Klia entered Thero's room clad in a soft velvet robe, her hair loose and tousled about her shoulders. She looked anything but sleepy, however, as she noted the three of them standing uneasily by the hearth. Thero closed the door and wove a spell, sealing the chamber off from prying eyes and ears.

Klia raised an eyebrow at him, then took a seat in the room's only chair ."Well, out with it."

Seregil leaned an elbow on the mantel and launched into a tale he'd never intended to tell.

"It has to do with Phoria, and your mother's late vicegerent."

"Barien? The man's two years dead, and by his own hand. What on earth could—?"

Seregil held up a placating hand. "This will take some explanation. You know that your sister and Barien were lovers?"

"I'd always suspected, though I never understood why they kept it such a secret. She was devastated when he died."

"Were you aware of any new tension between your mother and Phoria after his death?"

"I suppose so, though neither of them would speak of the reason. Why are you dredging all that up now, and at this hour?"

Seregil sighed inwardly; so much for his hope that Idrilain had confided in her daughter before Klia's departure for Aurenen. Who'd have guessed there'd ever be reason to?

"My lady, Phoria and the vicegerent unwittingly betrayed the queen. Barien had a nephew, Lord Teukros. Several years before Barien's death, Teukros was duped into treason by the Lerans. This came out when we were tracking down the woman who nearly killed you and Alec."

"Kassarie." Klia touched the faded scars on her cheek, eyes darkening as angry disbelief set in. "Barien and Phoria were involved with her? With those filthy insurrectionists?"

"Unwittingly, I promise you."

"What we must tell you now was known only to Nysander, Seregil, Alec, and myself," Thero assured her. "Nysander had it from your mother and Phoria just after Barien died. He confided it

to us because it directly impacted the work Seregil and Alec were carrying out for Nysander."

"Seregil was in prison when Barien died," said Klia.

Seregil gave her a sheepish grin, studiously not looking at Thero. "Not exactly. Thero here kindly gave me the loan of his body, and kept mine company while Alec and I looked into things—"

Klia held up a hand. "Just get on with it."

"We found the forger who'd made documents that led to my arrest and the execution of other Skalan nobles whose blood was less than pure. We also stumbled onto evidence of a deeper plot to discredit your mother. Three years earlier, certain Leran sympathizers had lured that young fool Teukros into accruing massive debts, knowing that the vicegerent could be manipulated into protecting him. Barien turned in desperation to Phoria, who aided him in the rerouting of a treasury shipment to cover the debt. They used forged copies of Queen's Warrants to do it, documents forged by the same man Alec and I tracked down. Neither Phoria nor Barien had any idea who was behind the plot, I assure you. Teukros had handled all that. The moneys were to be repaid as soon as possible and everyone thought they'd seen the end of it, never knowing that the misplaced gold had gone directly into the coffers of the Lerans. When Alec and I cornered this forger, it all came out. Barien couldn't bear the shame and killed himself. Phoria confessed all to your mother and Nysander."

Klia's hands clenched on the arms of her chair. "And no one thought I might need to know of this?"

"In all honesty, no, my lady," Seregil assured her. "The few of us who knew were sworn to secrecy by Idrilain and Nysander. We expected to take the story to our graves. What we hadn't counted on was someone among the queen's enemies knowing the secret."

"That's where I come in, my lady," Alec said, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "I got word today that Ulan i Sathil was holding a secret parley at his house, and that certain khirnari who support you or seem like they're leaning in that direction were the ones invited. Forgive me, but I disobeyed your orders and spied on them."

"With my permission," Seregil added quickly.

"Go on," Klia sighed.

"Somehow Ulan i Sathil came into possession of one of these forged warrants, and the secret about Phoria's involvement," Alec continued. "I saw the documents myself. He had some other papers, too, but I was too far away to tell what they were. At any rate, he

used them to put Phoria in the worst possible light—you know what store the 'faie set by honor and family. He made Phoria out to be untrustworthy, a traitor almost, and a threat to deal with. He also suggested that your mother had lacked judgment in not casting her out of the line of succession."

"That's the least any khirnari would do, if not outright exile," added Seregil. "Hereditary rule makes no sense to my people. This isn't going to raise their opinion of it much."

"Who was there?" Klia asked, pinning Alec with an unfathomable glare.

Alec listed off those he'd seen.

"And what was their response to this revelation of Ulan's?"

"I couldn't see everyone, but from what I heard, confusion. Silmai argued in your favor; the Haman sounded pleased."

"Just what Ulan i Sathil intended, I'm sure," said Thero.

Klia nodded. "How do you think he came by this information?"

"I've been considering that," said Seregil. "There are several possibilities. He could have had it from the Plenimarans. They keep an ear or two among the Lerans. Perhaps someone involved in the Teukros debacle let something slip? Or Ulan may have known about this for years, and simply bided his time until he could make the best use of the information."

"I can well imagine," Klia said. "But you think there are other explanations?"

Seregil cast a quick glance at Alec, who nodded slightly and turned away.

"Lord Torsin, my lady—"

"Torsin?"

"Torsin met secretly with someone in Khatme tupa one night, about two weeks after our arrival," said Seregil. "At least one person at that meeting was a Viresse. There's evidence that Ulan summoned him to that meeting. It was only by chance that Alec discovered he'd gone out."

Klia gave Alec a dubious look that made the younger man color guiltily. "When I ordered you two not to spy without my permission, that included spying on our own people."

Seregil started to reply but she cut him off abruptly. "Hear me, both of you. You needn't concern yourself with Torsin. Wherever Ulan may have gotten this damaging information against my sister, I assure you, it did not come from Torsin. I suggest you concentrate on learning where it did come from."

She knows about her envoy's midnight meetings, or thinks she

does, thought Seregil, smarting under the unexpected reprimand. It hadn't occurred to him that Klia might keep secrets from him. On the other hand, he was fairly certain Torsin knew nothing of his or Alec's true talents. If that were so, then Klia was playing a more complex game than he'd guessed. He glanced at the wizard, wondering how much Thero knew. He didn't appear much surprised by this exchange.

"If it came from Plenimar, then that might also explain those Plenimaran warships that ambushed us in the Ea'malies," Thero mused. "Perhaps the honorable khirnari paid for information with information."

Klia nodded slowly. "I'd very much like to know the truth of that. The negotiations have limped along too long. Every dispatch I get from Phoria is more impatient than the last. Today's all but accuses me of purposefully stalling."

"How could Phoria think that?" exclaimed Alec.

"Who can explain what my sister thinks these days, or why?" Klia rubbed wearily at her eyelids. "This business with Viresse might be just the thing to turn matters our way. Tell me, my Aurenfaie adviser, would it be safe to say that Ulan has acted dishonorably toward me?"

"An argument could be made," said Seregil. "Of course, if we had to explain to the Iia'sidra how you found out about it, it would put Alec on chancy ground."

"I'll leave it up to you to keep us from having to explain anything to anyone. Two days from now, we and the Eleven are to be the guests of Ulan i Sathil."

"Are you suggesting what I think, my lady?"

Klia gave an eloquent shrug. "What's the use of bringing fine coursing hounds to the hunt if you never slip the lead? First thing tomorrow I'll speak in private to Lord Torsin and Adzriel a Illia of all you've told me tonight. My principal adviser and our best ally must not be taken by surprise, either."

"Will you tell Torsin that I spied on him?" Alec asked nervously.

"No, but I want your word that you won't do it again. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lady."

Klia leveled a knowing look at Seregil. "That includes you, as well."

"You have my word. What about Nyal? If it hadn't been for him,

we might have missed this altogether. He asked Alec to tell him what he learned."

Klia sighed. "Ah, yes, Nyal. He's served us well, and word is bound to spread, anyway, since that appears to be Ulan's intent. Tell him only what Alec heard. Nothing more."

26

War

The flush of victory made Phoria feel younger than her years. For two days they'd fought under driving spring rains, forcing the Plenimarans from a pass west of the river. The cost had been high on both sides, but Skala had regained a few precious acres.

A cheer went up across the camp as she rode in at the head of what remained of the Horse Guard regiment. Mingled with the accolades were the wails of camp followers as the missing were noted. There'd be a more somber welcome for the fallen, who followed in carts somewhere back down the road.

Her route through the camp led the new queen past the tents of the guilds, and she caught sight of a potter standing with her hands on her hips, no doubt making a rough count of empty saddles, estimating how many urns would be needed to hold the ashes of the dead for that last journey home.

Phoria dismissed the thought for now. Victories had been hard enough to come by this spring and she meant to savor this one.

At her pavilion, she was greeted by more cheers from the soldiers and servants massed there.

"You showed 'em today, General!" a grizzled veteran called out, waving a regimental banner in one hand. "Give us a chance tomorrow to do you proud!"

"You've done me proud every day you've been on the field, Sergeant," Phoria called back, earning another roar of acclaim. The soldiers still addressed her by her military title, and for now, that was just how she wanted it.

Dismounting, she led her attending officers inside to the waiting meal. Not a banquet, perhaps, but reward enough for honest soldiers.

They were still at table when Captain Traneus appeared at the open flap of the tent. He was muddy to the knees and carried a pouch over his shoulder.

"What word from Rhiminee, Captain?" Phoria called.

"Word from Prince Korathan, my lady, and fresh dispatches from Aurenen," he said, handing over the pouch.

Inside she found three documents. The first, from Korathan, robbed the day of its savor. Reading it through twice, she lowered it slowly and looked around at the expectant faces turned her way. "The Plenimarans have attacked Skala's southern coast. They've burned three cities already: Kalis, Yalin, and Deep Trebolin."

"Yalin?" General Arlis gasped, "That's only fifty miles from Rhiminee!"

Pain flared behind Phoria's eyes. She set her brother's dispatch on the table before her, and opened the parchment bearing Klia's seal. It brought the same news as ever—progress was slowly being made. Now she thought perhaps the Haman clan was being swayed. But no concessions. No end in sight.

Closing her eyes, she massaged the bridge of her nose as the pain mounted to a throbbing ache. "Leave me."

When the scrape of feet and creak of leather had died away, she looked up to find Traneus still there.

Only now did she reach for the third missive, this one sealed with a few drops of candle wax. Like the others that had come to her in the past weeks, it was careful in its phrasing. Klia was not lying, but putting a more hopeful cast on events.

"Our informant tells me that the Viresse have increased their influence," she told Traneus. "The negotiations are at a standstill. She does not share my sister's optimistic view of the outcome. There is even talk that Viresse may prefer the gold of Plenimar to our own."

She handed the letter to Traneus, who locked it away in a nearby casket with the others already neatly stacked there.

"What message shall I take back, my lady?"

Phoria tugged at a ring on her left hand. Her fingers were swollen from the day's battle, and she had to spit on it to work it loose. Wiping it on the hem of her tunic, she held it a moment, admiring the play of light over the dragon carved into the black stone. "Return this to my brother. I want it on his hand within two days. No one is to know of it but you. Go immediately."

Traneus had only just come from Rhiminee, a hard journey of several days by land or sea. The task she'd just set him meant no rest, but the man's face betrayed nothing but obedient devotion, just as she'd expected. If he survived this war, a ring of a different sort might just find its way onto his talented hand.

Alone in the great tent, Phoria sat back in her chair and smiled as she regarded the slightly lighter circle of skin where the ring had been.

Her headache was nearly gone.

27

More Ghosts

Seregil woke before daybreak on the final day of mourning, once again trying to grasp a dream before it faded. It had started out with the same familiar images. This time, however, he seemed to recall the rhui'auros, Lhial, standing in the corner of the room, trying to tell him something very important in a voice too low to make out over the crackling of the flames.

There was no panic this time, but he knew where he had to go; he could feel the pull of the place like a hook under his breastbone. With a sigh, he slipped out of bed, wondering if he could make it back before the day's visitors began to arrive.

Someone was singing a dawn song from an upper window of the Nha'mahat as Seregil approached on horseback. Flocks of tiny dragons whirled around the building, their drab bodies turned to dusky gold by the first rays of morning.

"Maros Aura Elustri chyptir," he whispered, not sure what the reason for the prayer was, except that he suddenly felt grateful for the sight before him and the fact that he was here in this blessed place to witness it.

Donning a mask at the door, he followed a guide into the main chamber. A few dreamers

already lay there. "I'd like to speak with Lhial, if I may," Seregil told the girl.

"Lhial is dead," she replied.

"Dead?" he gasped. "When? How?"

"Almost forty years ago. It was a wasting illness, I think."

The floor seemed to shift subtly under Seregil's feet. "I see. May I use a dhima?"

She prepared a firepot for him and gave him a handful of the dreaming herb. He accepted these with a respectful bow and hurried down to the cavern below. Choosing one of the little huts at random, he stripped and crawled under the door flap, welcoming the steamy closeness this time. Settled on the rush matting, he threw the herbs onto the coals and waved a hand to mix the smoke and steam.

Taking deep, rhythmic breaths, he slowly relaxed as the mildly narcotic smoke took hold.

His first thought was the realization that he felt no fear, and had felt none from the moment he'd impulsively decided to come here. He was not choking. He'd come here of his own volition, without fear or resentment.

Seregil closed his eyes, pondering this as sweat collected inside the mask, tickling his nose. The smoke from the herbs seared his lungs, making him light-headed, but he welcomed the sensations and waited.

"You begin to understand, son of Korit," a familiar voice said.

Opening his eyes, Seregil found himself sitting on sun-washed stone overlooking the dragon pool in the mountains of Akhendi fai'thast. Lhial sat beside him, his eyes golden again.

"I'm not certain I do, Honored One," Seregil admitted, shivering a little as a chill mountain breeze blew across his bare skin.

The rhui'auros picked up a pebble and threw it into the pool below. Seregil followed it with his eyes, then looked back to find Nysander sitting there in Lhial's place. Somehow, the transformation didn't surprise him. Instead, he felt a rush of the same inexplicable gratitude the sight of the dragonling swarm had given him.

