Sisipher awoke in darkness. She thought she heard the beat of wings, but told herself it must have been the breeze outside, or else the echo of her dreams. The conversation between Ratillic and Kirrikree puzzled her. There were still mysteries surrounding Korbillian that had to be clarified. Gently she moved, finding that she was slumped against Wolgren. He was fast asleep, his arms locked protectively about her, and very slowly she tried to move them. He was awake at once.

'What is it?’ he whispered, expecting danger.

'Nothing,’ she whispered back. ‘I woke. Are you all right?’ It seemed a stupid question, but he stretched in the dark.

'We've been left here for the night.’

'I'm sorry about earlier,’ she said, remembering the tears. She got up, going cautiously to the window.

'You were tired,’ he said in the shadows, but she could feel his eyes on her. ‘Do you think Korbillian is all right? This place is full of confused—” He tried to find a word to suit him, but all eluded him.

'I think if he were dead, I would know it,’ she told him. She tried to see out into the night, but the towers of the Direkeep were a shadow landscape. ‘I dreamed about Kirrikree. He was talking to Ratillic. It was strange. Ratillic said Korbillian was absolute power.’

Wolgren was silent, considering her words. ‘Can you find the bird with your mind?’

Sisipher closed her eyes and faced the night. It was as though she had been slapped in the face. Wolgren must have seen her lurch and leapt to her side, an arm automatically going around her. She did not object, but stared at the darkness outside. ‘He's near!’ she whispered. ‘I didn't realise.’

'Keep silent,’ came Kirrikree's voice from the void. ‘You are all in danger. Better that no one knows I am here yet. But I am close. Watch for me.’

Sisipher whispered the words of the white owl to Wolgren and he grinned. He took his arm self-consciously from the girl, but the darkness hid his embarrassment. He had not meant to take liberties with her. He would do anything to protect her, to serve her, but he would presume nothing. Instead he concentrated on the night.

Their eyes grew accustomed to it, and soon they were able to make out a few details of the towers and roofs. Nothing moved, and there was silence, until Sisipher pointed at what appeared to be the highest of all the towers. It was to the left of them, fifty feet above them. Something moved on its pointed roof; they discerned a figure there, lowering itself gently and silently by rope to the very lip of the roof. Slowly it negotiated the narrow gutter and began to drop like a spider on a thread, feet brushing the stone in silence. There was a window below it, its likely goal.

'This is strange,’ said Wolgren. ‘Who can it be?’

'Rescue?’ said Sisipher. ‘Someone in that tower?’

'Could it be Korbillian?’ said Wolgren, craning his neck out of the narrow window. As they watched, the figure reached the window and peered in, using the wall to hide itself. It braced itself on the wall, the rope securely tied to its waist, and unstrapped from its back a bow. In a moment its purpose became clear, but neither Wolgren nor Sisipher found their voices to break the spell that seemed to hold them. The man was an assassin, and was drawing back an arrow that could have but a single purpose.

'Korbillian!’ gasped Sisipher.

A sudden bolt of white light shot down out of the skies. The archer was on the point of releasing his arrow when the thunderbolt crashed into him. Claws tore at his face and he lost his footing. His bow and arrow dropped down into the well of darkness below, and the man swung from his rope, banging up against the wall of the tower. It was Kirrikree who had thwarted him and now the huge owl swooped down upon him again, the claws ripping not into flesh but into the rope. Strands parted and the man cried out.

There was a face at the window, and although Sisipher could not be sure, she thought it was Korbillian's. Kirrikree had taken to the sky. His voice did not come, and in a moment the dark had claimed him. The man in the window had seen the figure below him, which was trying to pull itself up the rope. The face withdrew. Then an extraordinary thing happened. The dangling man suddenly stiffened, loosing his grip. His feet spasmed horribly.

'He's been killed!’ whispered Wolgren. ‘Something has killed him.’ The rope had obviously been badly frayed by the talons of the owl and now it snapped, plummeting the dead man down into the night.

'How do you know?’ said Sisipher.

'I heard the whistle of an arrow. Another bowman.’

'Why?’

Wolgren shook his head. ‘Perhaps Kirrikree can unravel this. I don't understand. But I'm sure it was Korbillian in that room.’

While he was speaking, Wargallow was rushing from another tower room, where he had been watching from its window. Things had gone far better than he had hoped. That owl! Surely it was the same great bird that had killed the half-man of the east in Swiftwater gorge. Protecting Korbillian? It must be. He was a Ternannoc Hierophant and could control such creatures. Pity the bird had not severed the rope in its first swoop. It would have saved an arrow. But the second archer could be attended to later. By now he would be well hidden by Wargallow's Faithful.

