By the time Brannog and Guile had helped Korbillian into the inn, the huge man had succumbed to his extraordinary ordeal with the sea and had collapsed, unconscious, in their arms. There was now a blazing fire: Eorna had seen to it at once, having observed Brannog on the quay almost from the moment he had gone out there. Now she busied herself bringing logs into the long room and keeping a stock of peat blocks in readiness. Korbillian was stretched across the pelts before the hearth and Guile began stripping the wet clothes from him at once. Eorna made to help, reaching for the long gloves, but Guile gestured her away. For a second his look scared her and she turned to Brannog for guidance, but he shook his head.

'Fetch something warm,’ he said ‘Soup.’

She obeyed at once. Brannog had already tossed fresh clothing and skins down at Guile's feet. ‘You'd be wise to remove your own sodden clothes. A man can die of a chill like that.’

Guile satisfied himself that his companion had been made comfortable, however, before he stripped. His body was pale, lean, hardly a muscle visible beneath that taut skin, and his joints stood out in the flickering firelight. Where had his amazing strength come from that he had withstood that terrible cold? No man of Sundhaven would have survived it. Brannog saw before him a gangling figure that looked as though a strong wind could either pick it up and fling it effortlessly aside, or at least snap those brittle-looking bones in a single gust. Yet the key to the man's obvious reserves was his face. The eyes were piercing, the features finely cut, as if wrought by a skilful artist bent on emphasising character. Intelligent, alert, even now, with exhaustion hovering at his elbow, Guile exuded a natural aura, which strangely served to put Brannog on his guard. And Guile somehow had about him a confidence bordering on the insolent, although Brannog had wit enough of his own to allow that this could be his own unfair judgement. Certainly he felt at a disadvantage, yet Guile could surely not match him for strength.

As Eorna returned, Guile finished wrapping himself up in Brannog's welcome furs. Guile eagerly began on the hot soup that the girl placed upon a table beside him. Korbillian remained unconscious, curled up like a huge hound asleep beside the blaze. While Guile ate, the door opened from time to time and the room half filled with fishers, invited by Brannog, their shapes materialising like phantoms from the storm. Outside it had returned, the wind redoubling its efforts to uproot the village and fling it into the sea, just as Guile had said. The air in the hall moved, trembling with draughts that found out each minute chink in the defenses of the building. Dawn had broken, but the men yet needed oil lamps to see by; their wavering flames threw elongated shadows around the room.

'Your name is Guile,’ said Brannog, so that everyone could hear. He had seen that all the men of the village were now here. He spoke the name in a way that emphasised its peculiarity.

'That is so. It is how I have been named by men who consider themselves to be amusing. Even so, I have adopted it, as it amuses me.’

'Are you comfortable enough to speak, or would you prefer to rest before you speak to us?’ No one would question Brannog's right to offer this, not in his own home. By bringing the two strangers here he had accepted responsibility for them and for their actions. There were those present, however, who wondered why he had done so.

'I will sleep later, if you will permit me. First, I feel that we owe you certain explanations.’ Guile said this with more than a hint of a smile on his lips. If it had been meant to set the gathering at ease, it had failed. Guile did not react to their evident suspicion.

Brannog saw no point in prolonging matters and replied bluntly. ‘Where are you and your companion from, and what is your purpose? When we have heard that, we will decide if we are prepared to act as hosts to you.’

'You will hear my companion's side of things when he is well enough to tell you. I give you my word that he will hide none of it from you. As for me—well, I will attempt to explain. My thanks for the broth. It has put back much of what the storm took away.’ He pushed the empty bowl aside, wiping at his mouth with a crooked finger. Leaning back, he eyed the company before him. Other men would have flinched under their combined stares. They could quite easily have torn him limb from limb, these hardy northerners, Guile knew, and yet Brannog had said they would be terrified. They hid that well, Guile noted, but he could sense their fear. Like woodsmoke, it hung heavily on the air.

'You are men of the sea,’ he told them. ‘More at home upon it than upon the land, I would surmise. Some of you must have voyaged far out across that ocean outside.’

No one as much as intimated that his statements were accurate, but Guile was completely undeterred. He knew that his ease would work to his advantage. ‘Some of you may well have heard of the Chain of Goldenisle. It is a complex cluster of islands, some of them minute, others quite the reverse. Legends have it that the Chain was once one island, a vast continent, in fact, that the forces of nature saw fit to pull apart.’ The implication that the elements had acted with a will of their own was not lost on the fishers. Brannog wondered why Guile should couch his words in such a way as to arouse potential derision. He was, however, a stranger.

'I digress. The Chain of Goldenisle. Is it known to you?’