Nysander sat cross-legged, looking out over the water, his plain face serene. He wore one of his threadbare old coats, and the toes of his worn boots were wet, as if he'd been walking through dew-laden grass. The curling white hair that edged his bald pate stirred in the breeze, and Seregil could see a smudge of ink in his close-cropped beard. Not once since Nysander's death had Seregil dreamed of Ms old friend. When he remembered him waking, no matter how he

tried, the sight of Nysander's bloody, dead face rose in his mind's eye to obscure any happier memory.

He looked away quickly, bracing for the vision to shift. A gentle hand cupped his chin, turning him back to face the wizard.

"Open your eyes, Seregil."

He did, and nearly wept with relief to find Nysander, unchanged.

"You have a stubborn mind sometimes, dear boy," he said, patting Seregil's cheek. "You can track a black cat on a moonless night, yet so much of your own heart is still unknown to you. You must pay better attention."

Nysander took his hand away, and Seregil saw that the wizard now held one of the mysterious glass orbs. With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed it up into the air. It glittered a moment in the sunlight, then fell to shatter on the rocks at their feet. For one terrible instant Seregil was back on the windswept Plenimaran ledges, blood—Nysander's blood—dripping from his ruined blade. Just as quickly, the image was gone.

"Didn't it make a lovely sound?" the wizard asked, smiling down at the tiny shards.

Seregil blinked back tears, trying to make sense of what he was being shown. "The rhui'auros said I have to keep them."

But Nysander was gone, and Lhial sat in his place again, shaking his head. "I said they were yours, son of Korit. But you know that. You knew it before you ever came to me."

"No, I don't!" Seregil cried, but with less conviction now. "What am I supposed to do?"

The wind blew colder. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, trying to warm himself. He felt movement next to him and saw that Lhial had been replaced this time by a young dragon the size of a bull. Its eyes were gold, and kind.

"You are a child of Aura, little brother, a child of Illior. The next step in your dance is at hand. Carry only what you need," the dragon told him, speaking with Lhial's voice. With that, it spread leathery wings with a sound like summer thunder and rose to blot out the sun.

Seregil was drowned in darkness. The hot, acrid atmosphere of the dhima closed around him like a fist. Fighting for breath, he found the door flap and scrambled out, then collapsed gasping on the warm, rough stone outside.

There was something beneath his left hand. Even without the faint light filtering down to him from the main cavern, he knew what it was; recognized the curve of cool, slightly rough glass

under his fingers. Swaying to his feet, he weighed the sphere on his palm for a moment; it was heavy, too heavy for something no bigger than a raven's egg. It was precious, loathsome; his to do with as he wished.

Carry only what you need.

With sudden vehemence, he flung it against the far wall. There were no visions this time, just the sharp, satisfying chink of breaking glass.

The sun was still low over the eastern horizon when he emerged from the Nha'mahat. His body hurt and he was as tired as if he really had journeyed to the mountains and back on foot.

Back at the guest house, he found Alec still abed, a pillow over his head. He woke as Seregil closed the door, emerging sleep-tousled and yawning.

"There you are," he said, raising himself on one elbow. "Out early again? Where'd you go this time?"

No words would come. Seregil sat down on the edge of the bed and ruffled Alec's tangled hair. "Just wandering," he said at last. "Come on. We've got a busy day ahead of us."

The Haman were among the last to pay their respects to Klia. Warned of Nazien i Hari's arrival, Seregil tactfully withdrew with Alec to a side chamber, where they could watch the proceedings from behind the door.

The khirnari was accompanied by ten of his clan, including Emiel i Moranthi.

"Suppose Nazien knows where his nephew was last night?" whispered Alec.

Seregil found himself hoping in spite of himself that Nazien did not. Proud and arrogant the Haman might be, but Klia had clearly taken a liking to the man and it seemed to be reciprocated.

Nazien and the others laid their little cedar bundles on the brazier and bowed to Klia.

While Nazien chatted quietly with her, Seregil watched his nephew's face for some betraying expression. Emiel merely looked distant, and a bit bored.

When the initial greetings had been dispensed with, Klia leaned forward and regarded the old man earnestly. "Tell me, Khirnari, will

the Iia'sidra vote soon on my petition? I long for my homeland, and to do proper honors at the grave of my mother."

"It is time," Nazien agreed. "You have been most patient, though I wonder if you will be pleased with the outcome."

"Then you think it will fail?"

Nazien spread his hands "I cannot speak for all the others. For myself, regardless of my feelings toward your kinsman, the Exile, I wish you to know that I have never supported the stringent measures the Edict of Separation have forced on us."

Standing behind his uncle, Emiel said nothing, but Seregil thought he saw him tense.

"I'm an old man, and perhaps a wishful one," Nazien went on. "Now and then I almost think I see a glimpse of my friend Corruth in you, my lady, as I last saw him. You are like him in many ways: patient, forthright, and quick of wit. I think perhaps you possess his stubbornness, as well."

"How strange," Klia said softly. "Corruth i Glamien is a figure of legend to me. His body, before it was destroyed, was a preserved relic of ancient days. Yet to you he will always be the friend of your youth, unchanged, as Seregil is to me. What is it like, I wonder, to be 'faie or wizard, to live long enough to span such memories? My life is so brief in comparison, yet it doesn't seem so to me."

"Because you use it well," Nazien replied. "But I fear your time in Sarikali grows short and I fear we may not meet again. I would be most honored if you would hunt with me before you depart."

"The honor would be mine," Klia replied warmly. "Viresse is hosting a great gathering tomorrow night; perhaps the following morning?"

"As you like, Klia a Idrilain."

"Perhaps you should warn her that we Haman take the hunt most seriously," Emiel put in pleasantly. "Tradition dictates that the feast be made up of whatever is caught that day. There's always the chance you and your people will have to sup on bread and turab with the rest of us."

"You're fortunate in my choice of companions, then, Emiel i Moranthi," Klia laughed. "Alec i Amasa can probably supply us all with ample meat."

Seregil nudged Alec in the ribs as several Haman covered shocked looks. "Sounds like you're invited, at least."

28

Burglars at the Banquet

Whether it was Klia's tacit approval for them to spy on her behalf, or simply the end of the enforced abstinence, Seregil surprised Alec with a burst of passion as soon as they were alone that evening.

"What's this?" Alec laughed as he was propelled none too gently onto the bed. Thanks to Seregil's frequent dark moods and the lingering effects of his mysterious "fall," they'd scarcely touched in days, weeks even.

"If you have to ask, then it has been too long," Seregil growled, yanking Alec's coat open and fumbling with his belt. He was wild, urgent, hungry to please. Alec responded in kind, neither of them noticing until much later that the door of their balcony was open to the world.

"We've probably got everyone from here to the kitchens blushing or cursing our names," Seregil laughed when he'd finally collapsed on the floor beside the bed.

Alec hung an arm over the side and toyed with a strand of his dark hair. "If they can still hear us, tell them to fetch a healer to re-string my joints."

Seregil grasped his hand and pulled him over the edge, grunting as Alec landed on top of him. "Bilairy's Guts, tali, you're all knees and elbows." Nuzzling Alec's neck, he inhaled appreciatively. "You smell so good! How is it I always forget how—"

Alec pulled back to look at him. "There's something I forgot to tell you the other night when I got back from Ulan's. The business about Phoria drove it right out of my head."

"Hmmm? You forgot—" Seregil murmured, hands roaming.

Alec caught one of them and pinned it against his chest. "Listen, will you? While I was spying on Ulan, a strong smell like perfume warned me that a watchman was coming to the room where I was hiding."

This got Seregil's attention. "Warned you how?"

"It distracted me so that I saw the watchman coming. I'd have been caught for sure if it hadn't. And it wasn't the first time I smelled it, either."

"Oh?"

Alec rolled free and sat up. "It was just after we arrived in Sarikali. Kheeta took me to the House of the Pillars and we ran into Emiel i Moranthi. . . ." He faltered, seeing Seregil's eyes narrow dangerously. "It was just some insults, that's all."

"I see. Then what?"

"As we were leaving I smelled that same sweet scent at about the same moment I thought I heard someone following us. Maybe that was a warning, too."

Seregil nodded thoughtfully. "Some people experience the Bash'wai that way."

A superstitious chill spider-walked up Alec's spine. "You think that's what it was?"

"I expect so. Interesting."

"That's one word for it," Alec replied. "Where I'm from, it's an unlucky thing when the dead take an interest in you."

"And where I'm from, we say take what the Lightbringer sends and be thankful." Seregil chuckled, rising to pull him into bed again. "Keep your nose to the breeze and let me know if you smell it again."

Corporal Nikides gave Seregil and Alec a knowing smirk the next morning as they went through the kitchen passage. "Good to have the mourning over with, eh, my lords?"

"Damn right," Seregil agreed jauntily.

"Oh, hell!" Alec growled beneath his breath, coloring hotly.

Seregil wrapped an arm around his friend's waist. "Oh, come

now, you didn't think it was any secret, did you? Or are you ashamed of me, my stiff-necked Dalnan prude?"

For a moment he feared Alec would pull away. Instead, he found himself pinned roughly against the wall of the now deserted hallway.

Pressing his hands to the stone on either side of Seregil's head, Alec leaned in for a bruising kiss. "Of course I'm not ashamed, but I was a stiff-necked Dalnan prude before you came along, so next time let's make certain the door's closed, all right?"

Seregil clucked his tongue in mock concern. "Dear me, I see there's a good deal more we have to work on with you." Laughing, he slipped under Alec's arm and continued on toward the hall. "At the solstice festival here, they—"

"I know what they do," said Alec. "I only pray we're back in Skala before then."

Klia and the wizard were there, waiting for the rest to join them before leaving for the council.

"You two are looking remarkably well rested this morning," Klia observed dryly.

"As are you, my lady," Seregil returned with gallant good humor, trying not to laugh as Alec cringed beside him. "We'll all be needing our wits about us today."

An air of expectation hung over the Iia'sidra chamber as the members gathered for the morning session. Seated with Alec in his usual place behind Klia, Seregil studied the faces around the council circle and read in many a subtle, collective tension that hadn't been there a week before. The Khatme were looking unusually sanguine, the Akhendi grim—both bad weather signs for Skala. Ulan's private cabal had certainly had an effect.

Elos i Orian was the first to speak. He paused a moment to tuck back the ends of his brown-and-white sen'gai, letting the others wait, then addressed the chamber with the ease of one who has had his speech laid out for him in advance.

"Klia a Idrilain, you have shown great patience," he began, acknowledging her with a nod. "Your presence here has done honor to your race, and brought new insight to our people." He turned to the assembly. "Are we of the Iia'sidra unaware of the pain such delay must have caused her and her people? Many things have been discussed in this chamber; all have had their say. What more is there to be done?" He paused for a murmur of approval. "The will of Aura

and the people must be served. To that end, I propose that the vote be cast at the Vhadasoori in seven days' time."

One by one, the khirnari signaled unanimous consent.

"That's the first thing they've agreed on since we've been here," muttered Alec.

The decision brought the council to an abrupt halt. Abandoning the orderly rote, people wandered freely, major and minor clans alike. Some, including the Akhendi, left quickly. Others lingered to cajole and harangue one another.

The Skalans and Bokthersans withdrew and rode back to their tupa together.

"It was most tactful of Ulan to have his daughter's husband push for the vote," Adzriel observed sourly.

"You think he means to capitalize on the doubts he's sown?" asked Klia.

"Of course he does," said Seregil. "How long do you suppose he's been planning this maneuver? You notice he's one of the last to host a feast in your honor?"

"Ostensibly in my honor," Klia said. "He's invited everyone in Sarikali."

"I've been to Viresse banquets. They may throw us out of Aurenen empty-handed, but at least they'll show us a good time first. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Torsin?"

Caught coughing softly into his handkerchief, Torsin wiped his lips and smiled. "He cannot present his usual collection of foreign entertainments here, but I'm certain he will provide us with a most memorable evening."

"If he's so certain of the decision, why did he have Elos i Orian set a date a week off?" Alec asked. "Why not tomorrow?"

"It's the least time allowed before a vote," Saaban i Irais explained. "As you've all observed, the Aurenfaie prefer not to rush into anything. It's an auspicious number, seven; a quarter of the moon's cycle, and the time it takes for it to pass into each of the four phases."

"Auspicious for whom, I wonder?" asked Klia.

" 'The same moon shines on all,' " Mydri quoted.

"True," Seregil agreed. "And this isn't over yet; at least we have a little time to sway the undecided. This hunt of yours with the Haman tomorrow feels like a turn of luck to me. Nazien i Hari has already taken a liking to you. He could be a valuable advocate. If he comes around to our side, his vote could make the difference."

"Yet that would mean antagonizing both Lhapnos and many

members of his own clan," Torsin reminded him. "I hesitate to put too much stock in his support."

"To be honest, my lady, I'm not so sure I like the idea of you going off with them into the hills," said Beka.

Adzriel shook her head. "Whatever tensions may lie between my clan and his, I know Nazien to be a man of honor. He will watch over your princess as closely as if she were in his own fai'thast, no matter where they are."

"And I'll have you and Alec and a whole decuria of soldiers to protect me, Captain," Klia added cheerfully. "After all these weeks of formalities, I'm looking forward to a hard day's ride."

The waning moon hung low over the horizon as the Skalans and Bokthersans strolled to Viresse tupa that evening. At Seregil's suggestion, the entire delegation had dressed in their richest clothes.

"We don't want to come in looking like poor relations," he warned, guessing what lay in store for them.

Consequently, Klia was decked out like a queen. Her satin gown rustled richly as she walked arm in arm with Torsin. Aurenfaie jewels sparkled at her wrists, throat, and fingers. The gold circlet on her brow bore a crescent set with diamonds that caught even the gentle light of the moon and stars and turned them to fire. She even wore the humble Akhendi charms.

The rest were equally resplendent. Alec could have passed for royalty on the streets of Rhiminee. Beka, who would act as Klia's personal aide, was elegant in her close-fitting tabard and burnished gorget and brimmed helmet.

By the time they reached the Vhadasoori they could make out lights twinkling brightly outside the Viresse khirnari's house.

