an occasional question.  He is too good to let on whether the truthstone reveals any falsehood, but since he does not speak a prearranged phrase to inform Arthur of deception, Arthur assumes that the Changer’s honesty (on this matter) is confirmed.
    He feels vaguely relieved.  It isn’t that he precisely likes the Changer, but he respects the ancient—and he had hated to contemplate what would have happened if he had been forced to challenge the shapeshifter’s story.  Now all that remains is telling old Proteus that Lilith may not be the enemy he seeks.
    Eddie takes his cue from Lovern.  “Changer, I’ve been researching the information you brought us, and while it does seem to point to Lilith, I’m not certain that wily bitch would have left so clear a trail.”
    The Changer frowns.  “My late mate was a bitch—Lilith is a witch and a black one at that.  Perhaps she believed that I would be slain with the rest.”
    “I can’t buy that,” Eddie says, brushing a hand through his dark curls, his attitude casually brave.  “She knows that you shift shape without preparation—you’re not restricted by a sorcerer’s rituals.  Unless slain instantly, you would escape.”
    Vera