Wargallow raced up the stairs to Korbillian's room, high in the Eagle Tower. There were guards there, and they were alert. They saluted Wargallow and unlocked the door at once. Wargallow knocked loudly upon it.

'Korbillian,’ he shouted. He heard nothing, but flung the door open anyway. A candle burned within. Korbillian was by the window, searching the courtyards far below. ‘Korbillian!’

The latter turned, his face puzzled. ‘What is happening?’

'You are alive,’ said Wargallow, putting as much relief into his voice as he could. He shut the door behind him and locked it, which puzzled Korbillian further, just as Wargallow had hoped it would.

'Well?’

'Come away from that window, man! One of the Preserver's assassins has just tried to kill you.’

'Grenndak?’ Korbillian moved from the window. There were interior shutters to it and Wargallow slammed them shut, turning on Korbillian with a look of consternation on his face.

'He does not want you to live. His killer came from above you.’

'You saw?’

'Aye. Some of it. A guard alerted me. By the time I got to a window, it was over. A bird, a great white bird, attacked the assassin. I have seen that loyal bird before.’

'Yes.’

'I have sent men to retrieve the body. If the man is alive, which I doubt, his body will be hidden. Otherwise Grenndak's spies will have others sent.’

'You defy him?’

'He did not trust me with the task of killing you. Besides, I refused. For the first time in my life I refused to do the will of the Preserver.’

'Why?’ Korbillian studied the man closely. He was aware of just how cunning he must be, how easily he could play the political game. He was no pawn, no dog to obey obediently and without question.

'I am not sure that you are to be so easily dismissed. If I had been, you would have died long before now.’

Korbillian nodded thoughtfully. ‘Grenndak does not matter to me. His power does. I need it. He will not relinquish it, nor share it.’

Wargallow looked at his sheathed hands and spoke quietly. ‘Then you must take it.’

Korbillian scowled. ‘You would change masters so easily?’

Wargallow chuckled. ‘I am my own master. But this is an unequal contest between you and Grenndak. I can see that. If he were the stronger, he would have destroyed you the moment he knew who you were. But to send an assassin, crawling across the roof to you, that was pathetic. Is it how you would better him?’

'So what will you do now?’

'It is plain to me that the Direkeep has been built on lies. It cannot remain as it is, with Grenndak in power.’

'The Abiding Word and all its laws are to be revoked,’ said Korbillian. ‘I will no longer tolerate the giving of blood to Omara.’

'Then you had better kill Grenndak quickly.’

'If he dies, what of you and the Deliverers? How many of them are there?’

'Here? Several thousand. Across Omara, I cannot say. More than I know about. They can be recalled, but it would take a year at least.’

'If Grenndak dies, who rules them?’

Wargallow chose his words carefully. ‘Since you are revoking the Abiding Word, they will need to see a demonstration of your power. No doubt they would follow your lead then.’

'They will have it, in the east.’

'Fear rules them, Korbillian. Fear that the Preserver can strike any one of them dead, even for thinking ill of him. Will you hold that threat over them?’

'It is no way to command.’

'It is the most effective.’

'Still, it is not my way.’

'But you would have the Deliverers with you in the war,’ Wargallow persisted.

Korbillian nodded slowly. ‘If they could accept me.’

Wargallow smiled. ‘They will obey me.’

'Is that what you desire? To rule them?’

'They need a ruler. Otherwise they will never be organised. They will go on blindly spreading the Abiding Word, sacrificing. I may be able to control them. I will lead them with you to the east, to meet this power. They will have a purpose, that of shedding its blood. When it is done, they can put aside these.’ He held up his killing steel. ‘They have to have a reason to do that.’

Korbillian saw the logic in this. The Deliverers needed something to justify themselves, their grim task. The blood of the east would absolve their own transgressions.

'But first,’ went on Wargallow, moving carefully towards his goal, ‘Grenndak must die. If I am to desert him and control his people, he must die. Otherwise he will destroy me.’

Korbillian looked grieved. ‘More death. Is there no other way? If I draw his power into me, he will perish.’

'Let me have him killed. He still trusts me. Let me go to him now. I will tell him you are dead at the hands of his assassin. While he relaxes, I will strike myself.’

Korbillian thought of this for long moments, but at last shook his head. ‘No. It is for me to deal with. I cannot sanction his murder.’