Brannog answered for them. ‘By word of mouth only. We have no need to fish so far afield. And we could not know if we would be welcome in so remote a place.’

Guile chuckled. ‘Ah, wise! You are probably quite right. To sail unannounced into any of the ports of the Chain (even the tiny southern isles) would probably reap you an unwanted reward. Strange days are upon the Chain. The Emperor, who has taken the liberty of bestowing that grand title upon himself (for he was born a king but could not rest content with that), is at war. Or so he believes. Quite with who he is at war, no one is sure. But it is considered imprudent to inquire of the Emperor. It is, indeed, less than wise to seek the Emperor's advice on anything. Quanar Remoon, you see, is quite mad. At least, I am convinced of it, as are more than a few of his highborn retainers. However, Quanar Remoon, Most High Descendant of the Bloodline, Emperor of the Chain, and so on, is also extremely powerful. There are those in his court who enjoy a large share in this power, and it well suits them to keep him happily raving atop his priceless throne.’

As his rambling tale unfolded, Guile was quite aware that his audience, hostile though it may have been initially, was secretly warming to his words. They were fishers—he had their mark—and it was in their blood to sit beside a fire and weave tales. Instead of cursing him and calling for a swift accounting of himself (which was what they desired foremost) they were ready to listen to his full account. Yet they remained like men hewn from forest oaks.

'The Emperor, in keeping with the peoples of our world of Omara (as far as is known, and much is known of Omara in the Chain, for we are a travelled race) does not believe in the existence of gods, and of course, if he did, he would resent having to pay homage to them. Children speak of such things, of course, just as they speculate upon ghosts and other mythological fantasies. But the Emperor has made it quite clear that gods are not to be tolerated. Nor is any belief in magic, high or low, or power of any kind.”

'We are not bound by his decrees’ cut in Brannog. ‘Yet these are also strongly held beliefs in Sundhaven.’

'Indeed, as they seem to be over much of Omara. Quanar Remoon, however, reserves the right to invest certain amounts of power in himself. He has not yet gone so far as to declare himself a god, although given suitable encouragement, I am certain he would do so. Fortunately he has no magic powers, otherwise he would have worked some ghastly fate upon the whole of Omara. He is as petulant as a child, with no more self-control. Well, I have painted a brief picture of my Emperor. I was born in the shadow of the inner citadel's walls, and I have to say here that my people should not be despised, as, for the most part they themselves are not mad. (Possibly some of them are, for I cannot claim to share the acquaintance of them all.) Yet the Emperor is a lunatic, enforcing laws that need no enforcing (being held in common belief) and being repaid with obedience. There is, of course, the war, but as the Emperor is the only one who knows much about that, little is said of it. We do have a most impressive army, and navy, but I have heard no reports of battles.

'Now, I have no great wish to recount my own dull history in any detail. Once I was a man of some position at court, but like all such men I had my enemies, and suffice it to say they found a way to discredit me (a despicable business, a fabrication of lies built around alcohol and certain young ladies) and I was demoted far down the ranks. I became a mere clerk to one of the Administrators, whose task it was to keep an eye on me. I was as good as a prisoner, for my movements were restricted. As a clerk, I did have access to certain information, most of it exceedingly dry and boring, and I was required to keep ledgers and records by the score. My only compensation was that I was able to place my not unobtrusive nose into places where, had it been discovered, it would not have been welcomed.’ This remark brought not only a rash of smiles from the listeners but a distinct chuckle or two from the half-light. ‘It was from such a position of opportunity that I first learned of the arrival in the city of the man stretched out before you.’ Guile nodded at Korbillian.

'He comes from afar,’ he went on, with a deliberate glance at Brannog. ‘You will hear that tale from him. So, to my own again. It was quite clear from gossip that I managed to glean from the halls of the court that the stranger was, how can I put it? A heretic? His views were, to say the very least, unorthodox, as you shall hear. At any rate, it was murmured that a man had come ashore on one of the lesser isles to the west of the Chain and had declared himself possessed of certain powers. Naturally he was assumed to be a simpleton. Had he chosen another country (if indeed he chose the Chain, I am not sure) he would very probably have been dismissed. Politely but briefly indulged, but ignored soon enough. However, word of this man of supposed power reached the ears of Quanar Remoon. He was unable to resist meeting him. No sooner had the imperial decree been uttered (the Emperor does not make requests, nor issue orders: each gesture is an imperial decree) than the stranger was brought to court. According to my informant's report, there was a guard of some hundred fighting men sent to act as escort. This suggested to me that Quanar Remoon rather took the man's claim to power seriously.