With Klia and Adzriel in the lead, they skirted the shore of the broad pool and emerged from between the stone guardians on the far side to find their host's house festooned with mage lights, artfully arranged by some talented hand in clusters among the columns of the long portico.

"It looks a bit different from the last time I was here," Alec murmured.

"At least this time you get to use the door," Seregil whispered back.

"Where's the fun in that?"

They were met by Ulan's wife, Hathia a Thana, and a gaggle of flower-bedecked children, who presented each guest with a small parchment lantern hung on a red-and-blue silk cord.

"What a pretty magic!" exclaimed Klia, holding hers up to admire the soft, shifting glow that came from within.

"It is but a reosu," Hathia demurred, welcoming them in.

"No magic to it. It's a firefly lantern," Seregil explained. "I remember making these on summer evenings as a child. But I don't recall ever seeing fireflies here in Sarikali this early in the year."

"They're quite thick in the marshes of Viresse just now," their hostess replied, leaving it to her guests to guess the expense and trouble of importing enough of the tiny insects overland for the simple pleasure of a few lanterns.

They passed through the receiving hall and continued out onto a terrace overlooking the enormous garden court at the center of the house. The spectacle that greeted them drew gasps of appreciation from everyone.

Hundreds of reosu hung in the flowering trees that ringed the garden. Others swung gently from the lines of brightly colored prayer kites rustling overhead. The walls of the courtyard were covered by swaths of crimson silk and gauze that rippled voluptuously in the evening breeze beneath garlands of gilded seashells. The soft music of flutes and cymbals came from some shadowed corner. A large crowd had already gathered in the garden, with more still arriving by various doors.

Spices and incense from half a dozen foreign lands perfumed the air, mingling with the aromas of the feast laid out on long tables hung with colorful Skalan tapestries. Ulan i Sathil had opened his doors to all in Sarikali, and it looked like he had the provender to make good on the offer.

Great antlered stags roasted whole lay between platters of birds cooked and dressed in their own plumage. Fish and seafood from the eastern coast were laid out in enormous seashells. Jellies of all descriptions quivered and gleamed next to mounds of rosy wingfish roe, huge smoked eels, and other costly delicacies. Fragrant parsley bread trenchers were stacked man-high in great wooden trays on the ground.

Pastries the size of bed pillows dominated the display. A Viresse specialty, these were shaped into fanciful beasts and decorated with edible paints and gilt. Wines glimmered with limpid fire in huge, ornate bowls carved from blocks of mountain ice.

Ulan stepped forward as they stood admiring the display. "Welcome to you, dear ladies, and to your kin and people," he said, presenting Klia with a strand of black Gathwayd pearls the size of gooseberries.

"I am most honored, khirnari," Klia replied. Removing her diamond circlet, she placed it in Hathia's hands. The making of such a lavish gift to her host's wife caused no insult, but stated without words that Klia was Ulan's equal. Her manner was flawlessly gracious, betraying nothing of her knowledge of his clandestine maneuvering.

"For someone who opposes Klia's mission, Ulan certainly hasn't stinted on the welcome," Alec remarked in an awed whisper as they followed Klia down the steps.

"This display is more for his own benefit than Klia's," Seregil noted, recognizing a show of influence when he saw one. "She'll go home eventually. He'll still be here, a force to be reckoned with each time the Iia'sidra meets."

"I have heard much of you through our friend Torsin over the years," Hathia was telling Klia. "It's said the best of your ancestors lives again in you."

"The same is said of my sister, the queen," Klia replied, just loudly enough for her voice to carry to the curious onlookers nearby. "May Aura grant that we are both worthy of such praise. You have a unique perspective on my family, having lived through so many generations of them. Ulan i Sathil, I believe you visited Skala in the days before the Edict?"

The deep creases in Ulan's cheeks deepened as he smiled. "Many times. I remember dancing with your ancestor Gerilani before she was crowned. That would be—how many generations back?"

He paused in thought, though Seregil suspected the whole exchange had been carefully rehearsed.

"Eight Tir generations back, I think?" said Hathia.

"Yes, talia, at least that long. Gerilani and I were hardly more than children at the time. Fortunate for you," he added with a twinkle in his wife's direction. "She was most enchanting."

Klia's arrival signaled the start of the feast. There were too many guests for tables; each person loaded a trencher and sat where they could, on the grass and the rims of fountains, or spreading into the rooms off the courtyard itself. The mix of opulence and informality was the hallmark of Viresse hospitality.

A succession of entertainments commenced with the banquet: musicians, jugglers, tellers of tales, dancers, and acrobats.

Seregil and Alec remained by Klia at first, watching and listening as the crowd flowed around them. Nazien i Hari was among the first to come to her, and Seregil noted with relief that Emiel and his cronies were not in evidence. Perhaps their khirnari was tired of

having his policies challenged in public. Or maybe rumors of Seregil's beating had reached the old Haman's ears at last and he was chancing no further transgressions against Sarikali law. Whatever the case, Seregil breathed a little easier without them there, and Nazien was all smiles.

"The weather promises fair. I hope we can show you good sport," Nazien said, slipping his arm through Klia's.

"A hard ride and the chance to explore a bit more of your country will be sport enough for me, Khirnari," Klia replied warmly.

Seregil signaled Alec with a discreet nudge and faded back into the surrounding crowd, leaving Klia to charm these potential allies. They had other work to do.

"This is the most people we've been around since we left Rhiminee," Alec remarked.

And I've missed this, Seregil thought, already straining his ears for interesting conversational tidbits. He suspected Alec felt the same. He'd already fallen into that unassuming manner that made him all but invisible in such gatherings, but his blue eyes were alert as those of a hound that sensed the chase at hand.

It was not difficult to linger unnoticed for a moment while Lhaar a Iriel expressed her continuing opposition to any lessening of the Edict to a sympathetic Haman, or to watch one of their host's kinsmen gently interrogating a Bry'khan woman as to her feelings about Aurenfaie mercenaries joining the war in the north.

Alec drifted away for a while, returning with Klia and word that some of the guests were not above grumbling at the extravagance surrounding them.

"I was standing near Moriel a Moriel a moment ago," he reported, pointing discreetly at the Ra'basi. Nyal was with her, gesturing animatedly in Beka Cavish's direction. "She told a Lhapnosan that what we're feasting on are the spoils that Viresse keeps for itself under the protection of the Edict."

"I've heard others say the same," murmured Klia. "Still, she's one I still can't read. Ra'basi benefits from the trade coming up the eastern coast by ship, even if it is only Viresse's crumbs. Yet she's made it clear more than once that the Ra'basi do not like being treated like some dependent clan." Her expression brightened as she glanced toward the main entrance. "Ah, but here are the Akhendi at last! I'd feared they wouldn't come."

"Rhaish i Arlisandin doesn't look very pleased to be back here so soon," said Alec.

"He has reason enough not to be," Seregil agreed. The khirnari

was pale and dour, though his greeting to their host and his wife seemed civil enough. His grey hair was windblown beneath his sen'gai, and he wore the same plain robe he'd had on at the morning's council.

"I'll sound him out," Klia said, going off to meet him. Seregil and Alec trailed behind her, picking up Thero along the way.

The crowd was thick. By the time they reached him, Rhaish had already been waylaid by Lord Torsin and the Gedre khirnari. Clasping hands with the envoy, Rhaish fumbled his reosu lantern, dropping it at Torsin's feet.

"Ah, the cost of age!" he groaned, shaking his head as he went stiffly down on one knee to retrieve it.

Klia and Thero both stepped forward, but the princess was quicker. Taking Rhaish's hand, she tried to help him up. The old man yanked his hand away with a gasp and staggered to his feet. Realizing it was Klia who'd tried to assist him, he bowed deeply. "Forgive me, my dear, I did not see you there," he said, embarrassment lending a little color to his cheeks.

"Where is your lady tonight?" Klia asked, looking around hopefully. "I've missed her."

"She's been weary these past few days and her women felt it would be best if she remained at home tonight," Rhaish replied quickly, still flustered. "She asked me to express her regards, and the hope of seeing you tomorrow if her condition permits. I won't be staying long myself."

"Of course not. It was good of you to make an appearance. I've been thinking Amali looked worn out these past few days. You know, there's a tea Skalan women drink back home to build them up during their pregnancy. My captain might know what's needed; her mother knows a good bit of midwifery." Chatting brightly, Klia slipped her arm through the khirnari's and drew him away in the direction of the iced wine.

" We have work to do," hinted Alec.

"I suppose so," Thero agreed.

Seregil raised an eyebrow at the wizard. "Anxious to throw your dignity to the wind, are you?"

Thero turned to study the banquet table. "I've been thinking about Nysander's old tricks. That flock of roast wrens has definite possibilities."

"Our host is a fastidious man, so try not to make too much of a mess."

In the early days of their acquaintance, Thero had been mortified

by his mentor's penchant for amusing magical tricks at parties. Now the young wizard attempted the same silliness with a sense of showmanship Seregil would never have credited him with.

Leaving the food alone for the moment, Thero began instead with the reosus. Approaching a group of Viresse children, he summoned several dozen of the little lanterns down from the boughs of a nearby tree and set them spinning in a circle above the children's delighted faces. When he had their attention, and that of some of their elders, he brought the lights down into a man-shaped formation and set it capering like a demented acrobat.

When a sufficient number of bystanders had turned to watch these antics, Alec and Seregil slipped out a nearby door and set off in search of the khirnari's private quarters.

Beka saw them go and watched to see if anyone followed. Satisfied that they were safe for the moment, she turned her attention back to Thero, who was now surrounded by a small crowd.

"I think your friend has lost his mind," Kheeta chuckled as he joined her.

"You should have seen his old master when he had a drop in," Beka replied, thinking wistfully of the pretty spells Nysander had concocted.

Some of the older 'faie seemed to share Kheeta's opinion. The khirnari of Akhendi stood next to Klia, looking doubtfully from the wizard to the princess, who was laughing gaily, as if Thero played the mountebank on a regular basis.

Sending the lanterns back to their branches, he proceeded to pull flowers and colored smoke from the ears of the rapt children gathered around him. It was rare to see Thero smile; rarer still to see him playful.

A familiar muffled cough distracted Beka. Turning, she saw Lord Torsin pressing a pristine handkerchief to his lips as his shoulders heaved. Hurrying to his side, she took his arm and offered him her wine cup. He drank gratefully and patted her hand. His own were cold.

"Are you unwell, my lord?" she asked, noting the fresh stains on the white cloth as he tucked it away in his sleeve.

"No, Captain, just old," he replied with a rueful smile. "And like so many old men, I weary sooner than I'd like. I believe I'll have a little stroll, then make my way home to bed."

"I'll send an escort with you." Beka gestured to Corporal Nikides, who stood nearby. ·

"There's no need for that," Torsin said. "I much prefer to see myself home."

"But your cough—"

"Has been with me a good long time." Torsin shook his head firmly. "You know how I enjoy my quiet walks under the stars here. With today's decision . . ." He looked around sadly. "I shall miss Sarikali. Whatever the outcome, I doubt if any of us shall see it again."

"I'll be sorry if that is so, my lord," Beka said.

With a last bemused look at Thero, who was now coaxing a dragon-shaped pastry to life, the old envoy went to take leave of Klia and their host. Turning, Beka bumped into Nyal.

Weaving his fingers with hers, he raised her hand and pressed it to his lips. "I shall be very sorry to see you go. I've been thinking of nothing else since the vote was announced this morning. Our parting will be all the worse, knowing that you return to your war, talia."

It was the first time he had used the endearment, and the sound of it brought a rush of warmth to her heart and the sting of tears to her eyes.

"You could come with me." The words escaped before she could second-guess them.

"If they vote to lift the Edict, you could remain," he countered, still holding her hand.

The possibility hung between them for a moment, then Beka shook her head. "I can't abandon my command, or Klia. Not when every soldier is needed."

"This is what comes of loving a warrior." Nyal rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, studying the faded scars there.

"My offer stands." Searching those sad hazel eyes for an answer, she added in Aurenfaie, "Take what the Lightbearer sends and be thankful, tali."

Nyal chuckled softly. "That's a Bokthersan proverb, but I will reflect upon it."

Seregil and Alec moved through the labyrinthine house with their usual caution, but were soon satisfied that most of the household was busy in the main courtyard. The few people they encountered along the way, servants and trysting lovers mostly, were easily evaded.

"Does any of this look familiar?" Seregil asked.

"No, I was in the other wing."

Seregil had once known this sprawling house well. Wandering through familiar corridors and courts, he found his way at last to the khirnari's living quarters. The rooms faced a small courtyard encircled by banks of peony and wild rose. A pool at its center was stocked with large, silver fish.

"If we don't find the papers here, and quickly, we give up and go back," Seregil said, trying a door and finding it unlocked. "We've got to return before we're missed." He squinted at Alec in the dim moonlight. "You haven't smelled anything, have you?"

"Just the flowers."

Their search was made easier by the spare furnishings Ulan and his lady favored. Each room had what it needed to make it habitable, no more. Thick carpets softened the sound of their feet, but there were no tapestries, just airy silk hangings around the bed.

"Odd," Alec whispered, keeping a lookout at the door. "This is all of the best quality, but after what we've seen so far tonight, I'd have expected Ulan's tastes to be more elaborate."

"What does that suggest?" Seregil asked, poking through a clothes chest.

"That he doesn't care about material goods? That it's the power he craves, and displays of wealth like this gathering tonight are simply manifestations of his power?"

"Very good. There's more to him than that, though. He lives for his clan. Not that he hasn't made himself a great man in the process, but the power, the goods, trade, reputation? It's all for Viresse. That's the mark of a great khirnari."

He broke off, bent over a drawer in a small chest. "Look at this."

He flipped something bright at Alec, a new Skalan sester coin that had been cut in two.

"I bet I know what this is," he whispered, tossing it back. "Ulan sends sen'gai tassels. Torsin sends these."

"If you're right, then they've met at least five times." Seregil showed him more of the tokens. "What do you suppose Ulan is doing, keeping these close to hand? Now, what was I saying?"

"That Ulan is a great khirnari."