Wargallow cursed inwardly. The plan had failed; Korbillian had assumed Grenndak had sent the assassin, but the knowledge had not been enough to force him to retaliate. ‘Very well. Wait here. I will send an escort to collect you. Let me return to my rooms. I will pretend I have slept through all this. Grenndak will still think me loyal. I will see that you get an audience with him.’ He unlocked the door and was gone.

Korbillian heard the door lock again. How was he to deal with this? Take Grenndak's power? He recalled all too vividly the high command of the Hierarchs who had forced his grim burden upon him. “If you find renegade Hierarchs, show them no mercy! Take their power from them and combine it with ours. Anything less than absolute power will fail you.”

Wargallow did not hasten back to his rooms. He went instead to the chamber of the Preserver. Evidently Korbillian would not kill him unless he was more strongly provoked. How, then? Perhaps if the youth and the girl were killed by Grenndak? Wargallow's mind played with the possibility. He was committed now to Grenndak's death. Korbillian was the stronger, the man with the real power. Grenndak had to die.

The Preserver was wide-awake, waiting for word of Korbillian's death. Wargallow came to him, seeing the old man's face agitated by fear. He looked even more pathetic and despicable, this tyrant who had held every Deliverer in his hand for years. It was well that they had at last found the weakness in his armour to bring him down.

'The assassin failed. Now Korbillian will come to you in anger. Yet even now he would rather not kill you. He abhors death.’

A faint hope gleamed in Grenndak's blind eyes. ‘Then what?’

'A trick. You must offer him everything, and when he takes the bait, strike.’

'How?’

Wargallow leaned as close as he could and began to whisper the instructions that he had been formulating. When he had finished, Grenndak seemed pleased. ‘I will leave now,’ said Wargallow. ‘If I am here, he will certainly suspect me.’ Quickly he left. Moments later he was speaking to his chosen guards, men of the Faithful who wanted nothing more than to see the Preserver dead.

Korbillian had opened his window again and tried to see if the great owl was about, but could not. One thing he would insist upon now was that he was reunited with Sisipher and Wolgren. He had allowed himself to be separated from them earlier as he knew they needed rest. They had been exhausted, but if Kirrikree was here, he must have the girl speak to him.

As Wargallow had promised, the guards arrived, six of them, and they politely escorted Korbillian down to the levels where the chambers of the Preserver were to be found. Korbillian came to Grenndak, who was alone, but on entering, the six Deliverers stood behind him, watching in silence.

'You tried to have me killed,’ he said bluntly.

Grenndak was in his bed, head propped upon his pillows. He looked as if he were about to die himself, aging rapidly, dissolute and haggard beyond belief. He lifted a limp hand that was pitifully thin. ‘Yes, it is so, Korbillian,’ he croaked. ‘I have been ailing for a long time, but I seem to have little strength left with which to fight. What power I have is not worth having.’

'If this is more deceit, it is despicable. To see a Hierarch of Ternannoc like this is sickening! You behave like a child.’ Korbillian watched him carefully, as he would have watched a venomous snake. He drew closer.

'Say what you will. I am dying.’

'I do not believe it.’

Grenndak coughed. Korbillian was on the point of wondering if any of this act could be true, when the old man shot bolt upright, energy pouring into him like water racing through an open sluice. Both gnarled hands shot out and Grenndak howled like a wolf at a kill. Korbillian felt the raw power snap shut like iron about his biceps, banding his arms above the gloves in a grip that he could not loosen quickly. Grenndak poured every ounce of his power into holding that grip and Korbillian struggled in desperation to summon up his own power. He had not expected such a colossal surge from Grenndak: he had been preparing carefully. It would take time for Korbillian to tear free, time to prepare his own power.

Grenndak howled at the six guards. ‘Now! Now! His hands! Take your steel to his hands! Quickly!’

Korbillian felt a freezing wave of terror burst over him as the six guards stirred themselves. They had been prepared for this! They ran forward and Korbillian heard the swish of metal behind him as they freed their killing steel. He tried to break free of Grenndak's grip, but it was too soon. He could not be ready in time. The six guards were around him, steel flashing.

But they ran on, swift as light. As one their six curved hands chopped down, not at Korbillian, but at the Preserver. The power that locked Korbillian lessened and in a moment he had freed himself as if bursting out of manacles. He rushed to the bed. The Deliverers drew back, their cloaks stained scarlet, the sheets also. Grenndak's mouth opened and shut like that of a fish dragged from a lake. His hands reached up weakly. Korbillian grabbed them with his own sheathed hands and felt another great kick of power. Grenndak could not speak, and as his power surged into Korbillian, his tiny body shrivelled.

