altar, he formally
identified himself--"Esteban Tarlac of Clan Ch'kara, Ranger of the
Terran Empire"--and bowed, hands crossed over his bare chest. That was
as much to the statuettes on the altar's upper tier as to the two
rulers. "I ask the blessing of the Circle of Lords as I attempt this
final part of the Ordeal they ask of me."

The green-robed First Speaker extended her hand to touch his forehead.
"That they give you, child of two worlds. They will be with you in
this." Her touch of blessing, her quiet words, carried more than
reassurance and serenity, though he was unable to exactly define the
feeling they brought him. When he turned to the Supreme, his hands were
dry.

"Are you prepared?" the male ruler asked.

"I am prepared," Tarlac replied.

Hovan and Yarra moved to stand at either end of the altar while the
First Speaker took a small gold cup from its center and extended it, in
both hands, to the Ranger.

Tarlac accepted the cup, raised it in salute to the Lords, and drank,
almost nauseated by the syrupy, too-sweet liquid. He returned the
empty cup and turned again to face the Supreme, who reached out and
rested extended claws just below the base of Tarlac's throat. "Tell
me, Ranger, when the sweetness turns bitter," the Traiti said quietly.

"I will."

The liquid, Tarlac knew, was a highly specific drug called Ordeal
poison, the dose measured carefully for his body mass and metabolism.
It was primarily a nerve-impulse enhancer that affected pain responses
most strongly during its short period of influence--but it had another,
more dangerous property. Losing consciousness while the drug was
working was fatal.

This part of the Ordeal tested willpower and endurance with direct,
basic simplicity; while Traiti were harder to injure than humans, and
healed more rapidly, they were as subject to pain as their smaller
cousins. Even the drug's brief effect cost some candidates their lives
as agony robbed them of consciousness.

But remaining conscious was all--all? Tarlac thought--that was
required. If he made it that far, he'd be getting medical help within
seconds, from the clan's chief physician herself and from a human
doctor, one of the prisoners, whom Channath had asked to have present.

The Ordeal poison was working. Tarlac tasted bitterness from the foam
forming in his mouth, and the Supreme's claws seemed to gouge his skin,
though he knew they were touching him as lightly as before. "