"Ah, yes. One of the greatest. That's why he opposes Klia, not because he dislikes her, or the Tir. If it had somehow benefited his clan to give Klia what she wants, we'd be home in Skala by now with his blessings. Ah, here's something else! Looks like a dispatch box." Seregil held it up. It was the right size, but utterly smooth, with no sign of a lock hole.

"I'm guessing what we're after is in here, if it still exists at all.

Either way, we're not getting our hands on it. This is held shut with magic."

"We should have brought Thero—" Alec broke off, hearing the sound of approaching footsteps. Hissing a quick warning, he ducked out of sight behind the door. Seregil rolled silently under the bed and Alec made a mental note; if he ever suspected intruders in Aurenen, that was the first place to look. Their unseen visitor paused a moment in the courtyard, then walked back the way he'd come.

"So much for your Bash'wai protector," Seregil complained, brushing dust from his coat as he emerged. "Not a whiff of 'em, eh?"

"I'm afraid not. What do you suppose that means?"

"Who knows, with the Bash'wai."

He moved to the sitting room off the bedchamber. After a few moments he emerged with a wrinkled sheet of parchment held triumphantly aloft. "This just might be of use," he whispered, examining it with the lightstone. "It's the beginning of a letter, but a large splotch of ink has spoiled the page after a few lines. He's not so fastidious as I thought, to leave this lying about."

Alec craned his neck for a look. "That's not Aurenfaie lettering."

"Plenimaran." Seregil's brows shot up as he scanned the first lines. "Well now, how small the world is sometimes. The salutation is to one 'honored Raghar Ashnazai.' "

"Ashnazai? Kin to Vargul Ashnazai?"

"Oh, yes. Plenimaran families are very close-knit, especially the powerful ones. Necromancers, spies, diplomats, influence peddlers; what a charming lot the Ashnazai must be around the supper table."

He replaced the parchment where he'd found it. "Well, it's better than nothing. At least we know whom he's dealing with. We'd better get back now. I imagine Thero's running low on tricks. They do require a sense of humor, after all."

Returning to the central courtyard, they parted ways and entered by different doors.

Apparently Seregil had been right about Thero, Alec thought, finding the wizard in conversation with a small group that included their host, Klia, and the khirnari of Khatme. Adzriel and Saaban were with them, too, and everyone looked decidedly tense. Lhaar a Iriel was actually shaking a finger at Thero.

"There you are," Klia muttered as he stepped in beside her. "Poor Thero could do with a bit of support."

"But I've seen Aurenfaie themselves use magic for innocent entertainment," the embattled wizard was saying. "I assure you, I meant no offense."

"Fools and children, perhaps," Lhaar a Iriel retorted sternly. "The power granted by Aura is a sacred thing, not to be toyed with."

"Is laughter not a gift of Aura, too, Lhaar a Iriel?" Ulan i Sathil asked, coming to his guest's defense.

"Indeed, I've spent a good many rainy afternoons doing such tricks for the children of my own household," Saaban added.

Alec stifled a grin. "Dear me, Thero, whatever have you been up to? " The wizard pointedly ignored him.

"Come now, this is my house and I declare no harm done," Ulan said. "We must be tolerant of one another's differences, must we not?"

The Khatme gave him a dark look and glided away.

Ulan winked at Thero. "Pay her no mind, Thero i Procepios. The Khatme are of a different mind on so many things. I am honored that you should exercise your talents for the benefit of my guests. I pray you do not let her harshness reflect insult on my house."

Thero bowed deeply. "If I have in any way repaid your magnanimous hospitality, Khirnari, then I am satisfied."

Alec remained with Thero as the rest of the group dispersed.

"I was actually enjoying myself, until the Khatme took me to task," Thero admitted. "You remember that trick Nysander had of making the wine jugs sing? I believe I carried it off rather well." Pausing, he slipped Alec the hand sign for "any luck?"

Alec nodded, then froze as the hint of a familiar scent tickled his nostrils.

"What is it?" Thero asked.

"I—I'm not certain." The smell of the Bash'wai, if that is what it had been, was already gone. Alec turned, sniffing the air.

"What are you doing?" Seregil asked with a bemused smirk, coming over to join them.

"I thought I smelled it again, just for a second," Alec murmured.

"Smelled what?" asked Thero.

"Some people see the Bash'wai. Alec claims to smell them," Seregil explained.

"It's like a heavy perfume," Alec said, still sniffing.

"Really?" Thero glanced around. "I'd be hard put to pick out a ghost here, what with all the other aromas."

"It could have been a Ykarnan." Seregil pointed out several people wearing black tunics and sea-green sen'gai. "They favor a very distinctive scent."

"You're probably right," Alec said. "Say, have any of you seen Lord Torsin? I expected him to be with Klia, but I don't see any sign of him."

"He left," Thero told him. "Left? How long ago?" Seregil asked. "It was just after you two went, I think." "Seregil, Alec!" Klia called, waving to them over the heads of the crowd. "Our host has asked you to play." Alec grinned. "Singing for our supper again? Just like old times."

29

Unexpected Death

Klia and the rest of the hunting party were already at breakfast by the time Alec reached the kitchen the next morning. Braknil's decuria had drawn the lucky straw, and Nyal was with them, chatting with Kheeta and Beka.

Heeding Nazien's advice, Klia had dressed in a military tunic and boots, a few Akhendi charms her only ornaments. Alec smiled to himself; in the soft light of the hearth, she looked like the carefree young soldier he'd first met beside a Cirna horse trader's corral.

"Have trouble finding your way out of bed again this morning, did you?" Beka chided good-naturedly, drawing a chuckle from a few of Braknil's riders, presumably those who'd been on sentry duty two nights earlier. Alec ignored her, giving his full attention to a plate of bread and sausage one of the cooks handed him. He'd made certain the balcony door had been tightly shut last night. "You should eat, my lady," Kheeta urged Klia, eyeing the barely touched plate balanced on her knee. "Old Nazien is likely to lead you halfway to Haman and back before dark."

"So I've been warned, but I'm afraid I haven't the stomach for food just yet," Klia replied, patting her belly ruefully. "It's a

sorry thing for a soldier to admit, but I must have drunk a bit past the point of wisdom last night. I still haven't mastered the wines of your country."

"I thought you looked poorly," said Beka. "Perhaps we should put off this hunt? I could send word to Nazien."

"It will take more than a sour stomach and sore head to make me miss this hunt," Klia said, nibbling a slice of apple without much enthusiasm. "Nazien is as good as won over, I'm certain of it. Time's running short and this day can buy us more goodwill than a week's debating."

She reached out and ran a finger through the collection of shatta dangling from Alec's quiver. "You've gamed with them, Alec. What do you say? Which will gain us the greatest favor: shooting very well or very poorly?"

"If we were at Rhiminee, I'd say the latter, my lady. Here, though, I'd say a show of skill is best."

"That would be best, if you want Nazien's respect," Nyal concurred.

Alec paused, considering his next question. "Are you sure it's wise for me to go? The Haman have made it clear that they don't like me any more than they do Seregil, and I wouldn't want to get in your way if you think they're coming around."

"Leave that to me," she replied. "You're a member of this delegation and a friend. Let them accommodate me for a change."

"You're also our best hunter," Beka added with a wink. "Let Emiel and his friends chew that one over!"

"How is Lord Torsin feeling this morning?" asked Nyal.

"Still asleep, I think," Klia replied. "I've ordered the servants not to disturb him. It's just as well, really. Another day's rest will do the poor fellow good."

Kheeta finished his meal and left, returning a short while later with news of the Hamans' arrival.

"Is Emiel i Moranthi with the khirnari today?" asked Klia.

"Yes, along with a dozen or so of his supporters," Kheeta told her. · "But Nazien has brought along a number of older kin, too."

Klia exchanged a bemused glance with Beka and Alec. "Shoot well, my friends, and smile nicely."

Nazien i Hari and a score of Haman awaited them on horseback in the street. Their black-and-yellow sen'gai looked fiercely vivid against the hazy morning sky, like the warning colors of a hornet.

All carried bows, javelins, and swords. The quivers of the young bloods of Emiel's faction were heavy with shatta.

We 're outnumbered, Alec noted uneasily, wondering what Klia thought of this reception. A glance in Beka's direction told him she was having similar misgivings.

But Klia strode up to Nazien and clasped hands warmly with him.

Emiel sat his horse in a place of honor just behind his uncle, his expression carefully neutral. For the moment, at least, he seemed content to ignore Alec's presence.

Suits me fine, you arrogant bastard, just so long as you mind your manners, he thought, watching suspiciously as Emiel offered Klia his hand.

They were about to mount when the khirnari of Akhendi and several kinsmen came into view down the street, out for an early stroll. Amali was with him.

"Looks like the morning sickness is still with her," Beka remarked. "She's looking wan."

"It appears you'll have a pleasant day," Rhaish i Arlisandin called out, coming to greet Klia and the others. "I trust you rested well, Klia a Idrilain?"

"Well enough," Klia replied, looking at Amali with concern. "You're the one who looks weary, my dear. What brings you out at this hour?"

Amali clasped Klia's hands, smiling. "Oh, I wake with the sun these days, and it's such a pleasant time to be out." She cast a quick glance in the Haman's direction. "I trust you'll take care today. The hills can be dangerous—for those not used to them."

Nazien bristled noticeably. "I'm sure we will keep her safe."

"Of course you will," Rhaish agreed coolly. "Good hunting to you all."

A warning, perhaps? wondered Alec, listening to this odd exchange of pleasantries.

The Akhendi continued on their way, but he saw Amali cast one final look back.

Bokthersan servants brought out horses for Klia and her party. Once mounted, Alec found his position of rank threw him in next to Emiel. There was no avoiding him, it seemed. Emiel soon proved him right.

"Your companion is not joining us?" he asked.

"I think you know the answer to that already," Alec replied coldly.

"Just as well. He was never any hand with a bow. Blades, though—now that was another matter."

Alec forced a smile. "You're right. He's an able teacher, too. Perhaps you'd like to cross swords with me sometime in a friendly contest?"

The Haman's smirk widened. "I'd welcome the opportunity."

Nyal sidled his horse closer. "Even practice bouts are forbidden in the city. They fall under the proscription against violence." He gave the Haman a pointed look. "You of all people should know that."

Emiel reined his horse sharply away, followed by his companions.

Nyal watched them with evident amusement. "Touchy fellow, isn't he?"

Watching from an upstairs window, Seregil counted sen'gai unhappily. He hadn't liked the idea in the first place, and liked it even less seeing how outnumbered the Skalans were. Klia appeared unconcerned, laughing with Nazien and praising the horses.

You see it, too, don't you, tali? he thought, reading even at a distance Alec's attitude of quiet watchfulness.

The day ahead of him suddenly loomed very long indeed.

When the hunting party had ridden off at last, Seregil headed down to the bath chamber and found he had the place to himself.

"Shall I prepare a bath for you?" Olmis asked, rising from a stool in the corner.

"Yes, and as hot as you can make it." Keeping his still fading bruises secret had meant doing without proper baths for days. This man already knew his guilty secret, and had kept it, too.

Stripping down, Seregil slid into the hot, fragrant water and let it lull him as he floated limply just beneath the surface.

"You're looking much better this morning," Olmis observed, bringing him a rough sponge and soap.

"I'm feeling much better," Seregil said, wondering if he dared take the time for a proper massage. Before he could make up his mind, however, Thero rushed in. The normally fastidious wizard was unshaven and uncombed, his coat buttoned awry.

"Seregil, I need your help at once!" he said in Skalan, stopping just inside the doorway. "Lord Torsin has been found dead."

"Found?" Splashing up out of the tub, Seregil reached for a towel. "Found where?"

Thero's eyes widened perceptibly at the sight of Seregil's battered body, but thankfully he let it pass for the moment. "At the Vhadasoori. Some Bry'khans—"

"By the Light!" Seregil hissed. The last thing Klia or the negotiations needed was another death. "Does anyone know when he went out this morning?"

"I haven't had time to ask."

Seregil tugged on his breeches and boots, hopping awkwardly from one foot to the other in his haste. "Tell whoever found him that he's not to be moved!"

"Too late for that, I'm afraid. The woman who brought the news says her kinsmen are already on their way with the body. They should be here any time now."

"Bilairy's Balls!" Seregil threw on his coat and followed.

The sound of raised voices guided them to the main hall. A middle-aged Bry'khan woman and two youths had just arrived, carrying a cloak-shrouded body on a shutter. The contorted angles beneath the makeshift pall already suggested that Torsin had not died peacefully. Escorted by Sergeant Rhylin and four riders, they set their makeshift litter down in the center of the room. The woman introduced herself as Alia a Makinia. The young men with her were her sons.

"I found this beside him," one of the boys said, handing Seregil a bloody handkerchief.

"Thank you. Sergeant Rhylin, post a guard at the doors outside and send someone to inform my sisters of what's happened." He turned back to the Bry'khans. "The rest of you stay a moment, please."

A welcome sense of detachment settled over Seregil as he knelt by the litter, the body already reduced in his mind to a puzzle to be solved.

Drawing back the cloak, he found Torsin lying on his back, knees drawn up and twisted to the left. His right arm was extended stiffly above his head, the splayed hand white and swollen beneath a thin layer of drying mud. The left hand was clenched tightly against his chest. The robe was the same one Torsin had worn the night before, but soiled and damp now. Bits of dead grass were tangled in the old man's hair and in the links of his heavy gold chain.

Someone had tied a cloth around the dead man's face. Black blood had soaked through it by the mouth. More blood had dried on the front of his coat and the back of the fist clutched awkwardly to his chest.

"By the Light, his throat's been cut!" Thero exclaimed.

Seregil probed beneath the jaw pressed rigidly to the chest. "No, his neck's sound."

He pulled the cloth from the dead man's face, certainty already

taking shape in his mind. The lips, chin, and beard were streaked with dried blood and flecked with bits of dead grass and mud. Death had cruelly transformed the dignified features, and insects had been busy in the open eyes and between the parted lips. The left side of the head had turned a mottled purple and was peppered with small indentations. The rest of the face and neck were a leaden hue.