When it was over, Korbillian staggered back in sheer horror. The Deliverers had already withdrawn into shadow, wiping their bloody hands and removing their garments. Their faces were devoid of emotion. For a long time Korbillian stood there, aghast, locked in stone. The power was gone, stored within him, part of the other. But the awful sight of the killing steel descending remained.

When the doors burst open to admit Wargallow, Korbillian still looked numbed. Wargallow smiled grimly, but then his face assumed a deep scowl. He turned to the six guards, who had already bundled up their cloaks.

'The Preserver sought to kill Korbillian, sire, just as you warned us he might. We were forced to defend him.’

'You have done well,’ said Wargallow. ‘Go and clean yourselves.’ He gave them all a brief, private look, and as the last of them left, he whispered softly, ‘It was as I said?’

'The Preserver took your bait,’ was the reply.

Wargallow approached Korbillian. ‘It is done, then.’

'The fool,’ hissed Korbillian. ‘He could have killed me, though. If his guards—”

'I chose them carefully. I did not trust him.’

'There was far more power in him than I realised.’

'And now you have it?’

Korbillian turned to him coldly. ‘You knew this would happen. Is that why you had your own men bring me here?’

'He was adamant that you die.’

Korbillian turned away. ‘Once before I tried to persuade him and others like him to what I thought was a good cause. They, too, hated me for it.’

Wargallow pulled the sheets over Grenndak's body, hiding the sense of triumph that ran through him like wine. ‘What are your plans now?’

Korbillian grimaced. This man Wargallow was full of poison, of treachery, he was sure. He had already dismissed the Preserver, a man he had served loyally for years, as nothing more than a carcass. How loyal had he really been? ‘Bury him in the earth. And bring me the girl and the youth.’

'They are asleep.’

'Then wake them and find me another room. This one must be scrubbed.’

'Of course.’ Wargallow led him away.

Sisipher and Wolgren had not been able to get back to sleep, and had hardly tried. The girl kept shuddering, smelling blood in the air. She had sought to find Kirrikree again, but he was gone. They watched from the window, but there was no further sound or movement, except for the muffled voices from far below when they assumed the body of the assassin was being removed.

When their door was unlocked, they drew back. Wolgren stood in front of Sisipher. A torch was raised and it was Wargallow himself who stood there.

'Awake? Good. Korbillian wishes to see you. You will find much has changed this night. You are in no danger, I assure you. The Preserver is no more.’

Wargallow led them down into the keep, letting their imaginations play with the few words he had given them. When they reached the open hall where Korbillian was waiting, they remained confused by the events of the night. Sisipher saw at once that Korbillian was both distressed and agitated.

He came quickly to her. ‘Can you find Kirrikree? He is somewhere near us.’

Sisipher looked at Wargallow, who watched patiently with that familiar, teasing smile on his face. Korbillian made a gesture that suggested she should ignore him as well as the other Deliverers who stood like sentinels around the hall.

'I will try,’ she said. ‘But what has happened? Is the Preserver really dead?’

'Yes.’ He seemed prepared to say nothing else for now, and so she closed her eyes and tried to contact the great white owl. And found him. Very close, as he had promised.

'It is safe,’ she told him. ‘Apparently the Preserver is dead.’

'It is never safe,’ was the soft reply. ‘But I will come to you.’

Korbillian went to the wide terrace that overlooked an outside square and watched the skies. In response to Sisipher, the great owl soon came winging down, alighting on a balustrade, flexing his wings proudly.

Wargallow watched the huge bird, impressed. ‘A magnificent creature,’ he said. ‘And dangerous. I have seen these owls fight.’

Kirrikree spoke in Sisipher's mind. ‘His men bear the scars of my claws. This is the most deadly of them all. Korbillian must know this.’

Korbillian stepped forward. ‘Tell the owl,’ he said gently to the girl, ‘that Wargallow has pronounced himself an ally.’

Sisipher and Wolgren both looked stupefied.

Wargallow laughed. ‘It is true. I served the Preserver on pain of death. But when he sought to overcome Korbillian, he met his match.’

Korbillian ignored Wargallow's glib explanation. ‘Ask Kirrikree what he saw on the roof of the tower.’

Wargallow's composure wavered. Ask the bird? How was this possible?

Kirrikree responded to Sisipher's question. ‘A Deliverer, bent on killing Korbillian with an arrow dipped in poison.’