'I could not have hoped to be present at the interview between Emperor and stranger, but something of that auspicious occasion did come down to me. The entire court buzzed in contemplation of the event. Again I must excuse myself from speaking for Korbillian, as he would prefer to do so himself (and I assure you he is far more eloquent than I in unveiling his cause) but I can say that he inspired great consternation. He openly professed to be able to unleash certain powers. How should a nation react to this? With laughter? Or with death? Whatever the choice, none would accept such a thing. And yet the Emperor (believing himself to be possessed of power) confused his subjects by tolerating the stranger and claiming to understand him. He went so far as to hold private conversations with the man, and I am sure that he hoped to learn from him the secrets of the power that he secretly believed him to possess.

'At the time of Korbillian's sojourn in the citadel (although it was incarceration in truth) I was a man of open mind. I had no reason to go against the grain of public belief, the common holding that gods and power are mythologies. By power I speak of magic power, you understand. What some would call sorcery. Not power of position, power over others, control, military power. Oh, I understand all these things. Indeed, yes. Social stature, riches. I had dreamed of them all often. I had none of them, so not unnaturally I was envious of those who had them. My position was now intolerable. Having once been so much better off, I craved a means of reinstating myself. I strove to better myself, though I wondered if the Administrator who watched me was in the keep of my enemies. My curiosity for the stranger was intense, and grew more so. If he did possess power, if such a thing were truly possible, then how could someone like myself turn it to my advantage? It was, I agree, a foolish contemplation, but my nights were often taken up with such longings.

'Yet how could I, no more than a clerical menial, hope to meet this closely guarded stranger, much less borrow from him such arts as I could to better myself? I considered countless ways, but discarded each as hopeless. I took to enlisting the help of cheap wine to assist my plans, but in truth the potent stuff (which I was not used to) only enhanced my bitterness and resentment. To reach the stranger, I would need to reach the Emperor first, and this would entail such a complicated chain of command that I could have no hope of getting even close to the inner court. I despaired and drank even more wine. And yet one idea grew in my mind. It was a high risk, but wine makes one laugh at risks.

'One night, quite drunk, I summoned the most superior Administrator that I could (although his rank was not especially high) and I let it be known, quite loudly, that I had been the recipient of a vision. Not a dream, mark you, but a vision. It came, I insisted, from the stranger. I would divulge its details to the Emperor alone. My principal fear was that nothing more would be said and that the Administrator, Angat Fulwat, would dismiss the incident at once. At first he sought to drag the secrets of my vision from me (not by torture, as he was anxious that no word of my supposed vision reached other ears and brought officials running, dripping curiosity). I held resolutely to my desire to speak of the vision only to the Emperor.

'Angat Fulwat was equally resolute. Quanar Remoon did not speak to lowly clerks, much less discredited ones. “It is for your own good that you are kept away from the inner court,” he told me stiffly. “I doubt that he knows of your indiscretions personally, but if he did so, you can imagine what he would have done to you. He can be extremely unpleasant when it suits him.” That sobered me. I saw at once the strong argument of his words and realised I had allowed the wine to speak for me. “Forgive me,” I told the Administrator. “I overreach myself.” He seemed suddenly very thoughtful. “Mind you,” he said at last, “you do have a point. This vision may be of vast importance. The Emperor is anxious to solve the riddle posed by the stranger.” “I will describe it to you at once,” I told him, but he shook his head. “You will not! As you rightly say, the Emperor alone should hear of it.” With that he left me, now a very sober man, to my thoughts. I had trapped myself.

'Word was sent to the Emperor, unfortunately bypassing my enemies who would have snuffed it out, and he sent a dozen of his Imperial Killers to fetch me. Their title had always seemed rather pompous to me, as I doubted that any of them had ever killed anything larger than a cockroach, but when they confronted me, complete with armoured regalia, I promise you, my bowels almost betrayed me. The Killers were most awesome, and it struck me then that every one of them had doubtless been chosen as he had killed in his time, likely beginning with the least favourite member of his own family.’

Again there were chuckles among the fishers. Brannog would have smiled, but the business of the vision, however spurious, bothered him. Even so, he liked the man's honesty, although there were still many disturbing things about his arrival here that had to be resolved. He had said nothing of the man he called Korbillian, and yet had told Brannog privately that he was a man of another world. Such things were not possible.

'I was taken directly to Quanar Remoon, and although I had glimpsed him from time to time, this was the first occasion on which I had faced him close to. He was remarkably young and handsome, but his eyes spoke quite clearly of his madness. They never seemed to fix upon anything for more than a few seconds, as if he spent his waking hours gazing deeply into a world that no one else knew existed. Again, he would smile at unexpected moments, scowl inappropriately, or sigh or chuckle entirely at odds with conversations or events around him. Fortunately I was presented to him on a night when his humour was predominantly good. Angat Fulwat, to my undying gratitude, had seen to it that nothing of my past history had reached his ears before my interview. He would, Angat told me, otherwise have assumed me an assassin.