Thero caught his breath sharply and made a warding sign.

"There's no need for that," Seregil told him. He'd seen more corpses than he cared to recall and knew the marks of death like an alphabet. He pressed a fingertip into the livid cheek and released it. "This side of his head rested against the ground. It's the settling of the blood after death that discolors the skin this way. See here, on the undersides of his arms and neck?" He pressed the darkened skin again, noting that it didn't blanch beneath his fingers. "He's been dead since last night."

He looked up at the Bry'khans again. "When you found him, he was lying on his face at the water's edge, wasn't he? With this hand outstretched in the water, the other curled under him?"

The Bry'khans exchanged startled looks. "Yes," Alia replied. "We went to the Vhadasoori for blessing water this morning and found him lying just as you said. How did you know?"

Preoccupied, Seregil ignored the question. "Where was the Cup?"

"On the ground beside him. He must have dropped it while drinking." She made a blessing sign over the dead man. "We treated him with all respect and said the words of passing over him."

"You and your kin have my gratitude, Alia a Makinia, and that of the princess," Seregil said, wishing they'd left Torsin where he lay. "Did you find anything else near the body?"

"Just the cloth."

"Where is the Cup now?"

The older boy shrugged. "I put it back on the stone."

"Go and fetch it at once!" Seregil ordered sharply. "Better yet, carry it to Brythir i Nien of Silmai and explain what has happened. Tell the khirnari I fear poison."

"Aura's Cup poisoned?" the woman gasped. "That's impossible!"

"There's no sense taking chances. If you can, learn if anyone has used it in the meantime. Hurry, please!"

The moment they were gone, he let out a snort of annoyance. "Thanks to their kindness, we may never pick up the trail now."

"No wonder no one saw him go out," Thero murmured, hunkering down beside the body. "These are the clothes he had on last night. He must not have come home at all."

"Beka said he refused an escort home from Ulan's house."

The wizard touched Torsin's face gingerly. "My experience with death is still quite limited, it seems. I've never seen a person turn blue like that. What can it mean?"

"Suffocation, most likely." Seregil held up the handkerchief. "His lungs finally gave out on him, drowning him in his own blood. Of course, he may have been strangled or smothered, too. We'd better have a look at the rest of him, just to be sure. Help me strip him."

And pray to Aura he wasn't murdered, he thought. There had never been a murder in Sarikali as far as he knew. Better that Skala didn't set the precedent. There was no telling how the 'faie would react to that.

Thero might be unversed in death, but the war had toughened him to its aftermath. In his sheltered days at the Oreska House, the young wizard had lacked the stomach for such things; now he worked with grim determination, mouth pressed into a tight line as they cut and pulled the clothes from the stiff limbs.

They found no obvious wounds or bruising, nor any evidence of theft. Torsin's skull and long bones were sound, and his right hand and wrists showed no wounds indicating he'd warded off an attacker; the left fist would have to wait until the rigor passed.

"So what do you think? Was it poison?" Thero whispered when they'd finished.

Seregil prodded at the rigid muscles of the dead man's face and neck, then pried back the wrinkled lips. "It's hard to say with the discoloration. Any feel of magic on him?"

"None. What was he doing by the pool?"

"It lies between here and Viresse fai'thast. He must have stopped there to wet his throat, then collapsed. He was staggering by the time he reached it."

"How do you know that?"

Seregil picked up a discarded shoe. "Look at the toe, how scuffed and stained it is. Torsin would never wear dirty shoes to a banquet; therefore, it happened after he left. And see how dirt is ground into the front of his robe about the knees and arms? He fell at least twice getting to the water, yet had the presence of mind to use the Cup instead of simply dipping it up with his hand. He was sick, all right, but I'd say death itself overtook him suddenly there at the water's edge."

"But the contortion of the body?"

"It hasn't the look of a death agony, if that's what you mean. He collapsed and fell over sideways. The death rigor hardened his limbs this way. It makes for a grisly corpse, I grant you, but there's nothing unusual about it. All the same, I want a look at where they found him."

"We can't just leave him lying here."

"Have the servants lay him out upstairs."

Thero looked down at his soiled hands and sighed. "First Idrilain and now him. Death seems to be dogging us."

Seregil sighed. "Both were sick and old. Let's hope Bilairy has had enough of us through his gate for a while."

Adzriel arrived in the hall just as Seregil and Thero were leaving for the Vhadasoori.

"Kheeta sent word. Poor Lord Torsin!" she exclaimed. "He'll be greatly missed. Will there be another mourning period, do you think?"

"I doubt it," Seregil replied. "He wasn't royal kin."

"That's just as well," she mused, pragmatic despite her concern. "The negotiations are tenuous enough as things stand."

"We're off to see the place where he was found. Care to come along?"

"Perhaps I should."

The sun had cleared the tallest of Sarikali's towers by the time they reached the sacred pool. To Seregil's dismay, a small crowd of gawkers had gathered outside the ring of stones. Inside, old Brythir i Nien stood next to the Cup with Lhaar a Iriel and Ulan i Sathil. Of these, the Viresse looked the most visibly shaken.

Here to test the wind, now that your principal advocate is gone? thought Seregil.

"Stay here a moment, please," he told Adzriel and Thero. "There have already been enough people trampling around."

Using the pedestal and Ulan's house as reference points, he went slowly over the area Torsin had most likely crossed, starting near the stone statues and working in.

There'd been a heavy dew the night before, and the grass was still moist. Here and there Seregil found the marks of what appeared to be Skalan shoes, overlaid with dew. The heels made a deeper impression than the flat boots favored by the 'faie. The uneven spacing and occasional small gouge or dent in the turf spoke of a man already unsteady on his feet.

He might have found more distinct signs near the water's edge if his well-meaning predecessors had not in their zeal trampled over the area. Even Micum would have been hard-pressed to make sense of this mess, he fumed silently.

His persistence was repaid in part, however. At the water's edge he found four long marks scored by grasping fingers. A flattened patch of ground showed where the body had lain, a nexus for various sets of footprints. Here were a few uneven steps—Torsin's last. Parallel marks of Aurenfaie boots were most likely those of the Bry'khans who'd borne him away. At some point, someone had knelt by the body. These tracks had been crossed by the Bry'khans. All of them crossed Torsin's prints.

Straightening, he waved Thero and his sister over.

"We grieve for your loss," Brythir told him, his wizened face somber. "No one has touched the Cup since I arrived."

"You imagined it poisoned, I suppose,".Lhaar said acidly. "You have lived too long among the Tir. No Aurenfaie would poison the Cup of Aura."

"I spoke in haste, Khirnari," Seregil replied, bowing. "When I heard that the Cup had been found by the body, I wished to chance no mishap. Having looked the ground over, however, I'm reasonably certain that Torsin met his end alone, and that he was dying before he reached the water."

"May I examine the Cup, Khirnari?" asked Thero. "It might be possible to learn something of his state of mind if he touched it before he died."

"Aurenfaie law forbids the touching of minds," the Khatme replied tersely.

Brythir placed a hand on her arm. "A guest has died while under our protection, Lhaar a Iriel. It is only right for his people to pursue their own manner of inquiry to satisfy themselves as to the nature of that death. Besides, the mind of Torsin has gone with his departed khi. Thero i Procepios seeks only memories in stone. You may proceed, young wizard. What can you learn from this mute object?"

Thero examined the alabaster bowl closely, even going so far as to dip up a little water and taste it.

"You let him dishonor us with his suspicions," the Khatme muttered.

"The truth dishonors no one," said Ulan i Sathil.

Undeterred, Thero pressed the cup to his brow and mouthed a silent incantation. After several minutes he replaced it on its rough pedestal and shook his head. "This vessel has known only reverence until Torsin came here. He alone touched it with a discordant mind, and that was due to the extremity of his illness."

"You can feel his illness?" asked Adzriel.

Thero pressed a hand to his chest. "I felt some of what Torsin felt as he held it—a burning pain here, under the breastbone."

"What of his last thoughts?" challenged the Khatme.

"I do not possess such magic as that would take," Thero replied.

"Thank you for your patience, Khirnari, said Seregil. "There's nothing to be done now but await Klia's return."

Brythir shook his head sadly. "What a pity to spoil her fine day with such news."

30

The Hunt

Alec's initial qualms had lessened somewhat by the time they forded the fog-shrouded river and headed up into the hills. The younger Haman were in high spirits and the mood soon spread among the Skalan riders. Alec was as glad as any of them to escape the dark walls of Sarikali for the day—especially on a day that promised as fair as this. The rising sun sent streaks of gold across a sky as flawlessly blue as Cirna turquoise.

Even this close to the city, game tracks were thick on the soft mould: stag, black deer, boar, and flocks of some large bird. There were also signs of other hunters— wolves, bears, and foxes.

Their guides didn't slow to hunt here but pressed on into the forest ahead, where fir and oak towered up to block the rising sun.

The Aurenfaie had no dogs for coursing. Instead, they dismounted when game was sighted, letting a few chosen hunters stalk it on foot while the rest waited. This was the sort of hunting Alec knew best, and he quickly earned his host's praise when he brought down a fat doe with a single shaft. Strangely, Klia did not fare as well.

"I hope you're not depending on me to round out tonight's feast," she remarked ruefully after letting fly too soon on a clear shot.

In spite of this, many of the younger Haman who'd been standoffish began to warm to her, if not to her entourage. Emiel grew particularly attentive, even lending Klia his own bow when hers failed her on another shot.

"Looks like she decided to play coy after all," Beka muttered, waiting for Klia and Emiel to return from a stag chase. "I've seen her shoot better than this in a driving rain at dusk!"

The day turned warm as the morning mist burned off. Beneath the trees the air grew heavy. The birds fell silent, and swarms of tiny flies plagued riders and mounts alike, buzzing about their heads and raising itching welts on any patch of exposed skin. Ears and noses seemed a favorite target.

They reached a large grassy glade on the crest of a hill just before midday, and Nazien called a halt. Poplars edged the clearing, their coin-shaped leaves rustling in the breeze. A wide stream cut along one edge of it, and a cool breeze drove off both heat and flies. Stacks of wood, old fire circles, and the evidence of several other trails leading off through the trees marked this as a popular destination.

"The game will sleep until the noonday heat passes," Nazien was saying to Klia. "We may as well do the same."

Fruit, bread, and wine were produced from various saddlebags. Several of Beka's riders helped clean and spit kutka for roasting. Alec stayed a little apart, keeping a surreptitious eye on Emiel and the khirnari as they sat with Klia in the shade.

After the meal, most of the hunters lay down to sleep. Settled comfortably with his back to a tree, Alec was just drifting into a doze when he sensed someone standing over him. A woman was regarding him with a guarded smile. Orilli a something, he thought, trying to summon the rest of her name. Behind her, several of her companions stood watching.

"You shoot uncommonly well for a Tir," she said.

"Thank you," he replied, then added pointedly, "The rhui'auros say it's my gift from Aura, by my mother's blood."

She nodded politely. "My apologies, ya'shel. My friends and I were wondering if you would care to match that odd black bow against ours."

"I'd like that." Perhaps Klia had been right about the diplomatic value of this excursion after all.

A tree boll across the clearing served for the first target. It was an

easy mark, and Alec outshot most of the Haman archers. By the end of it, he had five new shatta on his quiver.

"Would you care to try something a bit harder?" he asked.

The others exchanged amused glances as he cut a dozen straight young branches and trimmed them to wands. Setting these upright in a patch of soft ground, he paced back twenty feet and scratched a shooting line in the moss with his heel.

"And what are we to do with those? Split them down the middle?" a Haman youth scoffed.

"You could." Alec settled his quiver against his right hip. "But this is the way I was taught."

Drawing four shafts in smooth succession, he nipped off the tips of four wands, alternating high and low.

Turning, he saw a mix of admiration and dismay on his opponents' faces. "Master Radly of Wolde, who makes these bows, won't sell them to anyone who can't do that."

A man named Ura held up a carved boar-tooth shatta. "I wager you can't do that again!"

Side bets were exchanged. Alec took his time fitting an arrow to the bowstring, waiting for a puff of wind to die down. A familiar calm settled over him, as it always did when he gave himself up to the bow. Bringing his left arm up, he drew and released in one smooth flow of motion. The chosen wand shivered as his arrow nicked the tip neatly away. He nocked a second shaft, then a third and fourth, sending each unerringly to their targets. Amazed laughter and a few low grumbles burst out among his competitors.

"By the Lightbearer's own Eyes, you are as good as they claim!" Orilli exclaimed. "Come on, Ura, meet your bet."

Alec accepted the prize with a modest smile, but couldn't help looking around to see if Klia had witnessed his victory.

She wasn't there.

Nazien lay dozing on the moss now, but there was no sign of her anywhere in the glade. Or of Emiel, he realized with a stab of alarm.

Stay calm, he thought as he excused himself from the games and walked over to Beka, who was talking with Nyal. Her horse is still here, so they can't have gone far.

"She took a walk with Emiel over that way," Beka told him, pointing to a trail leading down through the trees. "Klia complained of the heat, and Emiel offered to show her some shady pools downstream. I tried to go along with an escort, but she

ordered us to remain here." The look in her eyes suggested that she was much less happy about the situation than he'd first supposed.

"How long have they been gone?"

"Since just after you began your archery contest," Nyal replied, squinting up at the sun. "Half an hour, perhaps a little more."

Alec's sense of uneasiness returned in force. "I see. Perhaps I'd enjoy seeing these pools."

"I'm sure you would," Beka replied, keeping her voice low. "See that you keep out of sight."

The track led down a steep slope through wide-spaced trees. The stream that watered the glade crossed it, then tumbled down through a series of deep basins. Two sets of boot prints showed clear along the soft bank, and Alec followed them, reading the story they told. Two people had meandered along the water's edge, jumping across the narrow watercourse several times and pausing at the larger pools, perhaps looking for fish.

Rounding a bend in the stream, Alec caught a bright flash of Haman yellow between the trees. He approached softly, intending to ascertain Klia's whereabouts and discreetly withdraw.