'Who killed the assassin?’ said Wolgren aloud.

Korbillian frowned. ‘What do you mean, boy?’ he asked gently.

'Kirrikree attacked him, but there was another archer. His arrow killed the man. He died before he hit the courtyard.’

Korbillian turned suspiciously upon Wargallow. ‘What do you know of this?’

'The youth must be mistaken,’ said the latter in consternation. ‘Are you sure, boy?’

'I heard the arrow, and I saw the man stiffen suddenly,’ said Wolgren.

'Sisipher?’ asked Korbillian.

'I didn't hear anything, but Wolgren told me at the time.’

'What did Kirrikree see?’ asked Korbillian.

The great owl could confirm no more than that he had severed the rope, intending to attack it twice, but one slash of his talons had done the work. He had not seen nor heard another archer.

Wargallow, masking his shock at discovering that the girl could communicate with the owl, went on with his deception. ‘We have recovered the body. Falling from such a height it has been badly damaged. But there was no arrow I assure you.’

'Perhaps I ought to see the body myself,’ said Korbillian.

'It has been disposed of.’

'Convenient,’ whispered Kirrikree's voice to Sisipher.

'I do not see what this implies,’ Wargallow went on, his face seemingly innocent. ‘Who would have wanted to kill the assassin?’

'Not the Preserver,’ said Korbillian. ‘Since the assassin was his. Someone who obviously wanted me to survive the assassination attempt. They would not have known that Kirrikree was watching.’

'But I found no evidence that the assassin had been killed by an arrow!’ Wargallow protested. ‘The boy has a strong imagination.’

Korbillian considered for a while. Best, he thought, not to pursue this now. But Wargallow has used me. I am sure that it is through him that Grenndak was trapped, and murdered. That would have suited Wargallow. He turned to Sisipher and Wolgren and explained briefly the events of the night. He said nothing about having been manipulated. ‘Grenndak made two attempts on my life, and both times was thwarted. Wargallow could have lent his own strength to Grenndak's and very likely have achieved my death, but he did not. Therefore, I am in his debt.’ Let him feel that, and think that I feel I can trust him. ‘The guards that took me before Grenndak were loyal to Wargallow and had not Grenndak been blind they would have cut my arms from me. After that, my death would have followed.’

'I think not,’ whispered Kirrikree to the girl, who shivered.

'Wargallow has turned from his master,’ said Korbillian. ‘He is prepared to help me in my quest in an attempt to destroy what lies in the east. Well, Wargallow, perhaps you would be good enough to tell us why it is that you are prepared to help.’

Wargallow smiled. ‘You imply that I have a choice.’

'You do.’

'By destroying the Preserver, you have left the Deliverers without a ruler, although word of his death remains a secret. Let us keep it so. So far I have allowed it to be shared only with those few who are loyal to me. I would welcome the leadership of the Deliverers. I will not deny that. But if the Abiding Word is to be refuted, the laws of a score of lifetimes removed, I will be seriously questioned. My choice is to find a new way of life for my people, as you, Korbillian, will not tolerate the old one. This teaching that the destruction of all power is crucial to the well being of Omara is widely believed. I cannot change that in a night. But the chosen Deliverers will follow me to the east and war on the evil powers there.’ He turned to the girl and the youth. ‘I do not expect you to feel anything but distrust, scorn, for me and my men, but I can only apologise for the discomfort you have suffered at my hands. Remember, though, that by the codes I followed, I should have given the blood of you both to the earth when I found you. I did not, and that judgement has proved sound.’

Both were too surprised to reply. Wargallow turned back to Korbillian. ‘So what is your intention?’

'How many men can you muster?’

'Give me a day and you can have a thousand. There will be more each day, but I will have much work to do to prepare them. We must cross the Silences, and that will not be lightly done. We must equip ourselves with great care.’

One of his guards detached himself from the shadows and Wargallow excused himself to speak privately with the man.

Wolgren drew close to Korbillian. ‘Can he truly wish to ride with us? As an ally?’

'He has his reasons. And he is curious about the eastern power.’

'I will never trust him,’ whispered Sisipher.

Wargallow came to them again, having issued brief instructions to his guard. ‘Interesting news. I have been wondering about the Emperor of Goldenisle and his intentions.’

'Quanar Remoon?’ said Korbillian.

'Not in person. But, as you know, he has many troops in the lands of the Three Rivers. It seems the Direkeep is to be honoured by a visit. Apparently an army approaches, and my scouts tell me it is well prepared for a siege.’