'It was only when I stood before him that it came to me that I must be at least as insane as the Emperor, otherwise I would never have let my tongue drag me into the situation I was in.

’”Ah,” said Quanar Remoon, with a smile that I felt in my stomach, “I perceive the man of vision.” You note he did not use the plural, thus totally obscuring the meaning. Again my stomach curdled. What, precisely, was he expecting of me? “I am most interested in what you have to say.” He was, incidentally, paying considerable attention to a fly, and I wondered at any possibility of his addressing it rather than myself. There was no one else present.

’”I must crave forgiveness, Lord Emperor, for having disturbed you with my dreams, but I thought it most prudent that you hear their content as you are known to be highly astute.”

’”I was not chosen as Emperor purely because I was my father's son,” he commented, as though a great philosopher propounding a vast theory of life. I retained sufficient sanity not to argue. “Well,” he went on impatiently. “We are alone. I will hear more.” He sat and involved his hands with a bowl of rich fruit, so that again I could not be sure that he was listening to me. “In my dream,” I began, “I saw a man, a strange man, not of your Empire, who came out of the western darkness, wielding strange powers. He was making his way to your very gates, Lord Emperor. I feared that he would sunder them and advance upon your city.” I said no more for the moment, hoping to assess his preliminary reaction.

“Powers? What powers?” he replied, words muffled by the peach he was sucking.

’”This man is lying,” came a cold, stern voice, and I shuddered as if someone had cast a bucket of icy water over me from behind. The strange man I had heard of (I had no doubt at all that this was the very same) had stepped from behind a pillar, quite brazenly, and now stood menacingly before me. Oddly, it was not his face that drew my eyes (although I had never seen its like before) but his arms. He had placed them on his hips, and from elbow to fingertip they were sheathed in gloves, as though dipped in midnight.’ Precisely as Guile had intended, every eye in the room went to the arms of the man stretched before the fire. The unusual gloves were clearly visible.

’”Why do you say so, Korbillian?” demanded Quanar Remoon casually.

’”Kill him at once,” was the retort. “He is no more than an ambitious menial, seeking to impress.” As I heard this death knell, tolling my demise, as it were, I could already see my head adorning some high parapet of the inner courtyard. The Emperor rose at once but turned his back on both of us. He paced away, seemingly lost in thought, just as though his next decision would have repercussions the length and breadth of his Empire. As he moved away, Korbillian brushed past me, and his voice was a silken whisper.

’”I have just saved you from death,” he staggered me by saying. “The Emperor likes to make decisions for himself. No one else is allowed an original thought. Keep your wits, man.”

’”What do you want?” I whispered back, my eyes fixed on the Emperor's back. He could hear nothing of our secret exchange.

’”I am a prisoner. I must not remain here. Trust me, as I will you. You must get me away.”

The Emperor turned around, took a deep breath, then emitted a weighty sigh. “No, Korbillian. I have read his mind. Oh yes, doubtless a shock to you both. But I have already hinted at the powers I possess. And this man does not lie. He saw you in his vision, lusting for my city and for my power. It is time to dispense with the subterfuge.”

’”I am not your enemy,” replied Korbillian in such a way that it was evident that he had spoken the words many times previously. “I came here to warn you.” I was naturally intrigued, but Korbillian did not elaborate.

'The Emperor waved his words away. “My man,” he addressed me (as a father addresses a son almost) and beckoned me to him. I went nervously. “Kill you? Absurd. A trick. No. Now, tell me about this strange man. Who is he? What is his purpose? Your dreams can unlock the truth he has hidden from me.”

’”My dreams, Lord Emperor, were so confused, so disjointed —.”

’”No matter. Reveal them. They will not confuse your Emperor.” His arm was about me (though I would have preferred the embrace of a constrictor) and his eyes closed in anticipation of I knew not what. But I chose the easiest course. I recited several dreams (all totally fabricated) which were as grotesque and obscure as my imagination could make them, riddled with symbols and splintered actions. At the end of my exhaustive confession, the Emperor nodded and began pacing about. He looked at Korbillian with a knowing smile. “These are things you did not tell me,” he said. “Things you sought to hide from me.”

’”They are the ramblings of an idiot,” said Korbillian, quite correctly, I have to confess, but he had the measure of Quanar Remoon, who seemed to believe exactly the opposite of anything the stranger told him. In a while I saw that jealousy was the reason for this.