What he saw as he came closer, however, made him abandon all stealth. Klia was thrashing on the ground beneath Emiel, who crouched over her, hands locked around her throat. Klia was tearing at the man's hands, heels kicking up clods of damp moss as she struggled to free herself. Water streamed from her hair, soaking the upper part of her tunic.

Alec charged, knocking the Haman away from her. Emiel came down hard on his back.

"What was your plan, then?" Alec snarled, bending over him, one hand on his dagger hilt. "Were you going to dump her in the water and claim she got lost? Or that some animal had killed her? Do you have beasts that strangle here in your forests? "

Gathering a fistful of the Haman's tunic, Alec dragged him to his feet with one hand and drove his other fist into Emiel's face twice, as he let loose all the pent-up hate he felt for the humiliations and insults he and Seregil had endured. Blood spurted from the man's nose and welled in a shallow gash above his right eye. Twisting in Alec's grip, he swung back wildly, catching Alec on the side of the head. The pain only fed his anger. Grabbing Emiel with both hands, Alec slammed him into the nearest tree. Momentarily stunned, Emiel collapsed in an awkward heap.

"So much for Haman honor!" Alec snarled, pulling off Emiel's sen'gai. Shaking the long strip of cloth loose, he bound the man's arms behind his back, then yelled for Beka.

Emiel groaned and tried to rise, and Alec kicked his feet out from under him. He drew back his fist again, welcoming an excuse to strike, but was stopped by a rasping croak behind him.

Klia was on her knees, one hand pressed to her throat, the other reaching out toward him.

"It's all right, my lady, I have him," Alec assured her.

Klia shook her head, then crumpled slowly to the ground.

Fear of a new sort shook him. Forgetting Emiel, he ran to her and gathered her in his arms. Half conscious, Klia writhed weakly against him, her breath coming in shallow, labored gasps. Tipping her head back, he found angry red scratches on her throat.

"Klia, can you hear me? Open your eyes!" Alec steadied her head between his hands. Her face was white, her skin clammy. "What's wrong? What did he do to you? "

Klia stared blearily up at him and slurred out, "So cold!"

He rolled her on her belly and pressed hard on her back, hoping to squeeze any water from her lungs. His efforts produced nothing but a dry, hacking wheeze. When he turned her over again, he found her insensible.

"What happened?" Beka yelled, racing down the trail with Nyal and a pack of armed Urgazhi on her heels.

"He attacked her!" Alec spat out. "He was strangling her or drowning her—I don't know which. She can hardly draw breath! We've got to get her back to Sarikali."

"Riders, keep the others back!" Braknil ordered, taking in the scene. "We've got to get to the horses."

"Keep who back?" Nazien demanded, arriving with several of his men. "What's happened?"

He halted in astonishment, looking first at his kinsman, bloodied and trussed with his own head cloth, then at Klia gasping in Alec's arms. "Emiel i Moranthi, what have you done?"

"Nothing, my uncle. By the Bow of Aura I swear it!" Emiel replied, rising awkwardly to his knees. Blood streamed from his smashed nose, and one eye was already swollen shut. "She paused to drink, then fell. I pulled her from the water, but she was choking. I was trying to help her when this"—he shot Alec a stony look— "this boy appeared and attacked me."

"Liar!" Alec tilted Klia's head back against his shoulder. "I saw

his hands on her throat. Look for yourselves; you can still see the marks. No fall would stop her breath like this."

Nazien stepped closer to inspect Klia, only to be blocked by Beka and Braknil. Other Urgazhi flanked them, blades drawn in warning. Outrage warred with concern in the old Haman's face for an instant, then he sagged visibly. "Please believe me, my friends, I had no hand in this and will see that no one hinders your return to the city. You'll find your way faster with a guide. Will you trust me to lead you?"

"After this?" Beka exclaimed, standing over the princess. Her tone was menacing, but her freckles stood out starkly against the sudden pallor of her face.

Klia stirred in Alec's arms. Opening her eyes, she rasped, "Let him."

"Let the khirnari lead us?" Beka asked in dismay.

The princess fixed her with a look that brooked no argument.

"My lady accepts your pledge," Beka told Nazien grudgingly.

"We're losing time! Someone give me a hand here, damn it," snapped Alec.

"Sergeant, see to the horses. Corporal Kallas, you and Arbelus take charge of the prisoner," Beka ordered. "Mirn, Steb, you help Alec carry Klia back to the clearing. Someone will have to ride double with her."

"I will," said Alec. "Just give me an escort who can keep up."

Later Alec would recall little of that long, frantic ride except the flash of Nyal's sen'gai through the trees ahead of him and the feel of Klia's struggle for breath as he held her.

Somewhere behind them, Sergeant Braknil followed with the Haman prisoner under guard, but just now he didn't care if he saw any of them again, so long as he got Klia back to the city before it was too late.

He tightened his grip around her, trying to keep her upright without impeding her increasingly labored breathing. Her braid had come loose and the wind whipped her hair against his face. Shifting his hold, he pressed her head to his cheek, supporting her as best he could.

If Klia died, then everything they'd worked for was lost. Skala would fall, her brave fighters swept aside by the black tide of Plenimar's soldiers and necromancers—Rhiminee, Watermead, the few places he'd learned to call home, all crushed under the Plenimaran's unchecked onslaught. Words from his vision came back

with new resonance: You are the bird who makes its nest on the waves.

Could that have been a portent of their failure? And what of Seregil? Sent to guide and protect, could there be redemption for him on either side of the Osiat Sea?

By the time the river came into sight Alec's muscles were cramped and his clothes were soaked through with sweat. Urging his horse across the ford, he pushed on, leaving all but Ariani behind. Swiftest of the pack, the Urgazhi scout whipped her foaming horse into a gallop and raced ahead as vanguard.

Seregil was helping Sergeant Mercalle treat a lame horse in the stable court that afternoon when the chilling wail of an Urgazhi battle cry rang out in the distance.

The sergeant looked sharply in the direction of the cry. "That's Ariani!" Whirling to face the startled riders lounging in front of the barracks house, she barked, "Raise the alarm! There's trouble!"

The cry came again, closer now, and the sound of it raised the hair on the back of Seregil's neck as he ran for the street. Kheeta, Rhylin, and the men of the current watch stood on the upper steps, shading their eyes.

"Here she comes!" Rhylin shouted.

Ariani came into sight down the street, her blond braid flying. Reaching them, she reined in sharply. "A Haman attacked Klia!" she cried as her lathered horse wheezed and sidled. "Alec's bringing her. They're right behind me. By the Four, send for a healer!"

Kheeta dashed off.

"How bad?" Seregil demanded.

"One of the Haman tried to strangle her."

"Which Haman?"

"I'm not sure, my lord, but Alec caught the son of a whore at it."

"Where was the captain?" asked Mercalle.

"Never mind that now!" barked Seregil. "There's a shutter there in the hall. Fetch it, quickly!"

A small group of riders had come into sight down the street and he saw Alec in the forefront, clutching a limp body against him one-armed. Beka, Nyal, and the Haman khirnari trailed behind him.

Reaching the house, Alec reined in, his face white with anger or exhaustion. From the looks of his bloodied right hand, he'd fought for her.

"Is she alive?" Seregil asked, gripping Windrunner's head stall.

"I think so," Alec rasped, still clasping her. "Seregil, it was Emiel. He did this."

"Bastard!" Memories of surrendering himself to the hands of that man hit Seregil like a fresh kick in the gut. He fought them down and helped Mercalle lift Klia down onto the shutter, thankful that the others knew nothing yet of the use it had already seen that day.

Mercalle and Beka hovered just behind Seregil as he knelt over Klia and pushed the tangled hair back from her face. She was cold and her breath came in tortured gasps. The delicate skin beneath her eyes was tinged an ominous blue. Examining her hands, Seregil saw that some of the nails were thinly edged with dried blood.

Good for you! he thought. With any luck, he'd leave a few marks on Emiel himself before the day was over.

She gave a choked gasp and opened her eyes.

"It's all right," he said, clasping her hand.

Klia's fingers closed over his in a punishing grip. Her mouth moved, forming soundless words.

"What is she saying?" asked Alec, crouched beside him.

Seregil leaned down, ear close to her lips.

"No—no vengeance," she managed. No teth—"

"No teth'sag?"

She nodded. "My order. The treaty—all that matters."

"We understand, Commander," Beka grated out. "I'll bear witness to it."

"And so will I," Mercalle rasped, tears coursing down her lined cheeks.

Unable to move or say more, Klia searched each of them out with despairing eyes, as if to impress her will on them.

Seregil had once seen a fellow traveler swept beneath the ice of a river. It had been clear but too thick to break through. Still alive, the man had stared up into Seregil's eyes with the same burning desperation for an instant before the current dragged him away.

Klia went limp, and he felt anxiously at her throat for a pulse.

"Her heart is still strong," he told the others, reluctantly letting go of her hand. "Where's Emiel? Teth'sag or not, he's going to answer for this."

"Just behind us, under guard," Beka replied.

Seregil drew Klia's dagger from its sheath. "She didn't have time to defend herself."

"I noticed that." Alec dismounted and leaned unsteadily against his horse's side. "He must have taken her by surprise."

Beka bowed her head. "I failed her."

"No, Captain, the guilt lies on my clan," Nazien i Hari told her, his voice hollow with grief. "Your princess should have needed no protection among my people."

"There'll be time enough for all that later. Get her inside!" Seregil ordered.

Thero met them in the hall and took charge. "Here, lay her on the table. There's no time to be lost. The rest of you, get back. Give her air." He bent over Klia and pressed his hands to her temples, throat, and chest.

Meanwhile, Seregil opened the front of her tunic to inspect the wounds there more closely. The skin between her chin and the breast band she wore beneath her linen shirt was scored with shallow scratches.

Braknil came to the door, helmet in hand. "How is she?"

"Alive," Alec told him.

"Ah, thank the Four! We've got the Haman under guard in the stable yard."

"I'll be out shortly," said Seregil, still focused on Klia.

Mydri hurried in with Kheeta on her heels. "By the Light, what's happened?"

"Alec will explain," Seregil told her. Leaving Klia to those who could best help her, he headed for the yard.

Good for you, Alec, he thought again, seeing Emiel's battered face. The young Haman sat on a low stool, ignoring the armed soldiers surrounding him. The rest of the Haman hunting party stood dourly behind him. Braknil's riders had their swords drawn and looked as if a single word from their sergeant would be all the orders they needed to cut the accused to pieces.

Nazien stood a little apart, grey with shame.

You've worn your hatred for me like a mark of honor, Seregil thought with satisfaction. Perhaps now you'll savor my family s shame a bit less.

The accused was another matter. Emiel showed his usual contempt as Seregil came to a halt just in front of him.

"Alec i Amasa says he saw you attack Princess Klia," Seregil said.

"Must I speak to this exile, Khirnari?"

"You will, and truthfully!" Nazien snarled.

Emiel turned back to Seregil with distaste. "Alec i Amasa is mistaken."

"Take off your tunic and shirt."

Standing, Emiel undid his belt with exaggerated slowness, then pulled off the two garments together and tossed them down on the

stool. For all his bravado, however, he flinched at Seregil's touch as he examined Emiel's hands and arms. There were a few fresh scratches on the backs of his hands. Otherwise, the callused fingers and palms showed only the soil of a long day's hunt. His chest, neck, and throat were also unmarked.

"He was seized immediately after the attack?" Seregil asked.

"Yes, my lord," Braknil assured him. "Alec said this man was still choking her when he found them."

"She fell. I was trying to help her," Emiel retorted. "Perhaps it was a fit of some sort. The Tir are prone to disease, or so I hear. You'd know more about that than I."

Seregil resisted the urge to slap the arrogant sneer off the man's face. The arrival of Alec and Kheeta at the kitchen door provided a welcome distraction.

"What does he say?" Alec demanded, striding over to them.

"That he was trying to help her."

Alec lunged for Emiel, but Seregil wrestled him back. "Don't do this," he muttered, close to his ear. "Go back inside and wait. We have to talk." Alec quit struggling, but didn't back off.

"If she dies, Haman, there'll be no dwai sholo for you!" Alec hissed.

"Enough. Go!" Seregil nodded to Kheeta, and the Bokthersan took Alec by the arm, drawing him back inside.

"Do you have anything more to say?" Seregil asked Emiel.

"I've nothing to say to you, Exile."

"Very well. Sergeant, search this man and his saddlebags." He paused, then without looking at Nazien i Hari, added, "Search all the Haman who went today and bring me whatever you find. They're to be held here until you hear differently."

Silence followed him back into the house. Kheeta had Alec cornered in what had been the mourning chamber.

"Klia has been moved to the women's bath," Kheeta told him. "Mydri ordered that a small dhima be set up for her there."

"Say nothing of what you saw out there for now, all right?"

Kheeta nodded and slipped out.

Finally alone, Seregil summoned what little patience he had left and turned his attention to Alec. "I need you to calm down."

Alec glared at him, eyes dark with fear and anger. A soul-deep pain radiated from him; Seregil could feel it tightening his own throat. "Maker's Mercy, Seregil, what if she dies?"

"That's out of our hands. Tell me exactly what you saw. Everything."

"We stopped at a clearing in the hills at midday. We ate a meal and waited for the heat of the day to pass. Emiel offered to show Klia some pools along a stream."

"You heard the invitation?"

"No, I was—distracted," Alec admitted, shamefaced. "Some of his friends challenged me to a shooting match. Klia and Emiel were sitting in the shade talking the last I noticed. After the match they were gone. Beka had seen them, knew where they'd gone. She'd offered to go with them, but Klia said no. She must have been hoping to win Emiel over. Anyway, they couldn't have been alone more than half an hour when I found him wrestling with her on the ground. Her hair and tunic were wet and she was fighting hard. By the time I'd gotten him off her she was having trouble breathing. I got her on a horse and we came here as quickly as we could."

Seregil considered all this, then shook his head, the words he was about to speak already bitter ashes in his mouth. "There's a chance he's telling the truth."

"I saw him! And you've seen the marks on them both."

"The marks on her neck aren't right. There should be bruises, finger marks, but there aren't."

"Damn it, Seregil, I know what I saw!"

Seregil ran a hand back through his hair and sighed. "You know what you think you saw. How did Klia's face look when you first reached her? Was it pale or dark?"

"Pale."

"Damn. There's no bruising on her neck, and the bones here—" He touched a finger to his larynx. "They're undamaged. If she was being strangled, her face would have been dark. I'm not saying he's innocent, just that he didn't choke her. You've got to let go of that, or you'll be no use to me at all."

"But those scratches on her neck?"

"There's blood under her nails, but not his. She did that to herself, clawing at her throat in panic. It's a common reaction to choking. Or poison."

"Poison? We all ate from the same bowls. I shared a wineskin with her myself. It still comes back to Emiel doing something to her down by the water."

"So it would seem. Are you certain no one else was there with them?"

"The ground was so soft in places mice had left tracks. If there'd been anyone else down there in the past two days, I'd have seen signs of them."

"Then let's hope Braknil finds something for us to hang an accusation on, although Emiel doesn't strike me as the type to leave empty poison flasks in his pockets. In the meantime, we've got to be careful what we say."

Alec sank his head into his hands. "Beka's right. We failed. Hell, how could I have been so stupid? An archery contest!"

Kheeta opened the door and looked in. "Alec, Mydri needs you. You're to come right away."

Four riders of Rhylin's decuria were on guard at the bath-chamber door. Beka and Rhylin stood just inside. A scene of quiet chaos lay beyond, but at first all Alec could focus on was the sight of Thero and Seregil's two sisters at work over Klia.

The princess was wrapped in a clean linen robe and lay on a pallet next to one of the small sunken tubs, which had been converted into a fire pit. An iron tripod had been set over the flames, supporting a large, steaming kettle. Thero knelt motionless beside her, eyes closed, holding one of her hands between his.

Mydri was supervising half a dozen servants around the room.

"Is the infusion steeped yet?" she called to a woman working over a nearby brazier. "Morsa, Kerian, finish with that dhima and get it heated!" This last was directed at several men who were struggling to stretch a thick felt cover over a wooden frame.

Kneeling beside Klia, Alec listened to the faint, steady whistle of breath in her throat. Her face had taken on a bluish pallor, and the dark circles around her eyes had deepened alarmingly.

"Look at this," said Seregil, lifting Klia's free hand. The flesh beneath her fingernails had turned a dusky blue. Her bare feet showed the same discoloration up to the ankles, and were icy to the touch.

"She shows signs of poisoning," Mydri said doubtfully, "yet it's like none I've ever seen. None of the usual remedies alleviate her stupor, but still she lives."

Alec looked at Thero again. The wizard was sweating and drawn. "What's he doing?"

"I tried a divining trance," Thero said without opening his eyes. "Some magic blocked my vision, which suggests that whoever did this covered his tracks. Now I'm just lending her strength. Magyana and I did the same for her mother."

The woman at the brazier brought over a cup and began patiently spooning its contents between Klia's lips, a few drops at a time. The

workmen finished with the dhima and lifted it to cover Klia, the woman, and the makeshift fire pit.

"From the time you first met with Klia this morning, what did you see her eat?" Mydri asked Alec.

"Almost nothing before we left," Alec replied. "She complained of being wine sick."

"So Beka said, but she did eat later. Just list it off. Whatever you saw the whole day."

"A little bread, an apple. I picked some wintergreen leaves for her in the woods to settle her stomach. I think she nibbled a bit of that. And I'm sure that's what it was. I tasted it myself to be sure.

"By the time we stopped for the midday meal she. seemed better. She shared part of a roast kutka with Beka and me, drank a little wine—" Alec closed his eyes, picturing the meal. "Nazien offered her cheese and bread. But I saw him eat from the same portions."

"The poisoning could have been accidental," said Mydri. "Did she eat anything wild besides the wintergreen? Berries, mushrooms? The scent of caramon buds is tempting, but they're dangerous even in small amounts."

Seregil shook his head. "She knows better than that."

The sound of retching came from inside the dhima and went on for several minutes. When it subsided the woman nursing Klia handed a basin out to Mydri. She inspected the contents closely, then passed it to another servant to carry away. "It appears you are correct, Alec."

"What about snakebite?" suggested Thero.

"There are no snakes in Aurenen, only dragons," Seregil said.

Mydri shrugged. "The sweating and purges should help. That and some strengthening magic are all we can do for now. She's survived this long. Perhaps this will pass."

"Perhaps?" Alec rasped.

Sergeant Mercalle entered hesitantly, dispatch pouch in hand. "Captain? I was about to send this when we got the news about Lord Torsin, so I held it for the Commander's return." She cast a mournful look at the dhima. "It's sealed and ready to go, but shouldn't someone write Queen Phoria about what's happened?"

Beka looked over at Seregil and the others. "Who do I take orders from now?"

"That would be you, Thero," said Seregil. "You're the last Skalan standing with any noble blood in him. The Iia'sidra certainly won't deal with me."

" Thero nodded gravely. "Very well. Send it as it is, Captain. We'll inform the queen of her sister's illness when we have determined the cause. It's unwise to risk spreading rumor without facts."

Mercalle saluted. "And the Haman, my lord?"

Thero looked to Seregil. "You're my adviser now. What do we do with them?"

"Hold Emiel, but let Nazien and the rest go back to their tupa under pledge of honor. Don't worry. He won't go anywhere, and if any of his people make a dash for it, we'll know who our poisoner is. Beka, station some of your people to keep an eye on them, but discreetly."

"I'll see to it myself," she assured him.

31

Deathwatch

A sense of foreboding enveloped the household. All through the night the servants went quietly on about their business, cooking food that went uneaten, turning down beds no one slept in. Lord Torsin lay forgotten for the moment.

Leaving Klia in Mydri's care, Seregil enlisted Alec, Thero, and Adzriel to go over every flask, knife, and piece of jewelry confiscated from the Haman. Neither sharp eyes nor magic turned up any evidence of poison.

"You said yourself they wouldn't keep anything that would give them away," Alec insisted. "I want to go back to that clearing. There wasn't time to look around properly before."

"If Klia touched the object that contained the poison, I could locate it," offered Thero.

"You're needed here," Seregil told him.

"Saaban has the gift," said Adzriel. "He knows the way to the clearing, as well. Shall I ask him to make arrangements?"

"If we leave before dawn, we'll be back by midday," Alec added.

"I suppose you'd better," said Seregil. "Where's Nyal, by the way?"

"I haven't seen him since you got back," said Thero. "Perhaps he's with Beka?"

"The one time I want the man and he's nowhere to be found," Seregil grumbled,

suddenly weary beyond words. "Fetch him. He may have heard something of use."

The night wore on. The three of them sat on the floor beside the dhima, listening to Mydri's soft songs of healing through the felt walls; now and then each took a turn inside.

Sitting by Klia, hair and clothes plastered damply against his skin, Seregil allowed his mind to wander back to the dhimas beneath the Nha'mahat and the rhui'auros's words to him there: Smiles conceal knives. The Haman had certainly been smiling when they rode out that morning.

He didn't know he was dozing until Mydri touched his arm.

"You should rest," she said, yawning herself.

Thero and Alec were asleep where they sat just outside the dhima. Seregil passed them silently and went to the window to cool his face. Looking out, he saw the dwindling moon disappearing behind the western towers.

Almost Illior's Moon, he thought. Or rather, Aura's Bow. He was back among his people at last; it was time he started thinking like a 'faie.

" You 're a child of Aura, a child of Illior," Lhial had told him. Aura Elustri, creator of the 'faie, mother of dragons. Illior Lightbearer, patron of wizards, madmen, and thieves. Light and darkness. Male and female. Wisdom and madness.

Different faces for all comers, thought Seregil, smiling as he slipped out the window and set off for the stable yard. Just like me.

The barracks were heavily guarded, but the long building itself was empty except for Kallas, Steb, and Mirn standing guard over their sullen prisoner. Emiel sat on a pallet in the corner furthest from the door. A clay lamp hanging overhead cast an uncertain light across the prisoner's face. Emiel didn't look up at Seregil's approach but sat staring put a tiny window under the eaves, watching the moon.

"Leave us," Seregil ordered the guards. When they hesitated, he added impatiently, "Lend me a sword, and stay by the door. I promise you, he won't get past me."

Steb gave Seregil his sword and moved off with the others.

Seregil walked slowly over to the prisoner.

"Here to murder another Haman, Exile?" Emiel asked, as calmly as if inquiring about the weather.

"I have one too many of your people on my conscience as it is." Seregil rested the blade point on the floor. This was the first time

since Nysander's death that he'd allowed himself to touch a sword; it felt awkward in his hand. "However, teth'sag is not murder, is it?"

The Haman's gaze did not waver. "To kill me here would be murder."

"But for you to kill my kinswoman, Klia a Idrilain, was that teth'sag?"

"She's dead?"

"Answer my question. If a Haman killed Klia a Idrilain, would it be teth'sag against Bokthersa? Against me?"

"No, the tie is too distant." Emiel rose to his feet and faced him. "Even if it weren't, I would never bring shame on my clan for the likes of you. You are dead to us, Exile, a ghost come to haunt a little while. You disturb the khi of my murdered kinsman with your presence, but you'll soon be gone. I can be patient."

"Patient as you were the night you and your friends met me in Haman tupa?"

Emiel returned to his contemplation of the moon, but Seregil heard him chuckle.

"Answer me this, then."

"I told you before, Exile, I have nothing to say to you."

Seregil gauged the man before him, then slid the sword away. It clattered and spun across the uneven boards, drawing startled looks from the guards.

"Stay there unless I call for you," Seregil told them, waving Steb and the others away. He moved closer to Emiel, stopping just inches away and lowering his voice. "The Haman are great bargainers. Here's an even trade for you. Answer my question and earn another taste of teth'sag. Right here. Right now."

Emiel turned away slightly, and Seregil mistook the move for a refusal. An instant later, he found himself flat on his back with blood in his mouth. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and the entire left side of his head had gone numb where Emiel's fist had caught him.

Steb and the others were nearly on Emiel by the time Seregil had gathered his wits. "No! S'all right. Go 'way," he managed, staggering to his feet. The look the corporal gave him warned that he'd be explaining himself to Beka later. Or worse yet, to Alec, who'd probably offer to even up the two sides of his head for him. No time to worry about that now.

Emiel's arrogant sneer was firmly in place again. "So ask your question, Exile. Ask as many as you like. The price is the same for each."

"Fair enough," Seregil replied, feeling with his tongue for loose

teeth. "I know about the secret meeting Ulan i Sathil held a few nights back, and what he told you there. I know that you don't share your uncle's sympathy for Skala. How did he react when you told him what you'd learned?"

Emiel let out a derisive snort, then lashed out again, backhanding Seregil hard enough to make him stagger. "You're wasting that handsome face of yours on that? He was shocked, of course, and dismayed. Klia a Idrilain has great atui. So did her mother. This new queen of yours, though?" He shook his head. "Even my uncle wonders if we should wait another generation before lifting the Edict. So do many of the other khirnari."

"You're generous with your answers," Seregil muttered, almost managing a crooked grin.

"Ask another."

Seregil took a breath and braced his feet, determined not to be caught off guard this time. "All right—"

But Emiel surprised him again, going for his belly instead of his face. Seregil doubled over, gasping for air. When he could breath again, he asked, "Did you know of Lord Torsin's private chats with Ulan i Sathil?"

"The Viresse? No."

Seregil leaned back against the wall, one hand pressed to his belly. His ears were ringing and his head hurt, but he didn't miss how that last question had shaken his opponent.

He considered pressing further on the Torsin angle but decided against it, not wanting to give too much away in case Emiel was telling the truth about not knowing. Instead, he let out a hollow chuckle. "So you think my face handsome, do you?"

Emiel took a menacing step toward him. "Is that another question, Exile?"

Seregil side-stepped hastily. "I withdraw it."

"Then I'll answer you for free." Grinning, Emiel raised his voice loud enough for the others to hear. "You were always a handsome little slut, Exile, more handsome even than the Chyptaulos traitor you played the whore for that summer."

The words froze Seregil where he stood.

"You don't remember it, but I was there, too. I remember you and Ilar i Sontir—that was his name, wasn't it? The man you killed my kinsman for? Too bad it wasn't just your ass Ilar was after, eh, guest killer? Perhaps we'd all have been friends. He could have passed you around. Did you like it rough back then, too?"

The words hit harder than any blow. Shame welled like bile in

Seregil's throat. How many of the Urgazhi in earshot had understood? Emiel's scornful gaze seemed to scorch his skin as Seregil retrieved the sword and headed for the door.

"I don't speak much 'faie, my lord, but I didn't like the sound of that," Steb growled as Seregil handed him back his weapon.

Emiel i Moranthi has just confessed. He tried to murder Klia. Kill him. That's all it would have taken.

Locking the words away behind a bloodied smile, Seregil shook his head. "See that no harm comes to our guest, riders. Not so much as a harsh word."

As he'd feared, news traveled fast among the Urgazhi. Alec was waiting for him just outside.

"Now what have you done?" he demanded, turning Seregil's face toward the watch fire to inspect the latest damage.

Seregil pulled away and continued on into the house. "Don't worry, it was my own doing."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"It wasn't like last time. I goaded him to see what he'd say. It was atui that made him swing at me."

"So it's honorable for him to hit you?"

"Absolutely. While he was at it, however, he let slip a few valuable bits of insight." He stopped just short of the great hall and lowered his voice. "As we'd feared, Ulan has done us a great deal of harm. Phoria's honor is in question, and some of those who supported us while Idrilain lived are wavering. But from what Emiel said just now, Torsin's secret meetings with Ulan aren't common knowledge." He fingered a tender spot next to his eye, hoping it wasn't going to swell. "Maybe we can use that to cast doubt back on Viresse. If we do, and prove that Klia was poisoned, perhaps we can sway some clans back to our side. I have to talk to Adzriel."

"She's in the hall."