’”What do my visions mean?” I asked innocently. “Have I done right in confiding them to you?”

’”Indeed!” laughed the Emperor. “Yes, indeed! Quite clearly this man has come here to poison me, usurp my throne, cast down my loyal Administrators, replace them with his own men (men who lurk within the city already, your dreams suggest) and carry war to the whole of Omara. You deny this?” he flung at Korbillian.

'Korbillian stared at him, and his coolness amazed me. “Quanar,” he said after a moment, “you said those very words to me when I first came to you. I denied them then; I deny them now. I am here to serve you.”

'The Emperor turned back to me. “Tell him!” he laughed. “Yes, tell him!”

'I gaped. “Lord?”

’”The dream—the final dream! Tell this upstart what happened in your last vision, the climax to your gaze into the future. Tell him the fate meted out to him.”

'My mind was racing like a rat trapped by fire, but a shaft of inspiration stabbed at me. “Oh, Lord Emperor!” I cried, dropping to my knees dramatically. “It was you, you who sent the visions! Your power cannot be denied. You sent these visions to me.”

'He scowled down thunderously, and if he had been holding a sword, I am sure he would have split my skull in two with it. Then his smile returned. “Of course,” he agreed gently. “You understand. I sent the visions. I will not explain why; the mystery is too deep for you.”

’”And the final vision—the fate of Korbillian—that too. You showed me how you had decided not to kill the stranger, but to grant him a fate much worse than that, more painful, more enduring.”

'Quanar Remoon's smile faded. Had I overplayed my part? “Was the stranger not executed?” he demanded. “His pieces not scattered throughout the Empire, one to every island in the Chain?”

’”You are too cunning, too far-sighted,” I bowed. “You banished him to the eastern lands, Lord, placing upon him your curse, that he would tread their wastes for a thousand years.” It was the first thing that occurred to me, for in the city we had heard only the faintest rumours as to what lies in the interior of the great eastern landmass.

’”You have recalled every detail precisely, save one,” corrected the Emperor. “It was for a hundred thousand years.”

’”Ah, even so,” I bowed again.

'Korbillian had listened to this without a flicker of emotion, yet somehow I sensed his amusement. “I salute your genius,” he told Quanar Remoon. “To kill me would have brought my followers out from their holes like locusts. But to banish me,” he sighed. “Too clever. Now my followers will never find me, though of course you will have it announced that I have left. Doubtless you will not tell them where you have sent me?”

’”You are wrong. I will announce that I have sent you, under escort, to toil in the quarries of the far western archipelagos. Your followers can spend their time digging for you there.”

'Korbillian bowed to this seeming masterplay. “No one but you will know the truth,” he told the Emperor. “Except, of course, this man.” His words chilled me. I had assumed, for some reason, that we were allies, as we had been teamed against our mad ruler. But now I was unsure. I knew nothing of the man's true purpose. “Unless you kill him, as I have already suggested,” he added.

’”What pleasure it would give your enemy, Lord,” I hastily cut in. “To see you kill the man who has unmasked him.”

'Quanar Remoon frowned. “And yet you would know the truth, the location of his banishment. One indiscreet word and his followers would find him. I cannot risk that. Ah, of course! I will have your tongue cut out. And your hands will have to be struck off.”

’”I would rather die, Lord Emperor!”

’”And have this traitor laugh? I'll not permit it.”

’”Then I must make the necessary sacrifice, Lord,” I babbled on. “The one hinted at in another dream, that I had not connected with this business, and yet which now, clearly, I see—”

’”I do not recall having sent any further dreams” retorted the Emperor, and my heart shrivelled under his gaze. “And yet, you speak of sacrifice?”

’”Yes, Lord. I have done what little I can to serve you. Now I have become a burden to you. Let me depart, therefore. Let me leave the Chain of Goldenisle, not to wander in exile, but to find a home elsewhere, where the secrets known to me can never fall into the hands of your enemies.”

’”I can recall the dream now,” said the Emperor. “Of course I do. The remote shores of the eastern lands.”

’”And for me?” I asked.

’”I have said.”

’”I thought you meant that for him, Lord Emperor?”

’”Indeed. But the details have come back to me. Since I am to send a ship to the remote east, I must place on board some apparent representative, otherwise people would wonder at the ship's going. You will be that man. I will invest in you some wondrous cause, the conversion of the wild people of the interior. The formation of an outpost of Empire. And down in the hold of the ship will be this wicked man. Of course, once you have landed, you may both go your separate ways. Was not that the essence of the dream?”

’”The minutest detail is precise,” I agreed at once, although I was not a happy man.’