Seregil clapped him on the shoulder. "See what you can find back in the hills. We need to know what Haman's role in all this is."

"It's going to take some doing," Alec admitted. "If they threw away something during the ride, chances are we'll never find it."

"We have to try. Otherwise, we can just stick our heads up our backsides and let it all fall to pieces."

Adzriel was talking with Rhylin and Mercalle beside the hall hearth. Drawing her into the mourning chamber, Seregil and Alec outlined the evening's findings.

"You can't believe the Haman are innocent?" she asked, searching Seregil's face.

"I'm not ready to say that yet, but something isn't right. I think Emiel is capable of it, but if he was going to go to the extreme of murder to get his way, wouldn't his uncle be a more logical target?"

"What about Nazien?" asked Alec. "He could have played us all for fools."

Seregil shrugged. "That seems even less likely. As much as I hate to admit it, he strikes me as an honorable man."

Adzriel touched Seregil's bruised cheek, frowning. "What will you do now?"

"Keep searching. Am I correct in guessing that anyone who falls under reasonable suspicion can be excluded from the vote?"

"Yes, the Haman must prove themselves innocent, or you must prove them guilty within a moon's span."

"We don't have that long," said Alec.

"Perhaps not," Adzriel replied. "Please, Alec, I'd like a moment alone with Seregil before he goes."

Alec cast a worried look at Seregil, then bowed. "Of course, my lady."

Adzriel gave him a wink. "Don't worry, I'll send him back to you soon, tali."

She watched Alec fondly out of sight, then turned and touched a finger to Seregil's swollen lip.

"You must stop this," she said softly. "It's wrong to seek this out from them."

"What do you mean?" he asked, folding his arms.

"You know exactly what I mean! Do you think Mydri kept the last occurrence from me? What is it you expect from such behavior? Justice? Atonement?"

"It wasn't like that this time," Seregil countered. "Sometimes you have to fool your enemy into doing what you want them to do. By letting Emiel think—"

"And what will everyone else think when they look at you tomorrow?" she demanded angrily. "For once in your life, listen to good counsel. Hear me, if not as your elder, then as the khirnari of the clan I pray you will one day rejoin. To allow a Haman to lay hands on you dishonors the princess you serve and the clan you sprang from. It dishonors Alec. Have you considered that?"

"That was pointed out to me, actually. But tonight—"

"Tonight you let a Haman put his hands on you again, as if it were his right."

Seregil knew it had been different tonight. He knew that whatever the cost, it had been worth the information he'd gotten. Any Rhiminee footpad or noble intriguer would have applauded him for it. At the same time, he knew with equal certainty that there was no way his sister would ever understand.

"Forgive me, talia. Bringing pain and dishonor to those I love best seems to be a particular talent of mine."

She cupped his chin. "Self-pity is a weakness you cannot afford to indulge. You know my hopes for you, tali. I want my brother back. I want you to be Aurenfaie again."

Tears stung his eyes as he pulled her close. I want that, too, more than you know. I just have my own ideas on achieving the impossible.

Alec paced slowly around the hall. He had the place to himself for the moment, the first time since Klia's mysterious collapse that he'd had a quiet moment to think. When he tried to make sense of the day, however, he was overwhelmed by the confusion of events. Klia's illness and Torsin's untimely death. Bad enough that they might be returning to Skala empty-handed and in the middle of a lost war. He'd stood by and allowed Klia to be poisoned right under his nose. Now Seregil was acting like a madman. Perhaps they'd both been too long away from Rhiminee, after all.

Seregil came out of the mourning room looking subdued.

"Well?"

"Go back up to that clearing at first light. Find whatever you can."

Alec opened his mouth to reply but succumbed to a jaw-creaking yawn instead.

"Get some sleep," Seregil advised. "There's nothing else you can do tonight, and tomorrow is shaping up to be a very long day."

"Are you coming up?"

"Maybe later."

Alec watched Seregil cross the darkened hall toward the bath chamber. "I still think Emiel did something to her."

Seregil paused but didn't look back. "Find me some proof, tali," he rasped. "Find me proof."

32

Snakes and Traitors

Seregil woke groggily to the sounds of an argument. He'd been dreaming of the Cockerel Inn again, but this time he'd been sitting on the roof.

Stiff and disoriented, he sat up and looked around the dim hall to get his bearings. He'd stayed with Klia until Mydri had chased him off, then made a makeshift bed out of two chairs out here. He hadn't expected to sleep, yet here he was with a stiff neck and one leg numb to the hip. The night lamp was guttering, and faint light was showing at the windows.

The argument in question was being carried on in Skalan outside the front door. Limping over, he looked out to find Nyal facing several Urgazhi sentries. Corporal Nikides and Tare were resolutely blocking the door. A few steps below, the Ra'basi interpreter looked tired and apologetic, but determined.

"It's Captain Beka's orders," Nikides was saying. "No Aurenfaie except Bokthersans are to be let in. When she comes back—"

"But the rhui'auros said Seregil sent for me!"Nyal insisted.

"Which rhui'auros?" Seregil demanded, sticking his head out.

"Elesarit."

It wasn't the name Seregil was expecting,

but he played along. "Of course. It's all right, Corporal. I'll take charge of him."

As soon as the door had swung shut behind them, he grasped the Ra'basi by the arm and pulled him to a halt.

"What did this rhui'auros say, exactly?"

Nyal shot him a surprised look. "Only that you required my services."

"And that I'd sent for you?"

"Well, no, now that I think of it. I just assumed—"

"We'll sort that out later. Where have you been? "

"Ra'basi tupa. With all the confusion here, I thought it best to stay out of the way.' I left word for Beka with Sergeant Mercalle, in case I was needed."

"She's still out keeping an eye on the Haman."

"Of course. Is Klia—?"

"As far as I know. Let's go see."

They met Saaban i Irais coming out of the bath chamber. He was dressed for riding, and looked as if he hadn't slept much, either.

"A bad night," he told them. "Alec is with her now. My riders and I can leave as soon as he's finished."

The dhima lay like an upended turtle against the far wall. Klia had been moved next to the central bathing pool, and wet cloths were draped across her forehead and wrists. Mydri and Adzriel sat next to her, each grasping one of her hands. Alec and Thero stood over them, hollowed-eyed and solemn.

"Sweating only made her breathing worse," Mydri explained worriedly. "I've purged her, given her herbs, sang the six songs of purification; nothing seems to help."

"By the Light!" Nyal went down on one knee beside Klia and inspected her hands and feet. The discoloration was darker and had spread up her limbs.

"Has she opened her eyes at all, or moved?" asked Nyal.

"Not for hours."

"Then I think you must be wrong about when she was poisoned."

Seregil gave the Ra'basi a sharp look. "What do you know about it?"

Nyal shook his head Wonderingly. "I don't know how it could be, but this has all the signs of an apaki'nhag bite."

"A what?" asked Mydri.

"It's a snake," said Nyal.

"I thought there weren't any snakes in Aurenen!" Alec exclaimed.

"Not on the land. Apaki'nhags are sea snakes. There are a number of different types."

"Apaki'nhag. 'Gentle assassin?' " Seregil translated.

Nyal nodded. "So called because its bite is painless, and because the effects of the venom don't appear for hours in most cases, sometimes not even for days. Shellfish divers often grab them by mistake among the weeds, not realizing they've been bitten until they fall ill later. I've seen it often enough among sailors and fishermen to know the signs. It's good you removed that." He gestured toward the dhima. "Sweating only drives the poison deeper into the body."

"A water snake? She was wet when I found her," Alec told him. "Emiel said she'd stopped to drink—"

"No, Alec. Apaki'nhag are saltwater creatures."

"Where are they found?" asked Seregil.

"Along the eastern coast. I've never heard of any south of Ra'basi."

"Ra'basi, Gedre, Viresse, Golinil," Seregil said, ticking likely places off on the fingers of one hand. "And let's not forget Plenimar."

"Plenimar?" said Alec.

"I'm not ready to rule them out just yet. Whether or not they did the actual poisoning, they've raised it to an art and wouldn't be above selling both the poison and the means of best using it. They have as much reason as anyone for wanting Klia to fail."

"If you're right, then she may not have been poisoned by something she ate but by something she touched," said Thero, concentrating on more immediate issues.

"Something that touched her, more likely," Seregil corrected, examining Klia's cold hands. "It's the mark of a two-legged serpent we're looking for. You say the victim doesn't feel the bite, Nyal?"

"That's right. The snake's teeth are quite small, and the venom deadens feeling. Ra'basi healers sometimes use a very dilute form of it in salves."

"A needle or small blade concealed in a ring is a favorite toy among Plenimaran assassins." Seregil pushed the sleeves of Klia's gown back to inspect her arms.

"This venom, Nyal, would it affect someone who's already ill more quickly? " Thero asked.

"Yes, with the old or infirm, it's nearly always fatal within—"

"Torsin!" Seregil exclaimed, looking up at the wizard. "Alec, keep looking for marks."

He and Thero took the stairs two at a time to the envoy's chamber. Cold lamps sparked to life at the wizard's command.

The dead man's face had lost its leaden hue, darkening already to the mottled greenish pall of dissolution. The rigor had passed and someone had straightened the limbs, bound up the slack jaw and eyes, and blanketed the corpse with fragrant herbs. Neither these nor the resinous smoke from the incense pot could mask the heavy stench. A round, salt-glazed urn with a cover of fitted leather had been left on the clothes chest, ready to receive the dead man's ashes for the journey home.

"A not-so-subtle hint that my people don't let their dead linger," Seregil noted, pointing at the jar. "We're lucky he hasn't already been carted out to a pyre somewhere."

"I'm not sure 'lucky' is the word I'd have chosen," Thero replied, recoiling at the smell.

"Damn this warm weather, eh?" Seregil muttered, wrinkling his nose. "Let's get it over with."

He spread the fingers of Torsin's right hand and inspected them. He heard Thero suck air and hold it as he pried open the clenched left fist. Perhaps he wasn't as hardened to all this as Seregil had supposed.

An excited gasp quickly followed, however. "Look at this!" Thero exclaimed, pulling a tangled clump of fine threads free of the wrinkled palm.

Seregil took it and smoothed the strands out on his palm: red and blue silk, knotted into a small tassel identical to the one Alec had found on the envoy's hearth two weeks earlier. "It's from a sen'gai. See here? There's a bit of cloth still attached above the knot."

"A sen'gai? But those are the colors of Viresse!"

"So they are." Seregil returned to his inspection of Torsin's other hand with a sardonic grin. It was still bloated from lying in the water, but with the aid of a lamp he finally located a small puncture wound on the fleshy part of the palm just below the base of the thumb. He pressed the skin, and a globule of dark blood oozed out.

Thero drew a silver knife from his belt and gently scraped it up.

"Think there are any apaki'nhags slithering about in the Vhadasoori?" asked Seregil.

"I very much doubt it. That doesn't look like snakebite."

"More like a needle or thorn puncture. Nyal must be right about the numbing effect of the poison. This went deep."

"So the poisoner followed him to the Vhadasoori when he left

Ulan's house," Thero speculated. "Judging by this, they straggled. Torsin grasped at his attacker, pulling that bit of fringe from his sen'gai in his death throes."

They were interrupted by Alec's noisy entrance. "We found it!" he announced triumphantly. "There's a tiny mark on her left hand, between the first and second fingers."

"But I looked there," Seregil exclaimed. "How did you find it?"

Alec touched the dragon bite on his ear. "This gave me the idea. When we couldn't find anything, I tried rubbing lissik on her skin to bring out any breaks and there it was. It's marked for good now. The flesh is beginning to go white around it, too. Nyal says that's a sure sign."

"Well, we just found something similar on Torsin. And this." Seregil passed Alec the tassel. "Thero's speculated that Torsin's murderer followed him from the banquet, and that Torsin grappled with him and tore this from his head cloth. What do you think?"

Alec picked at the shred of cloth, then shook his head. "This was cut, not ripped. See how the weave is still straight? With this loose-woven cloth, the threads would be all ragged if anyone pulled on it hard enough to tear it. I'd say this was sent as a token, like the last one. Maybe Torsin went to the Vhadasoori to meet someone. A Viresse."

"Possibly," said Seregil. "But if Nyal is right about how the poison works, he was dying before he got there. Then again, judging by the difference in the symptoms he and Klia have shown, it was probably his lungs that killed him, after all. The poison just hastened the inevitable."

"What I felt from the Cup of Aura bears that out," Thero agreed. "Still, he couldn't have known how ill he really was, or he'd have asked for help getting home."

Alec held up the tassel. "If we're right about this being a signal, he may have had reasons for wanting to go out alone."

Seregil examined the puncture again. "If this is apaki'nhag venom, then he was most likely poisoned at the banquet. If he and Klia were poisoned at roughly the same time, which seems likely, then perhaps our poisoner miscalculated its effects, given Torsin's condition."

"Maybe they even intended for suspicion to fall on the Haman the way it did," Alec speculated. "It was no secret that we were hunting with them."

"And yet here we have evidence of the Viresse," said Thero, indicating the tassel.

"And they traffic with Plenimar," said Alec. "I'll bet you a gold sester that if we find the device our murderer used, it will be Plenimaran."

"I'd back your side of that wager," Seregil said. "I'll ask Adzriel if she can smooth my way to searching the house of Ulan i Sathil. Thero, if I do find the object used, you might be able to divine who used it."

"Or the missing warding charm," said Alec.

"What?" asked Seregil, eyes narrowing.

"He's missing a warding charm," Alec told him, pointing at the dead man's left wrist. "Torsin had a warding charm just like mine, remember?"

"It was to warn of ill-wishing, wasn't it? I see yours is gone, too."

"It's a long story, but I know Torsin still had his a day or two ago. I remember seeing him fiddle with it when we were greeting visitors on the final day of mourning."

"If we could find that, it could tell us who poisoned him," Thero said hopefully. "I've been talking with our Akhendi friends. People of that clan can sometimes sense details from the spent charms."

"He could have taken it off, in which case it's probably here somewhere," said Seregil.

A thorough search of the room turned up nothing, however.